Hollow at the Center

Clayton sat on the cold stone ledge beneath the crescent window of his apartment, his elbows resting on his knees, hands laced loosely, gaze far away. The stars above Vyrith shimmered faintly, distorted through the floating rune-glass that shielded the academy's upper levels.

For the past hour, he'd been trapped in a spiral of thought.

What if he was the target?

Not Asher, not Eric—him.

The cards, the manipulation, the Hollow Circle, the carefully constructed illusion of choice… what if it was all meant for him to discover? Not to trap him, but to change him. Shape him. Someone, somewhere, had orchestrated this entire farce like a script—and Clayton had been reading the lines without noticing the author's handwriting.

He clenched his jaw. "Was I always just a variable?"

He'd done everything right—or tried to. Refused to bind with the Mirage Cascade. Dug deeper when others turned away. Resisted the marks of influence. And yet, the more he tried to escape the net, the more it seemed to constrict around him.

What if they weren't testing who would fall?

What if they were watching who would resist?

Who would adapt?

He exhaled, rubbing his eyes. He needed clarity. And for that, oddly enough, he needed Lily.

She was lounging under the shade of a spellwoven umbrella near the practice lawn, chewing idly on a sourfruit ribbon and pretending to read a scroll. Her boots were propped on a stone bench, her expression unreadable.

"You're staring again," she said without looking up as Clayton approached.

"I wasn't—"

"You were," she smirked, lifting her head, eyes glittering. "Let me guess. You've come to ask me about the mystery again? Another secret meeting? Or maybe you're just here because Cynthia wasn't available?"

He rolled his eyes. "She's literally at a potion seminar. And no, this isn't about Cynthia."

"Oho? A rare deviation from the script."

Clayton sat beside her and let out a sigh. "It's about the Hollow Circle."

That caught her attention. She lowered the scroll. "You're still on that?"

He leaned closer. "Where did you hear the name? Exactly?"

Lily raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to threaten me with Echo Chimes or anything, are you?"

"Lily—"

"Fine, fine." She twirled her ribbon between her fingers. "A week ago, a friend—let's say a 'source'—mentioned a list of secret groups operating behind the academy's power structure. Hollow Circle was one of them. It stuck because it sounded cool. The kind of name you'd find in an old fantasy pulp."

Clayton went still.

"A week ago?" he asked slowly.

"Yup. Just in passing. Why?"

Clayton's voice was low. "Because that's before anyone else mentioned it. Before I saw the sigil. "

Lily blinked. "You think it means something?"

"I think your informant is compromised," Clayton said firmly. "They weren't leaking secrets. They were planting them."

Her eyes narrowed, playful tone fading. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "If Hollow Circle was a hoax—then someone had to deliberately introduce it to the student grapevine before any of us started investigating. Which means they wanted the name to spread. They wanted us to chase it."

She leaned back, contemplative. "Then this whole thing's a misdirection."

Clayton stood. "Everything always has been."

The walls of Asher's mansion were as pristine as ever, lined with glowing runes and preserved relics from past royal patrons. But tonight, none of the trio cared for the grandeur.

They gathered around the obsidian table once again, silent at first, as Clayton recounted what Lily had told him.

"So the name was planted," Eric said. "Before we ever even had a card."

Asher crossed his arms. "Which means someone was laying the foundation weeks in advance. Not to trap us—but to make sure we followed a very specific trail."

Clayton nodded grimly. "They didn't want to fool us with lies. They wanted to guide us to false truths."

He pulled out the rough timeline they'd charted—when the illusion cards were received, when Marvin's name had surfaced, when Haltright was blackmailed, and when the Hollow Circle name had begun circulating.

"It's all too convenient," he said. "Marvin distributes illegal cards. Haltright approves fake electives. We get pulled in, follow a few clues, discover a 'secret faction,' and voila—we think we've uncovered a grand conspiracy."

Eric's brow furrowed. "But that faction doesn't exist."

"No," Asher said slowly. "It was hollow. By design."

Clayton added, "Every breadcrumb was meant to be found. Marvin's real, yes. But the Hollow Circle was just the dressing on the stage. The real director is still behind the curtain."

Asher looked thoughtful. "Then the cards themselves… the program… the fake council seats… it was all camouflage."

Eric tapped the table. "And the only question left is—camouflage for what?"

The room fell silent.

Then Clayton said what they were all thinking. "To corrupt someone. One person."

Asher's expression tightened. "You think that's still the goal?"

"I think it's the only goal," Clayton replied. "Whoever did this didn't care about spreading influence. They cared about sculpting a single asset."

Eric leaned forward. "They needed a candidate. They needed stress, isolation, exposure to forbidden magic, and temptation. A way to see who resisted—and who evolved."

Asher added, "And we played right into their hands."

They reviewed the list Haltright had sent them again. Most electives were clean. Useless. Some had no teachers at all. And Marvin's class, they now knew, was mostly a channel—a place where these cards could be tested without scrutiny.

"It wasn't even about illusion magic," Clayton said. "That was just the tool."

"They didn't want an illusionist," Eric murmured. "They wanted someone who could see through illusions."

The twist hit them all at once.

"This entire narrative we've been chasing—Hollow Circle, Marvin, the electives—it was the illusion."

Asher stood, jaw tight. "And now that we've seen through it…"

"They'll act," Eric finished.

Clayton exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "So either one of us is the chosen seed… or we just disqualified ourselves."

"But if we were the target," Eric said, "they'd have made contact already. Tried again. Unless…"

Clayton met his gaze. "Unless we already turned them down. When we rejected the card."

Asher nodded. "Then the seed must be someone else. Someone who did bind."

The implication left them cold.

There was someone out there, still active. Still carrying a refined version of the illusion card. Still being watched. Someone who hadn't resisted the design.

Eric's voice was low. "And if we don't find them in time…"

"They'll be harvested," Clayton said.

They stared at the table, the truth settling over them like mist. The illusion had cracked—but the play wasn't over.

And the real actor had yet to take the stage.