The Hollow's Pact

Jonas followed the masked man through the settlement, the weight of a hundred wary eyes pressing against his back. The fires burned low, casting flickering shadows on the cavern walls, making the crude wooden structures appear as if they were shifting, breathing. The people here had survived, but they had not thrived. They had endured.

Veyne walked close beside him, her daggers never far from her hands. Daric, still bleeding from the last fight, limped a few steps behind, but his grip on his sword never wavered. Whatever safety this place promised, they had all learned not to trust appearances.

The masked man led them toward the central altar. The blackened bones stacked there seemed almost fused together, melded by time and something darker. The same symbols from the ancient door were carved into its surface, humming faintly. Jonas could feel them, vibrating beneath his skin, resonating with something deep in his bones.

The masked man turned. "You are outsiders. But you have seen what lurks in the Hollow."

Jonas exhaled. "We've seen enough."

The man tilted his head. "Then you understand why we do not leave."

Veyne crossed her arms. "Because of the things in the tunnels? That's not a reason to stay. That's a reason to run."

A ripple of murmurs moved through the gathered survivors. The masked man was silent for a long moment. Then he raised a hand, signaling the others to be still.

"There is no running," he said simply. "We are bound to this place. The Pact ensures it."

Jonas frowned. "Pact?"

The masked man gestured toward the altar. "We are not the first to dwell beneath Black Hollow. Long before the world above crumbled, others lived here. Worshiped here. Sealed something here."

Daric stepped forward, voice tight. "Sealed what?"

The masked man's fingers traced one of the carved symbols. "We do not speak its name."

Jonas exchanged a glance with Veyne. The symbols pulsed again, faintly, and the air grew heavier, as if unseen hands were pressing down on them.

The masked man continued. "The Pact was forged in desperation. A bargain struck between those who ruled this place before and that which lurks in the Hollow's depths. In exchange for sanctuary, we maintain the rituals. We uphold the Pact."

Jonas felt his stomach turn. "What rituals?"

The masked man hesitated. Then, slowly, he turned and gestured toward the far side of the cavern, where a great stone gate stood half-buried in the rock. It was covered in the same shifting symbols as the altar, but unlike the others, these were not dormant. They burned red.

"The Offering," the masked man said. "To keep the Hollow asleep."

A heavy silence followed. Jonas didn't need to ask what he meant.

Daric's grip on his sword tightened. "You're feeding people to it."

The masked man did not deny it.

Veyne took a sharp breath. "How often?"

Another pause. Then, finally, the masked man spoke. "As often as it hungers."

A chill ran through Jonas. He looked at the gathered survivors, searching their faces, but found only resignation. No anger. No defiance. Only acceptance.

"This is why you stay," Jonas said quietly. "Because if you leave, it follows."

The masked man inclined his head. "The Pact is clear. If the ritual is broken, the Hollow awakens. And none will be spared."

Veyne's hand twitched toward her dagger. "And if someone refuses?"

The masked man gestured toward the altar. The bones were old, blackened, fused together by something more than time. Jonas swallowed hard. Some of those who came before had fought back.

They had lost.

A sudden, distant howl echoed through the tunnels. The air seemed to tremble. The people of the settlement stiffened, their faces shadowed by the firelight. Jonas didn't turn toward the sound.

He was staring at the gate. At the symbols, still burning. Still hungry.

The masked man lowered his voice. "A choice must be made."

Jonas already knew what he meant. He didn't look at Daric or Veyne. He didn't need to.

There was no way out. Not without blood.

Another howl. Closer.

Jonas exhaled. His fingers tightened around his bow. His mind had already decided.

He would not be part of the Pact.

And if that meant breaking it—

So be it.