Arcadia was now a broken land, once the crown of nature at the heart of the Mirael Valley, it lay twisted and defiled. The weave itself had shattered, leaving necrotic god-corpses embedded in the earth and warping all that lingered. Putrid ruins, haunted screams, and horrors birthed from corruption roamed where rivers and ridges once thrived.

  It had once been the Kingdom of Radiance. Now only darkness echoed.

  Even at the valley’s edge, the Tower of Fall loomed in the distance, its ashen spire cutting through the mist, clashing against crimson sky and rotting earth.

  Amid the ashen silence, Katya stood alone, surrounded by the rot of the broken weave. She remembered the old tales: the Tower had once been divine, a path to the heavens. Now it loomed as a hollowed spire, a shrine to broken divinity and twisted horrors.

  A few paces ahead lay a malformed corpse. At first glance its face seemed human, but Katya knew better, it was a Hollowborn. A mockery of life, with no soul, no organs, only a golden lattice of raw weave pulsing faintly beneath its skin.

  This one was inert, unfinished. She nudged it with her boot. No response. Without another glance, Katya pressed forward.

  She remembered the old stories she’d been taught—how the mad-god Shraak slaughtered his brethren and toppled the heavens, leaving only ruin in his wake. The gods had fallen, and their corpses poisoned the land. Of the mages of old, only those who still whispered Shraak’s name endured.

  Amid those grim thoughts, her gaze caught on a figure drifting above the shattered ground. Crimson hair floated in the breeze like a banner. Katya raised her binoculars.

  It wasn’t whole. Its right arm was only a shadow, a suggestion of what should be. Cracks split its body, and within them she saw the golden lattice of the weave itself. A Hollowborn; alive, but not yet fully formed.

  Her pulse quickened. If she could capture it, perhaps it could be of use to their research. Adjusting her grip on her gear, Katya pressed forward.

  As Katya drew nearer, she was struck by how human it looked, more human than any Hollowborn she had ever seen. Not even the sorcerers of Azul had managed to craft a specimen like this.

  She recalled the tales: Hollowborn were not born of womb or will, but of resonance. They emerged in the wake of the Bleeding Sky, conjured from the Weave itself when the gods fell and the world fractured. Fragments of divine memory, animated by threads of unspent magic.

  She gripped the hilt of her enchanted sword, intent on driving the blade through the crystal lattice at its heart.

  Then, without warning, the Hollowborn turned.

  “Shayara?” It spoke

  The voice froze her blood. Katya staggered back, heart hammering. Hollowborn weren’t supposed to speak—not unless they carried fragments of power far beyond anything recorded. Such creatures were priceless… and deadly.

  She tried to flee, but her steps betrayed her. No matter how hard she ran, the space bent against her will. Cause and effect betrayed her, pulling her closer instead of away.

  And then it was before her, its faintly glowing eyes locking onto hers, lit with the shimmer of residual magic.

  Katya’s heart pounded. She knew she could not win against a Hollowborn—but still, she tried. Gripping the sword, she drove it forward with all her strength.

  Nothing.

  The spell etched into the blade unraveled before her eyes, regressing into sparks that fizzled into the air. The steel halted just short of the Hollowborn’s chest, as if caught against an invisible wall.

  Her courage broke. Katya dropped to her knees, hands clasped, bowing low.

  “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me.”

  Her voice cracked with panic. Hollowborn were beings of horror, nightmares given form… but maybe, just maybe, this one would spare her.

  The figure tilted its head. A fractured voice resonated from its cracked frame, distant yet clear:

  “You are not her.”

  Katya froze, lifting her gaze slowly.

  “Pardon?” she whispered.

  The Hollowborn’s voice lingered like an echo caught in fractured glass.

  “I do not know where I am… or why I exist. But I remember them.”

  Its gaze snapped suddenly, pinning Katya.

  “But you are not her.”

  A chill ran down Katya’s spine. Whoever ‘her’ was, this unknown figure was her only path to survival. She forced her trembling lips into speech.

  “Maybe… maybe I can find her for you.”

  The Hollowborn tilted its head, eyes faintly pulsing with light.

  “How?”

  Katya’s mind raced. She seized the first thread of plausibility she could.

  “She… she sounds like someone from my own people. From the villages. If she exists, perhaps they will know.”

  For a moment, silence pressed down, broken only by the Hollowborn’s faint, crackling hum.

  Then.

  A thunderous crash split the air behind her.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Katya stiffened. She knew that sound. The grinding gait of a Wraith Engine, iron and weave intertwined. Raiders.

  They stalked the corpse-fields for horrors to harvest, weaving machines to scavenge and desecrate the dead gods. And if they caught sight of this Hollowborn, of the crimson hair glowing like a beacon through the dust, they would descend without hesitation.

  Katya looked at the Hollowborn, its strange eyes still lingering on her. “Can we run, for now?” she asked.

  “Why?” the being replied in that same calm, detached voice.

  “That sound… It’s a Wraith Engine. Which means raiders. They’ve got weapons, cages, and machines. If they see you, they’ll cut you apart and sell the pieces. If they catch me…” her voice faltered, “…they’ll keep me alive, just to violate me. So can we please run? Now?”

  The Hollowborn stared at her for a moment before answering. “Lead the way.”

  Katya sprinted, lungs burning as her boots kicked up ash. She could feel the Hollowborn behind her, not running, just gliding soundlessly through the air. Ahead, a shattered ridge and a pile of boulders offered cover.

  “Here,” Katya whispered, ducking behind the stone. The Hollowborn followed, drifting to her side.

  “Can you sit? If you keep floating, they’ll still spot you,” she said, breathless.

