Chapter One

The morning air was cold. Solene pulled her thin shawl tighter around her shoulders as she sat up on the small wooden cot. The attic where she slept was dark, the only light coming from the cracks in the roof. Dust floated in the air, swirling with every breath she took. She let out a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before forcing herself to move.

Her stomach growled as she stood, reminding her that she hadn't eaten much the day before. That was normal. Hunger was a familiar ache, one she had learned to ignore. There was no time to dwell on it. She had to work if she wanted to eat today.

She splashed her face with cold water from a small basin, wincing as the chill bit into her skin. The city of Velmora was alive outside, the sounds of merchants calling out their prices and carts rolling down the cobbled streets filling the air. Another day of struggling, another day of surviving.

Solene made her way down the creaky stairs, stepping into the crowded marketplace. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat filled the air, making her stomach twist painfully. She looked away, focusing on where she needed to go—the tailor's shop where she worked. It wasn't much, but it gave her enough coin to keep going.

"Solene, you're late," the tailor, Mistress Lira, said as she walked her eyes were sharp, but there was no real anger in them.

"Sorry," Solene murmured, quickly taking her place at the wooden table where scraps of fabric lay scattered. She picked up a needle and thread, letting her hands move on their own, stitching together pieces of cloth as she had done a hundred times before.

Hours passed. The work was tiring, but Solene was used to it. She kept her head down, listening to the voices outside, imagining what life was like beyond the crowded streets of Velmora. Some people were born to live in palaces, wrapped in silk, feasting on warm meals. Others, like her, were born to struggle. That was just how the world worked.

A bell jingled as the door to the shop opened, and a wealthy woman stepped inside, her silk gown rustling with each movement. Solene glanced up for only a moment before lowering her gaze. The woman handed Mistress Lira a bundle of expensive fabric, and as they spoke, Solene couldn't help but listen.

"Another dress for the banquet," the woman said, her voice light. "I hear Lord Vernar will be there, and you know how important it is to make an impression."

Mistress Lira nodded as she inspected the fabric. "It will be ready in three days."

Three days. A single dress that cost more than Solene had ever held in her life. She kept her hands busy, but her mind wandered. What would it be like to live like that? To never worry about your next meal, to have power, to be someone who mattered?

The woman left soon after, and the day stretched on. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Solene noticed a small boy lingering near the shop's entrance. His clothes were ragged, his face smudged with dirt. His wide eyes were locked on a basket of bread set out by a nearby vendor. Solene watched as he hesitated, then slowly reached out, fingers brushing against the crust.

"Hey! Thief!" the vendor shouted, lunging forward.

The boy turned to run, but he was too slow. The vendor grabbed his arm, shaking him roughly.

"Please, I—I was just hungry," the boy stammered.

Solene felt something twist in her chest. She knew that kind of hunger. She knew what it was like to be desperate. Without thinking, she reached into the small pouch tied to her waist. There were only a few coins inside—barely enough for her next meal—but before she could stop herself, she stepped forward.

"I'll pay for it," she said, holding out the coins.

The vendor frowned and whispered under his breath which was loud enough for Solene to hear. "Damn hollows." He snatched them from her hand before letting the boy go. The child looked up at her, surprised.

"Go," she whispered. He nodded quickly and ran off, clutching the bread tightly to his chest.

Solene watched him disappear into the crowd. She had just given away what little she had, and now she didn't know if she'd have enough for herself. But as she stood there, a strange warmth filled her chest—something stronger than hunger.

She sighed and turned back toward the tailor shop, but something caught her attention. A group of guards was moving through the street, their dark uniforms standing out against the dust-covered market. They weren't here for ordinary patrols. They were searching for someone.

She lowered her head and stepped aside as they passed. She had seen this before. Sometimes they dragged people away—sometimes thieves, sometimes those who spoke against the king. It was best not to draw attention.

As she made her way back inside, she overheard another conversation, this time between two men outside the shop.

"Another rebel caught last night," one muttered.

"The king won't stand for this much longer," the other replied. "He'll burn the whole Hollows if he has to."

Solene shivered. She knew little about politics, but she knew one thing: Velmora was not a safe place. Not for people like her. Not for anyone without power.

That night, as she lay back down on her cot, she stared up at the cracked ceiling. Her life had always been about survival, about getting through the day.

She closed her eyes and was about to let sleep take her.

But a noise from the street below made her tense, she could hear the heavy boots of soldiers patrolling the city. The distant sound of someone shouting before it was abruptly cut off. She curled up on her side, shutting her eyes tightly. I was not her problem. She couldn't afford to care. 

Velmora was a city of power and suffering, divided into strict social hierarchies that dictated one's fate from birth.

At the top sat The High Ring, a district of immense wealth and privilege, where the ruling elite wielded unimaginable magic. Sorcerers, warlords, and mystics resided in their towering estates, their power absolute. To them, the world outside their domain was insignificant, a kingdom of lesser beings to be ruled.

Beneath them lay The Merchant Quarter, home to traders and craftsmen many with lesser but still formidable abilities. Their magic was practical, woven into the tools they forged and the goods they sold. They lived better than the common folk but were still under the High Ring's thumb, subject to taxes, bribes, and exploitation.

Then came The Commons, where the powerless, the Hollows, struggled to survive. Born with no magic or abilities so weak they might as well not exist, they were considered lesser beings. They worked in the forges, the fields, the kitchens, serving those who wielded true power. To dream beyond their station was foolishness. To rebel against it was a death sentence.

Beyond that, at the city's edge, lay The Slag Grounds a place for criminals, outcasts, and those who had fallen from grace. Here, the infamous Gladiator Pits thrived, forcing men and women to fight for survival, their suffering turned into entertainment for the elite. It was said that the strongest warriors were forged in the pits, but few lived long enough to prove it.

Solene knew her place well. A Hollow girl had no future, only the endless repetition of struggle.