The Hollow Kings

The road beyond the silence twisted west into a graveyard of stone.

The terrain was barren, cracked like old glass, and flanked by broken towers and buried statues half-swallowed by sand. For the first time in days, the wind carried no scent—no rot, no frost, no fire. Just dust, and the weight of ages.

Mike checked the map again. The trail led through what was once a city, though now it was nothing more than shattered bones. Buildings reduced to shells. Pillars cracked and leaning like drunken sentinels.

Ren brushed frost from an inscription etched into a fallen archway.

"Sydorath." He looked at Mike. "I've heard that name before. From my mother. She said it was the seat of the first Speakers."

Mike felt the weight of the map shift in his satchel. "Then we're walking through their ashes."

They entered the ruins.

⸻

The city was silent, but not dead.

Echoes lingered.

They found murals chiseled into stone walls, preserved beneath collapsed ceilings and broken lintels. They showed tall figures wielding bows wrapped in flame and light, walking among beasts that bowed to them. In one, a Speaker raised a hand to a dragon with shattered wings. In another, a circle of Speaker-kings surrounded a glowing gate.

Each mural bore a shared mark: a single flame ringed with three eyes.

"It's the covenant," Mike whispered. "The world was once whole."

Ren pointed to one mural in particular—a Speaker standing before a ruined city, bow lowered, his hand outstretched. Behind him: a child with a staff, a bird of silver, and a figure with no face.

"They tried to stop it," Ren said.

"Vlad?" Mike asked.

Ren shook his head. "No. Something older. Something worse."

⸻

They reached the heart of the ruins by late afternoon.

There, beneath a colonnade of toppled statues, stood a circle of thirteen stone thrones. Most were broken. All were empty.

At the center was a dais bearing the inscription:

"When the flame was broken, thirteen kings fell silent."

Aero landed in the circle. She paced slowly, warily, as if the ground itself breathed.

Mike stepped onto the dais.

The map pulsed again—faint, cautious.

He removed the three seals and placed them at the center of the circle.

Nothing happened.

But as he turned to leave, a stone beneath the dais clicked.

A stairway opened beneath them.

Ren gave a low whistle. "You're really good at triggering lost ancient stuff."

Mike allowed himself a tired grin. "Let's hope this one doesn't bite."

They descended into darkness.

⸻

The chamber below was preserved.

Crystalline walls shimmered with reflected glyphs. In the center stood a massive, hollow statue—twelve feet tall—of a Speaker with no face. Its chest was open, revealing a cavity like a heart, inside which glowed a flickering ember.

Mike approached. He could feel it calling to him.

Not the next seal.

A memory.

The statue spoke—not aloud, but in his mind.

"You carry three. The fourth lies in flame unkindled, in truth unbreathed. But beware: the gate you seek will not be the gate you find."

Mike staggered backward, heart racing.

Ren steadied him. "What was it?"

"A warning," Mike said. "The gate… it's not what we think it is."

They retrieved the seals and left the chamber, the stairway sealing behind them with a low groan.

As they climbed into moonlight, Mike looked back at the circle of thrones.

"They weren't kings," he said.

Ren frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They were guardians."

Aero cried above, circling once before heading south.

The path now pulsed stronger than ever.

Toward the final seal.

Toward the end.