Chapter Five: The One Who Waits

The Hollow King

There was no wind in the Wasted Realm.

No stars. No time. Only him.

He sat upon a throne of bleached bone and blackened glass, one hand resting on the pommel of his greatsword, the other curled around a chalice of frozen blood. It did not steam. It did not thaw. It was not meant to.

Silence reigned here, deeper than death.

Until she screamed.

A distant sound, like a crack in the firmament—a shattering echo in the old pathways between realms. It woke him like a lover's whisper, soft but electric. His blood stirred. The void responded, trembling.

She is dreaming.

He rose, slow and deliberate. A tall figure wrapped in voidlight and shadows, his form ever-shifting—sometimes man, sometimes monster. Always king.

He walked the edge of the Mirrorspire, looking out across his broken dominion. There were no lands anymore, only ruins. Once, his court rivaled the gods. Once, he commanded stars to fall.

Now, he waited.

Waited for her.

The girl born of thorn and moonblood. The unmarked flame, hidden in shame and sealed from him by fools who thought prophecy could be avoided if no one looked too hard.

But fate has no patience for cowards.

And now, after centuries of sleep, Elira had awakened.

---

He crossed the ashlands in three steps.

Each step split the ground, cracked the air, and left fire in its wake. The dead rose from their pits to kneel as he passed. Not zombies—souls, shattered and worn, bound to his will by oaths too old to name.

He reached the Mouth of Memory, a chasm where time still bled raw.

With a thought, it opened.

Images spun before him in flame and glass. Visions he had seen a thousand times, but never like this. Never with her at the center.

Elira.

Kneeling before the mirrored pool. Power bleeding from her skin like starlight. Her mark reborn. Her eyes wild. Her mouth—

He clenched his jaw.

She had kissed the Shadow King.

The flames showed him clearly—her hands in Kaelen's hair, her body arching, her lips parting not in fear, but want.

His want.

That boy had no right to touch her.

No right to teach her. Shape her. Claim her.

The Hollow King's fingers twitched, and the flames flared.

She was not his.

She was mine.

---

She was more than prophecy.

She was memory made flesh. Dream spun real. He had seen her before—not in this skin, but others. Dozens of lives reborn across time. Always hidden, always veiled, always torn from him before he could reach her.

But this time… this time the cycle would not repeat.

This time, she bore the full mark. The true mark. Not the moon's blessing, but the shadow's choosing.

She was the key.

Not to a prison.

To a door.

One the gods had sealed long ago. One only she could open.

And when she did, the world would remember who its first king truly was.

---

"You are awake."

The voice came from behind him, cold and coiled.

He turned slowly.

A woman stood on the edge of the chasm. Silver eyes. Horns spiraling back from her temples. Her body wreathed in smoke and lace. She bowed low.

"Mirela," he said.

"My king," she murmured. "The wards in the north are unraveling. Your name is being spoken again."

He tilted his head. "And?"

"Your influence spreads. Dreams crack. But the veil is still intact. The girl remains in Kaelen's hold."

"Not for long."

Mirela smiled. "Shall I prepare the hunting shadows?"

"No," he said. "She will come to me freely."

She blinked. "Freely?"

He stepped into the lightless air, fire dancing at his heels. "Yes. Because Kaelen will force her to choose."

"And you think she'll choose you?"

He turned, smiling. It was a terrible thing—knife-sharp, god-made.

"I know she will. Because I'm the only one who knows what she truly is."

---

He returned to the Throne of Echoes and summoned the oldest of his seers.

Three crones, twisted and skeletal, rose from the dark pool beneath the dais, their eyes stitched shut with thread made from his own hair.

"Speak her name," he commanded.

The air bent. The pool rippled.

"Elira of Moonblood, Daughter of Shadow and Fire, She Who Breaks the Line."

He stepped closer. "What will she choose?"

The crones opened their mouths in unison. "She will choose power. She will choose rage. And when the last moon falls, she will choose you."

He nodded once.

Then he dismissed them.

---

That night, he walked into her dreams again.

But this time, he took form.

No shadows. No tricks.

He stepped into the garden of her mind wearing the face he once wore long ago—golden-eyed, silver-haired, robes like dusk and crown like ruin. Not monstrous. Not terrifying.

Beautiful. Ancient. Real.

Elira stood beneath a tree that bled starlight. She wore a dress stitched from her own magic, and her mark glowed like fire beneath her skin.

"You again," she said.

He smiled. "Always."

"You shouldn't be here."

"Yet you let me in."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're not real."

"I am more real than that boy who kisses you out of guilt."

Something flickered in her expression.

"I've watched you," he said. "In every life. I saw you buried alive. Burned at the stake. Locked in towers and forgotten. You've always been theirs to hide. But never to keep."

"Why me?" she whispered. "Why do you want me?"

He stepped closer. Her breath caught.

"Because you are the only thing they fear," he said softly. "The truth dressed in beauty. The end made flesh. You were born to burn their thrones."

"And build what?"

He reached out—brushed her hair from her face.

"A kingdom where no one dares chain you again."

She trembled.

Then she slapped him.

The sound rang like thunder.

His head snapped to the side—and then, slowly, he turned back to her, grinning.

"You have fire."

"I have questions," she said. "And you won't answer them."

"I'll give you answers no one else dares speak."

"Like what?"

He leaned in.

"Like the truth about Kaelen's mother. The girl who wore the same mark. The one he murdered before the prophecy could come to pass."

She froze.

Lies. It had to be lies.

Except… part of her believed him.

Too much of her believed him.

"Why would you tell me this?" she whispered.

"Because the world is lying to you, little flame. And I will never lie to you."

His lips brushed her ear.

"When you're ready… say my name."

He vanished.

And she woke up screaming.