Chapter 14: Whispers of the Hollow City

A hush settled over the ruins as Zereth and Kainon walked deeper into the decayed heart of Il'Vayir. The city stretched endlessly before them, its towering structures reduced to skeletal remains, standing in defiance of time. Shadows pooled in every crevice, whispering secrets of a past long buried.

The Hollow Seekers had called this place a sanctuary of the forgotten, yet it felt more like a graveyard of ambitions.

Zereth's steps were slow, deliberate. His form still felt unstable, his very existence flickering at the edges. His body was his own now, yet something within him pulsed like a distant ember, waiting to be stoked into a greater flame.

The echoes of the Hollow Seekers lingered behind them, their murmured voices fading into the silence. Kainon, walking ahead, moved with practiced ease, his gaze fixed on the ruins as if seeing something unseen by others.

"You feel it, don't you?" Kainon asked without turning.

Zereth frowned. "Feel what?"

Kainon stopped, gesturing toward the ruins around them. "This city isn't dead. It's… waiting."

Zereth remained silent, but he couldn't deny it. The air here was thick, not with decay, but with expectation. The walls, the broken roads, the crumbling statues—they all pulsed with something unseen, as though they still remembered the footsteps of those long lost.

As they moved deeper into the ruins, Zereth noticed how different this place felt from anywhere he had been before. The streets curved in unnatural ways, as if the architecture itself had rebelled against the laws of reality. Some buildings seemed untouched by time, their surfaces pristine, while others had crumbled into dust, as though erased from existence.

The silence was profound.

No birds. No wind. Not even the distant creak of shifting stone.

Then, a whisper.

It was faint—just on the edge of perception—but Zereth heard it nonetheless.

"You do not belong here."

He stiffened, his eyes scanning the ruins. The words hadn't come from Kainon. Nor had they come from behind, where the Hollow Seekers remained.

No, the city itself had spoken.

Zereth turned to Kainon. "Did you hear that?"

Kainon glanced at him but did not seem surprised. "You're beginning to hear the whispers of this place."

Zereth exhaled slowly. "What are they?"

Kainon's expression darkened. "Memories."

Zereth touched a nearby stone pillar, its surface etched with symbols worn by time. As his fingers brushed against the ancient carvings, a sudden chill ran through him. A flicker of something—an image, a sound—flashed in his mind.

A city alive with light. A great flame burning in its heart. A people chanting in unison, calling upon a power beyond gods and demons.

Then—darkness. Screams. The sound of stone shattering.

Zereth pulled his hand away sharply, his breath unsteady.

"Il'Vayir was once a city of knowledge," Kainon said, watching him closely. "A place where those who sought the truth of the Forge gathered. But they reached too far, and for that, they were erased."

"By who?"

Kainon's lips pressed into a thin line. "No one knows. Or if they do, they refuse to speak of it."

Zereth stared at the ruins once more, seeing them differently now. This was not just a city that had fallen to time. Something had wiped it away.

As they walked, they came upon a gathering of Hollow Seekers. The survivors had made their home in the ruins, their makeshift shelters blending with the remnants of the lost civilization. Fires burned low, illuminating weathered faces filled with both exhaustion and quiet defiance.

An old man sat by one of the fires, his hands tracing lines in the dirt. He looked up as they approached, his eyes cloudy yet sharp. "You carry the scent of the old world," he said, his voice rough with age.

Zereth regarded him carefully. "What do you mean?"

The old man studied him, then glanced at Kainon. "Your friend has told you little, hasn't he?"

Kainon sighed. "Because telling too much can be dangerous."

The old man scoffed. "Dangerous to who? The gods? The ones who abandoned this world to rot?" His gaze settled on Zereth again. "The Forge's power lingers in you, just as it lingered in those who came before. But you are different. You are… incomplete."

Zereth tensed. "Incomplete?"

The old man nodded, tapping his own chest. "Your ember burns, but it flickers. You have not yet fully stepped into what you are meant to be."

The words unsettled him.

The ember inside him pulsed again, steady yet restrained, as though waiting for something. Waiting for him to claim it.

Kainon placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You don't need to listen to every word they say," he muttered.

The old man only chuckled. "But some words demand to be heard."

Footsteps in the Fog

As night settled over the city, a mist crept through the streets. Thick. Cold. Unnatural.

The Hollow Seekers retreated into their makeshift homes, their fires burning low. A quiet tension filled the air, as if even they knew not to venture too far once the mist arrived.

Zereth felt it before he saw it.

Something was in the fog.

It moved without sound, without form, yet its presence was undeniable. The ruined city, once merely eerie, now felt like a living thing, its shadows deepening in places where they should not have existed.

Kainon stood still, his stance shifting slightly. "Stay close," he murmured.

Zereth's instincts flared. The ember within him stirred, responding to the unnatural shift in the air. He could feel something watching them. Not just one thing—many.

Then, a shape flickered in the mist.

Tall. Gaunt. Not human.

A Hollow Seeker, still outside, gasped and staggered backward, clutching their chest. "They've woken again," they whispered hoarsely.

Zereth narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

Kainon answered for them. "The Watchers."

Zereth turned to him. "What are they?"

Kainon's expression was grim. "Echoes of the ones who defied the gods. Those who tried to claim the Forge's power… but were never allowed to leave this city."

As if in response, the shadows moved.

More figures appeared—flickering shapes at the edge of the mist. They did not walk. They did not breathe. Yet they were here.

And they were watching.

Zereth clenched his fists. His body tensed, prepared to fight, but Kainon placed a hand on his arm. "No," he said quietly. "Not yet."

The figures did not advance. They only stood. Waiting.

"Do they attack?" Zereth asked.

Kainon shook his head. "Not unless provoked." His voice was measured, careful. "They are bound to this place. They do not seek conflict, only remembrance. But if you disturb them, they will make sure you join them."

Zereth studied the Watchers. Their forms wavered—not quite present, not quite gone. The longer he stared, the more he felt something pulling at him, as if they were reaching into his mind, trying to make him remember something that wasn't there.

A whisper slipped into his thoughts.

"Return…"

His breath caught. The ember inside him flared in response, its pulse aligning with something unseen.

Kainon's grip on his arm tightened. "We need to move."

Zereth exhaled, forcing himself to step back. The Watchers did not follow, but their silent gaze lingered.

As they retreated into the Hollow Seekers' encampment, Zereth's mind remained unsettled.

The city remembers.

The Forge calls.

And somewhere, in the heart of the ruins, something was waiting.

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End of Chapter 14