Through the Gate

Jonas felt like he was falling, but there was no wind, no weight, only the sensation of movement without direction. The symbols on the archway still burned in his vision, twisting and shifting even as darkness swallowed him whole. He wanted to scream, but no sound left his lips.

Then—impact.

His body hit solid ground, the breath knocked from his lungs. The world snapped back into focus with a lurch, and he gasped, feeling cold earth beneath his fingers.

The air here was different. Thinner. Stale. Like a place untouched for centuries.

A groan came from nearby. Jonas twisted, spotting Daric sprawled a few feet away, his chest heaving. Veyne was already on her hands and knees, shaking off the disorientation.

They weren't in the tunnels anymore.

A vast chamber stretched before them, carved of smooth black stone. The walls curved in unnatural angles, and high above, a ceiling of shadow loomed—not rock, but something shifting, alive. Faint blue lights flickered in the distance, giving the space an eerie half-light.

Veyne rose first, blades drawn. "Where the hell are we?"

Jonas scanned the chamber. The doorway they'd stepped through was gone. Only smooth stone remained. No way back.

Daric groaned as he sat up, rubbing his temples. "That... was not a normal portal."

Jonas agreed. Magic had been rare before the world fell, a power wielded only by the Magi. Now, it was a death sentence, a beacon for the undead. But this place... it was steeped in it.

The walls hummed with an energy that made his teeth itch. Even the air felt charged, as if the entire structure was a living thing.

Jonas stepped forward cautiously. "We need to find a way out."

As if in response, something shifted in the distance. A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, draped in tattered robes, its face obscured beneath a deep hood. It did not walk. It glided.

Veyne tensed. "Not undead."

Jonas gripped his sword. "Not alive, either."

The figure stopped a dozen paces away. When it spoke, its voice was wrong. Echoing, layered, as if many voices spoke at once.

"You do not belong here."

Jonas swallowed hard. "We didn't have a choice. The gate—"

"The gate was not for you."

The temperature dropped. Daric cursed under his breath, stepping closer to Jonas. Veyne didn't move, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

Jonas forced his voice to stay steady. "Then tell us how to leave."

The figure tilted its head, considering them. The shadows around it pulsed, stretching and curling. Jonas swore he saw faces within the darkness—distorted, anguished.

"Few come here. Fewer leave."

Jonas' grip on his sword tightened. "We'll take our chances."

The figure raised a hand. The shadows behind it stirred. Forms began to rise—twisted things, neither dead nor living. Their bodies rippled like liquid but held shape, shifting between grotesque humanoid forms and writhing masses of darkness.

Veyne took a step back. "Jonas—"

The robed figure pointed at them. "Your choices do not matter. Only your fate."

The creatures lunged.

The fight was chaos.

Jonas barely got his blade up in time as one of the wraiths came at him, its shifting limbs lashing out like tendrils. His sword sliced through its form, but it was like cutting mist—it reformed instantly.

Veyne ducked low, her daggers flashing as she struck at another. The moment her blades made contact, the creature screamed. A soundless, shuddering cry that sent pain lancing through Jonas' skull.

"They're weak to steel!" Veyne shouted.

Jonas didn't hesitate. He drove his sword into the closest wraith's chest, twisting hard. This time, the thing tore apart, its form unraveling like smoke in the wind.

Daric swung his axe, cleaving through one of the shadows, but another wrapped around his arm, dragging him off balance. Jonas surged forward, severing the tendril before it could pull Daric under.

The shadows kept coming. Endless.

Jonas stole a glance at the robed figure—it hadn't moved. Just stood there, watching.

Then, the ground shook.

Something massive stirred beyond the chamber. A deep, groaning noise, like stone grinding against stone. The wraiths hesitated, their forms flickering.

Jonas' stomach dropped. Something worse was coming.

Veyne noticed it too. "We need to go. Now."

The chamber had no obvious exits—but Jonas spotted a narrow passage at the far end. It was dark, winding, and reeked of damp air, but it was better than staying.

"Move!" he shouted.

They fought their way through, steel flashing, shadows howling. The wraiths pressed closer, but something beyond the chamber growled. The sound was ancient, shaking the very walls.

The wraiths suddenly stopped their assault. They withdrew.

Jonas didn't wait to question why. He grabbed Daric and Veyne, pushing them forward into the passage. The last thing he saw before plunging into darkness was the robed figure, still standing, still watching.

And then it spoke one last time.

"The Hollow knows you now. It will not forget."