Chapter 17: The Hollow Seekers part 1.

The sun hung low in the sky, bleeding gold and crimson across the fractured cityscape. Shadows stretched long between the ruins as Zereth and Kainon made their way back from the Market of Ash, the distant echoes of merchants and traders fading behind them.

The market had been an ordeal, an unspoken test of presence and survival. Zereth had learned much—not only about trade, currency, and the silent politics that governed the streets, but about himself. He had no place in their world. Not yet.

Kainon had spoken little after their departure, his expression unreadable as they crossed the ruined bridges and broken roads leading to their temporary refuge. He had glanced back at Zereth more than once, perhaps to see if he still followed, perhaps to gauge something else entirely.

By the time they arrived, the last light of day had surrendered to dusk.

The night was still, heavy with the lingering scent of smoldering embers and damp stone. Within the winding alleys of the ruined city, past broken spires and collapsed archways, a secluded refuge lay hidden from the world.

It was not a temple, nor a fortress, but something in between—a gathering place for those without a home. Scavengers, exiles, wanderers. The Hollow Seekers.

A place of silence, where words were often exchanged through glances rather than voices.

Zereth sat on the edge of a worn stone platform, gazing at the distant skyline where the ruins met the endless void above. Two days had passed since the Market of Ash. Two days since he first walked among humans, glimpsing the remnants of their struggle.

Yet the night did not bring him rest.

He did not dream—he never had. Instead, his mind drifted in an endless sea of shifting thoughts. He could still hear the voices from the market, the murmurs of traders, the distant clatter of weapons exchanging hands. But beneath it all, there was something deeper.

A whisper. A call.

It came not from the Hollow Seekers, nor from Kainon, but from the city itself. A voice woven into the bones of the world.

Zereth exhaled slowly, watching as the cold night air curled into mist before vanishing. He had no need for warmth, yet the fire burning in the center of the refuge flickered in his eyes. Around it, the Hollow Seekers sat in quiet circles, tending to their weapons, tracing old maps, exchanging unspoken knowledge.

He observed them carefully. They did not speak in idle chatter. Every movement had purpose, every glance carried meaning. These were not aimless drifters but seekers of something lost. Fragments of a forgotten past, bound together by silence.

Kainon sat nearby, sharpening a blade against a whetstone. His expression was unreadable, but his posture was relaxed, as if this was the only place where he could lower his guard.

The silence stretched between them before Kainon finally spoke, voice low.

"You don't sleep, do you?"

Zereth did not answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly, considering the question.

"I don't dream," he said at last.

Kainon's lips curved into something resembling amusement, though his eyes remained shadowed. "Maybe that's a good thing. In a place like this, dreams can be worse than reality."

A faint sound in the distance caught Zereth's attention—a subtle shift in the wind, barely perceptible.

It was nothing. And yet, it was something.

He turned his gaze toward the ruined skyline once more. The city breathed in ways no human could understand, its presence pressing against his thoughts.

Something was coming.

He did not know what.

Yet he felt it.

The first light of dawn crept through the ruined skyline, chasing away the cold remnants of the night. A dim, golden hue spilled across the broken stone, casting long shadows that stretched between the silent figures of the Hollow Seekers.

The refuge was beginning to stir. Some were already moving, preparing for the day's quiet struggles—patching torn cloaks, sharpening weapons, setting out toward the distant ruins where scavengers sought remnants of a forgotten world.

Zereth remained still, seated upon the same worn platform where he had spent the night. He had not moved, had not spoken, but his mind had been restless. The weight of the world pressed against him, though he could not yet define its shape.

Then—movement.

Kainon rose from his place near the fire, stretching his arms briefly before fastening the leather straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable, but his posture spoke of routine. This was another day like any other for him.

He turned, stepping toward the main pathway leading out of the refuge. And—

Zereth followed.

Not far. Just a few steps behind.

Kainon noticed immediately. He sighed, rubbing his forehead before glancing over his shoulder.

"Are you just going to follow me everywhere?"

Zereth met his gaze, unbothered. "You said I was new."

Kainon let out a dry chuckle. "So that means I have to be your guide now?"

Zereth did not respond. He simply continued walking.

Kainon stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head. "Fine. Do what you want."

He didn't tell Zereth to leave. He didn't tell him to stay, either. Instead, he simply kept moving, and Zereth followed without hesitation.

The Hollow Seekers they passed gave them brief glances but said nothing. Some had already begun their own journeys for the day—traveling in small groups toward distant ruins, some heading toward the city's lower districts, where shadows loomed deeper.

For Zereth, this was still unfamiliar ground. He had spent days observing this world, but every step felt like another piece of a puzzle he had yet to understand.

They walked in silence for a time, crossing the bridge of broken stone that led toward the outskirts of the city. It was only when the scent of smoke and iron grew stronger that Kainon finally spoke again.

"You've seen the Market of Ash once. You think you're ready to return?"

Zereth glanced at him. "Why would I not be?"

Kainon sighed. "Because not everyone there plays fair. You may have passed the first test, but don't think that means people will trust you."

"Do they trust you?" Zereth asked.

Kainon smirked. "No. But that's different."

Zereth didn't question it.

The ruins slowly gave way to the faint signs of life once more—the scattered remnants of makeshift tents, the distant murmurs of merchants setting up their stalls, the ever-present watchful eyes of those who thrived in the spaces between law and chaos.

The Market of Ash awaited them.

And something felt different this time.

The Market of Ash was never truly silent. Even in the early hours, the air hummed with muted conversations, the shifting of crates and sacks, and the occasional clash of metal against metal as merchants arranged their wares.

Yet today, something was off.

Zereth felt it the moment they crossed the threshold into the market's heart. The usual controlled chaos was still present—peddlers shouting half-heartedly about their goods, scavengers haggling over rusted artifacts—but there was a tension beneath it all. The energy of the place had shifted.

Merchants who usually barked their prices now spoke in hushed tones. Customers kept their gazes lowered, eyes flickering toward the alleys before darting away. Even the ever-present drifters, those who wandered the market's edges looking for an opportunity, seemed more cautious than usual.

Zereth walked with measured steps beside Kainon, his gaze scanning the market. He did not yet fully understand human expressions, but the weight of wariness in the air was unmistakable.

Kainon muttered under his breath. "This isn't normal."

Zereth said nothing, but he agreed.

Their path led them toward a familiar section of the market, where the Ashen Brokers usually gathered. This time, however, the small clusters of merchants seemed thinner, their usual nonchalant demeanor replaced by something more reserved.

Then, he noticed it.

Several stalls were missing. Not just closed for the day—gone.

The wooden frames, the cloth coverings, even the crates where certain traders had always sat—vanished as if they had never been there.

Kainon stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he took in the empty spaces. "They're gone."

"Who?" Zereth asked.

Kainon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Some of the Hollow Seekers who traded here. They were here two days ago."

Zereth glanced at the gaps in the market, then at the people who remained. They were still here. Watching. Listening. Pretending to go about their business.

"Taken?" Zereth asked.

Kainon's jaw tightened. "Maybe. Or they left on their own. But if that were the case, someone would've heard about it."

Zereth studied the market once more. The lingering unease in the air, the cautious glances exchanged in silence—it was clear that the disappearances weren't a secret. They were simply not spoken of.

Kainon's fingers flexed at his side, as if resisting the urge to reach for his weapon. "We need information."

Zereth gave a slight nod. "Then we ask."

Kainon exhaled sharply but didn't argue. He glanced toward the far end of the market, where a group of hooded figures stood in quiet observation.

The Ashen Brokers.

"They'll know something."

The question was—at what cost?

End of chapter 17...