The Child of Shadows

The silence left in the wake of the ritual was suffocating. The crimson glow of the platform had faded, replaced by cold moonlight casting pale shadows across the fractured stone. The air, once saturated with Victoria's oppressive presence, now hung unnaturally still—as if the world itself held its breath.

Anna knelt beside Ethan, her pulse racing as she brushed the damp hair from his forehead. His skin was clammy, his breathing shallow, but his eyes—those familiar, haunted eyes—were finally his again.

"She's gone," he whispered, voice trembling with disbelief. "Victoria... she's really gone."

Anna nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the steady, fragile rhythm of his heartbeat.

The victory should have felt like relief. But the memory of the child's calm, knowing smile lingered like a splinter beneath her skin.

It wasn't over.

Not even close.

They limped back to the farmhouse before dawn, Ethan leaning heavily on Anna's shoulder. The weight of his body, once strong and steady, now felt fragile—as though the ritual had drained more than just his strength.

Anna helped him onto the worn couch and retrieved a blanket from the chair nearby. She tucked it around him with slow, mechanical movements, her mind replaying every detail of what she'd witnessed.

The child's voice still echoed in her ears. "You protected him. Good."

Ethan stirred as she sat beside him. His hand found hers. "You saved me," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

Anna squeezed his fingers. "You saved yourself."

He didn't respond. His eyelids drooped, and within seconds, his breathing slowed into the shallow rhythm of sleep.

Anna sat in the dark, knife still resting in her lap, and stared at the shadows that pooled in the corners of the room.

The knock came just after dawn.

Anna jerked upright, knife raised. Ethan stirred, groaning softly as he turned toward the sound.

The knock came again—slow, deliberate, measured.

Three sharp taps. A pause. Then two more.

Anna's pulse spiked. She rose and moved toward the door, footsteps silent. The farmhouse creaked beneath her weight, every sound amplified in the brittle morning air.

She pressed her eye to the peephole.

A man stood on the porch.

He wore a long, dark coat buttoned to the throat. A scarf obscured the lower half of his face, and a wide-brimmed hat cast his features in shadow. His gloved hands rested at his sides, unnaturally still.

Anna's grip tightened on the knife. "Who are you?" she called through the door.

The man's voice, when it came, was low and measured. "I'm here about the child."

Anna's breath caught. "What child?"

The man didn't move. "Don't waste time. You saw it. You were there." His voice was devoid of emotion. "Where did it go?"

Anna's heart slammed against her ribs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The man was silent for a long moment. Then he reached into his coat.

Anna's muscles tensed. The knife felt insignificant against a potential firearm.

But the man didn't draw a weapon.

He produced a small, black notebook and placed it on the porch railing. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Anna waited until his footsteps faded before cracking the door open. The morning air bit at her skin as she snatched the notebook.

She locked the door and returned to the couch, heart racing. Ethan sat up groggily, rubbing his temples.

"What... what's going on?"

Anna didn't answer. She opened the notebook.

The pages were filled with sketches of symbols she didn't recognize, all drawn with meticulous precision.

And on the last page—

A single image.

The child.

Its eyes staring directly ahead.

Beneath the sketch, two words were scrawled in red ink:

"The Hollow King."

Two nights later, Anna jolted awake from an uneasy sleep. Ethan's voice was what pulled her back to consciousness.

She found him standing at the window, his silhouette rigid. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his breathing was slow and rhythmic.

"Ethan?" she whispered.

He didn't respond.

She rose and approached cautiously, the creak of the floorboards sounding unnaturally loud. She stopped just behind him.

His eyes were open, fixed on the treeline beyond the farmhouse. The silver had returned to his irises, swirling softly like smoke trapped in glass.

"Ethan." She reached for his shoulder.

He spoke before she touched him.

"He's waiting."

Anna froze. "Who?"

Ethan's lips moved mechanically. "The Hollow King."

Anna's blood turned to ice. "What does he want?"

Ethan's gaze never shifted from the woods. "He wants what was promised."

Anna's voice cracked. "What promise?"

The corner of Ethan's mouth twitched into a smile, but it wasn't his smile.

"You'll see soon."

His head turned then, and his eyes locked onto hers. The silver churned faster. His voice dropped into something deeper. Colder.

"He's coming, Anna."

The shadows outside the window stirred.

And in the distance, beyond the trees, a faint, metallic voice whispered on the wind:

"Come and see."