Velis Solara rose like a colossus below the break of dawn, the arcologies towering above, casting long shadows over the shining streets below. The city was a vast latticework of crystal and stone, suspended between sky and earth, where all structure thrummed with the hum of energy drawn from the deep veins of the world.
Dawn's claw ripped across Velis Solara, its spires scoring the sky like shattered glass. Under the streets, arteries of stolen soul-energy throbbed—draining life from the ground to sustain Sunspire's voracity.
The city was a leech, its four arms fighting over the booty: the Western Wing's sterile discipline, the Eastern's calculating coldness, the Southern's sheer brawn, and the Northern's hidden knives.
Glowing crystals chiseled from the planet's heart vibrated with energy, transmitting soul-energy to every point.
Banners of the four branches of Sunspire flew from skybridges above: the sigils of each branch glimmering in the light: emblems of dominance and control.
Mechanical birds darted between the skyscrapers, their piercing eyes roving across the metropolis, leaving no movement unseen. Surveillance was not a practice here—it was total.
At the center was Sunspire HQ, a massive spire-core towering towards the sky. Four wings sprang from the hub, each echoing its sector: Western Wing, stolid and effective; Eastern Wing, featuring great observatories and enormous libraries; Southern Wing, where armory and holding cells throbbed with urgency; and Northern Wing, most insular, learning all about the Shadowwell.
Aelren stood in the center of the Western Wing, his dark eyes on the crystalline image of Alex's case—the child with the unrecorded mark, his soul signature shattered beyond recognition.
The air vibrated with tension. He had witnessed much in his time as a Tier 5 starbound Senior Inspector, but this was something else. Alex's mark defied Sunspire's records—untouched by time and regulations.
Whispers circulated through the ranks—rumors of the Caelum incident, the Emergency Gate breach, the boy's peculiar mark. "The Hollow's Mark," officers breathed in awe and terror.
Abruptly, a piercing hum cut through the air. Aerial transit vehicles bearing Eastern and Southern sigils descended. Aelren's grip on his desk tightened.
"Prepare the meeting chamber. They'll want blood, not answers."
The sky trembled as two vessels cut through dawnlight. On the ground, the landing level hummed with activity. Security grids glowed red, reconfiguring for high-ranking clearance.
Caelia Vale stepped out of the lead vessel—tall, calm, enveloped in crystalline silk that sparkled like starlight trapped in ice. Her purple eyes scanned across with intent, not interest. She walked without haste, but each step commanded attention. Her silence was pressure—palpable and unavoidable.
Whispers ran through divisions: "ghost queen of the Eastern Division."
Thunder followed.
The second ship puffed forth steam. Dren Vokar emerged—broad-backed in a dark jacket embroidered with the broken lantern of the Southern Division. He stomped heavy boots on metal. He did not look over space—he grasped it. A storm-front of scars and hard realities moving on two feet.
Caelia barely granted him a passing glance. Dren gave just as little in return. Their past was for now hidden—their future unsure.
Far above, Aelren observed. Fists crossed. Eyebrows furrowed. He observed their step, their quiet. Caelia's serenity was a knife. Dren's arrival, a sledgehammer. Both arrived to lay claims, not negotiate.
The doors of the chamber slid open as they walked under the main arch. The great hall beyond—Sunspire crests carved into the floor, dimly glowing.
The crystalline chamber pulsed as the three seated themselves around the table , leaving one chair empty. The segments of the floor carried branch symbols, illuminated by soul-veins. Encoded silence shivered in the air.
Aelren's silence was finally broken. "Welcome to Western Branch. I hope your trip was. unavoidable."
Caelia set down a data-sigil upon the table.
A projection flashed—soulwave readings and impossible oscillations around Alex's name.
"His form violates the Soulmark Codex," she murmured. "The patterns change. Rewriting. Something seeded. alive."
Dren sneered. "Or it's broken. Unstable. And you're looking for a pet theory."
"We're not here on suspicion. Eastern Branch is responsible for metaphysical anomalies. He's ours."
Aelren's eyes narrowed. "He's under Western protection. Rescued by my man under collapse threat. He carries a mark that initiated forgotten protocols—one I've seen once in thirty years."
He moved forward parchment carrying the Weeping Eyes crest—an ancient, nearly extinct division.
"The letter came before Caelum burned."
Caelia's face faltered. Dren's fists curled.
"Invoking prophecy now?" Dren snarled. "He's still a containment risk."
"Yet not corrupted," Aelren retorted. "Despite direct Void trauma contact."
Silence.
Ancient resentments churned beneath—ancient rivalries between branches.
"Always too sentimental," Dren growled.