  “I can.” It crouched, folding itself down with eerie poise.

  Katya let herself breathe, studying its face up close. Too human, almost beautiful—better than any she’d seen, even among the sorcerers of Azul. She felt a pang of envy for the person this thing remembered, someone important enough to linger in its mind. She herself didn’t even know her parents’ faces.

  The sound rolled past them. Katya risked a peek over the boulder, eyes darting. Nothing.

  “We can move now,” she whispered. She slipped out from cover, the Hollowborn gliding silently behind.

  “We’re lucky,” Katya said, half to herself. “They didn’t linger. Raiders usually drag along those violent types, sorcerers, the kind who like to peel people open just to see what the Weave does.”

  “Sorcerers?” the Hollowborn asked, tilting its head.

  “You know,” Katya waved her hands vaguely, “veil-weaving, sparks, spells, all that fancy stuff.”

  “Magic?” it said, tasting the word.

  “Yeah. Magic.” Katya grinned faintly, though her eyes flicked nervously at the horizon. “In the old days they called it that. There were mages everywhere, hurling fireballs and bending the sky. At least, that’s how the stories go.”

  Then, suddenly, she felt it. A chill crawling up her spine, heavy as a shadow.

  “How long ago was this?” the Hollowborn asked. The words were quiet, but the fury in its voice pricked her skin like knives.

  Katya froze, afraid to even breathe.

  The Hollowborn’s voice came low, almost mournful. “She is gone then. All of them are.” Silence followed, heavy as stone.

  Then its gaze cut straight through her. “How long ago was this?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Katya stammered, words tumbling over each other. “Maybe… at least three centuries?”

  Again, silence.

  “Why did you lie?”

  The question sliced her open. A chill shot down her spine. She collapsed to her knees, hands clasped tight. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. It’s my first time meeting a Hollowborn and I—I panicked.”

  The creature tilted its head. “Hollowborn?”

  “Yes, beings of magic, born out of the corruption of the Weave,” she blurted before she could stop herself. Her eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean to offend you! It’s just… it’s what we were taught.”

  For the first time, the Hollowborn looked at itself. Cracked skin stretched over glowing lattice, threads of light weaving where flesh should be. A shadow hung where its right hand had never formed.

  “Undead? No… not correct. Not a demigod either.” Its voice deepened, almost as if speaking to itself. “Something else.”

  It stood still, closing its eyes.

  Katya’s legs tensed to run, but she couldn’t. Some part of her was afraid, every instinct screaming to flee. Yet another part was thrilled, buzzing with a strange excitement she didn’t understand.

  She was so caught in watching the Hollowborn that she forgot the Wraith Engine’s warning meant raiders.

  “What have we here?” a screeching voice cut the air. “A fucking hollow floating, and a piece of meat to fuck.”

  Katya spun around. Two shapes emerged from the haze. Her pulse spiked. She couldn’t die here.

  Her hand flew to her belt, pulling free a sphere etched with faint runes. She hurled it. The weave-grenade exploded in a flash of searing light and force, burning the face of the one who had spoken. He howled, staggering.

  “We need to run, now!” Katya begged, eyes darting to the Hollowborn.

  But it didn’t move. Its eyes were still closed, as if it hadn’t even heard.

  The shapes thickened in the fog, more of them, circling.

  “Oy! Baz, you alive, mate?” someone shouted from the dark.

  “I’ll cut her open, then fuck what’s left!” Baz screamed, charging toward them, half his face blistered and sagging from the blast.

  Katya braced for the fight of her life as Baz barreled toward her, blade raised, his mates howling behind him.

  The ground heaved. Shadows coiled around her ankles, then split apart with a flash of blinding radiance. Darkness and light clashed in the same breath, and the world snapped into stillness.

  Silence.

  She dared to look. Every raider lay sprawled across the ground, bodies twisted, mouths slack, eyes staring at nothing.

  “Life and death. Reversal. Totality.”

  The Hollowborn’s voice rang behind her.

  Katya turned. He was changed. Where once there had been a jagged shadow, a right hand now flexed, pale and whole, veins glowing faintly with golden lattice. His cracked body looked smoother, less broken and more human.

  Her stomach lurched as the realization struck. He hadn’t just killed them. He had consumed them. Their very souls were torn out, devoured, to rebuild his body.

  Katya’s breath hitched. She wanted to scream, to run, but she could not look away. The horror before her was no mindless Hollowborn, it was something else. Something worse.

  Finally, after some time, the Hollowborn opened his eyes.

  Katya stood frozen, her legs trembling too much to run.

  “You’re still here?” the being asked. His crimson hair seemed brighter now, glinting even in the ashen gloom. “Even in fear, you did not abandon me. Noble.”

  Katya swallowed hard, fumbling with her bag. She pulled out a strip of dark fabric and held it out with shaking hands. “You weren’t… fully human before, so I didn’t think much of it. But now—you shouldn’t be this exposed.”

  “Thank you.”

  His voice was sharper now, more defined, as he wrapped the cloth around his waist.

  Katya couldn’t help but stare. He looked more human than he had minutes ago, but not enough to make her forget what he’d done.

  “So, they are all dead.” The words rolled out with an unnatural stillness, yet there was a cadence in them, measured, deliberate, almost like memory trying to take shape.

  “I did not mean for all of them to fall,” it continued. “But they deserved it. Their magic has… restored what I am.”

  Katya’s stomach knotted. The voice was wrong, alien, hollow, but threaded through its tone was something disturbingly human, like an echo of a soldier’s resolve bleeding into the inhuman cadence.

  The being’s gaze fixed ahead. “Let us march forward.”