PART 1: THE CELLAR SIEGE
"The chanting shook the walls."
"ASH TO ASH. SPARK TO SPARK. WE RETURN YOU TO THE DARK."
Aric's fingers dug into the scar on his chest. The wound had closed, but the echo of the Hollow King's voice still coiled in his skull like smoke.
Lysara was already moving, her dagger—still glowing faintly from the earlier fight—slicing through the cellar's rusted lock. "We go. Now."
Kael didn't argue. The old scholar snapped his book shut and stuffed it into his robes. "They'll be coming from the east sewer line. Only way in."
"Then we go west," Aric said.
"West is a dead end,"Kael countered.
"Exactly."
Aric didn't wait for approval. He kicked open the cellar's back door—a rotting slab of wood—and plunged into the tunnel beyond. The air here was thicker, the stench of stagnant water and something *sweetly rotten* clinging to the damp stone.
Lysara's hand clamped onto his shoulder. "You're leading us into a trap."
"No," Aric said. "I'm leading *them* into one."
Above them, the chanting stopped.
Then— *BOOM.*
The cellar door exploded inward.
PART 2: THE AMBUSH
They weren't just cultists.
They were "things".
Robed figures poured into the tunnel, their movements too fluid, too "jointless". Moonlight from a cracked grate above glinted off their masks—porcelain faces with hollowed-out eyes and mouths sewn shut with black thread.
Aric's stomach twisted. "What the hell are those?"
"The Hollow King's choir," Kael muttered. "His voice… wears them like gloves."
Then the nearest one "lunged".
Aric barely dodged. The thing's fingers grazed his arm, and fire erupted under his skin—not his own, but something "cold" and invasive. A memory flickered—his sister's voice, singing—then "gone", ripped away like a page torn from a book.
"Don't let them touch you!" Lysara's hands blazed as she carved through two cultists in a single swipe. Their bodies didn't bleed. They "crumbled", like ash statues.
Aric forced his flames to surge. His fist connected with a cultist's chest— and the thing "screamed". Not in pain. In "words".
"EMBERBORN. LOST. FOUND. MINE."
Then it dissolved into a cloud of cinders.
PART 3: THE LIVING WEAPON
The dead end wasn't empty.
A figure stood in the shadows, its back to them. Tall. Too tall. Its robes were tattered, its skin stretched taut over bones that seemed "wrong"—too many joints, too long fingers.
Kael went rigid. "Oh, hell."
The thing turned.
Its face was a mirror of Aric's own.
"You," it rasped. "You are the one who remembers."
Aric's breath caught. "What are you?"
The thing smiled with "Aric's teeth". "What you will become."
Then it moved.
Faster than fire. Faster than thought.
One moment, it was ten paces away. The next, its hand was around Aric's throat, lifting him off the ground.
"The Hollow King remembers you," it whispered. "He remembers all of us."
Aric's vision darkened. His flames sputtered—then Lysara's dagger "slammed" into the thing's skull.
It didn't flinch.
It "laughed".
"Little spark," it crooned, turning its head—"too far", the bones cracking—to look at her. "You cannot kill what is already dead."
Then it "ripped" the dagger free and plunged it into its own chest.
Black blood bubbled from the wound—and Lysara "screamed".
Not in pain.
In "recognition".
PART 4: THE ESCAPE
Kael's book hit the thing's face with a "thud".
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the pages *ignited*, blue flames devouring the creature's stolen skin. It shrieked, thrashing—and Aric "burned".
Not just his hands. Not just his blood.
"Everything."
The tunnel lit up like a forge. The cultists—the choir—screeched as the fire consumed them. The thing wearing Aric's face howled, its form melting, twisting— "RUN!"Kael roared.
They ran.
PART 5: THE TRUTH
The safehouse was a brothel.
Not the kind with velvet curtains and perfumed air. The kind where the walls were stained with things Aric didn't want to name, and the only light came from a single candle, its wax dripping onto a scarred table.
Lysara hadn't spoken since the tunnel. She sat in the corner, sharpening her dagger with methodical strokes.
Kael poured himself a drink. "That, he said, "was a Revenant."
Aric's throat still ached. "It looked like me."
"Because it "was" you," Kael said. "Or rather, what's left of the Emberborn who came before you."
Lysara's dagger stilled.
"The Hollow King doesn't just kill us," Kael continued. He "recycles" us. Turns us into those… things. Weapons. Messengers."
Aric's fists clenched. "Why?"
Kael took a long sip. "Because he's looking for something. And he thinks we know where it is."
What?"
"The last Pyre God."
Silence.
Then— Lysara stood. Her hands moved slowly, deliberately.
"We find it first."
CHAPTER ENDING: THE OFFER
The door creaked open.
A woman stood there. Young. Pretty. Her dress was fine silk in a district where most wore rags.
She smiled at Aric.
"The Guild of the Hollow would like to make you an offer," she said.
Lysara's dagger was at her throat in a heartbeat.
The woman didn't flinch. "We can help you get your memories back."
Aric's breath caught.
"All of them."
—TO BE CONTINUED—