"And you always viewed people as weapons," Caelia replied icily.
Aelren leaned forward. "We're not here for ego battles. Until High Inspector Ryan gives his word, custody doesn't change."
No one said anything. Caelrun Ryan's name hung unspoken—like thunder on sky's rim.
The meeting broke up. Caelia turned first: "I'll start scans anyway."
Dren followed, barking containment orders.
Aelren stood, gazing into shimmering crystal. The storm has begun.
The door creaked open, and Varrion stood beyond it, surrounded by officers. His tall frame filled the room with subdued intensity, motions hiding tension seething beneath restraint.
Aelren's tone was even but piercing. "Varrion. You've made a serious decision in engaging the Emergency Gate. Explain yourself."
Varrion did not blink. "I did what was needed. Alex's soul resonance was broken. I couldn't afford to lose him."
Dren shifted forward, menacing. "And what of the Void? What of the corruption this 'Hollow' may bring?"
"The boy isn't corrupted. Not yet. But his mark. it's something different. Older than anything we have in Sunspire records. Connected to an ancient Light we don't know."
Caelia frowned. "You say you know the Caelum incident reasons?"
Varrion wavered but stood firm. "Not exactly. But the cracks in his soul—those are linked to something beyond our knowledge. Something which may have contributed to the fall of Caelum."
There was a heavy silence filled with uncertainties. "And if this child is a danger? A ticking time bomb?"
"Then we will deal with it. But not through violence—not yet."
Aelren broke the tension. "We're not clearing you, Varrion. Not yet. But I will back your judgment for now."
As the room cleared, Varrion's eyes stayed dark, his mind reeling in chaos.
Within Alex's room:
Quiet.
Not tranquility—this quiet had the flavor of static. A held breath that never ceased.
Alex hung between thought and unbeing, bound only by the pain beneath his skin. Something within him smoldered—not pain, not warmth—something primal. A mark etched into the marrow of his soul.
Flash.
A face of a boy, contorted in moonlight and blood. Elias. His gaze flashed between salvation and betrayal. His grin was one of a dying deity.
"Don't forget what we were."
Another flash—deeper this time. The Bargain of the Mark of the Hollow, broken beyond recognition, now seeping light. Torn. Rewritten. Waiting.
Then the crow came.
Sitting atop a tree that never should have grown. Distorted stone roots crept from nothing, supporting a bony tree covered in light from faraway stars. The crow observed with eclipse-hued rings dancing within its eyes.
Not judging. Not questioning. Simply. knowing.
It made a single caw. And the world fell apart.
A sword materialized midair, suspended just out of reach. Its edge glowed like mirrors of water, its center pulsating with voices—hundreds, thousands. Each name howled in pain, syllables distorted into static, ringing in a tongue older than words.
The sword cracked. Healed. Cracked once more. It did not desire blood. It desired truth.
Then—voices. Four names escaped reality's cracks…
"Aelren… Caelia… Vokar… Rya—"
The surname broke, consumed by white that ripped through space like a gash in time.
Alex breathed hard in the dream. The Mark on his chest flared, black and silver sparks dancing, reaching toward his shoulder. The empty brand throbbed with significance beyond even his comprehension.
The world shook. Unimaginably distant, a tower bell rang out—ancient, absolute.
The crow sprang into nothingness, wings spread like pages torn from heretic text. Its shadow did not accompany it. It crept instead—on Alex.
And just as it reached out to touch him—darkness swallowed the world.
Alex's still form remained within the clean white medical chamber, suspended within the radiance of healing energy.
His body lay motionless, but something roused below—a mark of the shape of Eclipse on his chest throbbed, bleeding palely up his shoulder.
Monitors suddenly flashed wildly. The air hummed, and five disjoined voices resounded across the room, ripping reality apart, as if a myriad of timelines bled into one another.
Outside, the call of a far-off crow echoed, shattering tenuous stillness. Alex's soul resonance escalated to impossible levels, muddling diagnostic systems.
His body flashed inside the chamber, flickering between physical and intangible. The blur stabilized, but a presence remained unseen—deeper, older.
Well past the medical room, in an invisible location, darkness moved. The air vibrated with unnatural quiet—no wind, no life-noises, only the heaviness of something old.
A laugh tore through silence.
Quiet at first—soft and unnerving—then building, twisting into something darker. A sound resonating not only in air, but in reality's weave.
"The first step. is complete."
The words slid from the unseen presence like a whisper through a cracked door, yet charged with malevolent intent.
The laugh grew more chilling, more derisive, as though the Watcher reveled in coming chaos.
"Soon, very soon, the pieces will align… and you, reading, will see it all unfold."