Beneath the Hollow Sky

The stairwell swallowed the torchlight as soon as they entered. It was like descending into the throat of a dead god — no wind, no echo, just a pressure that grew with every step.

Alric walked ahead, the torch held high. Maela followed in silence, her shoulders tight and eyes distant. Konrad brought up the rear, his blade unsheathed, though there was nothing to fight but the dark.

They walked for what felt like hours.

Then the stairs ended. And the air shifted.

The chamber they stepped into was vast and circular, with a ceiling so high it vanished into black. The walls were carved from obsidian, but not by hands — smooth, cold, curved like something grown.

At the center was a pedestal.

Upon it, a mask.

Alric approached cautiously. The mask was shaped like a human face, but expressionless — no eyes, no mouth, only smooth bone-white surface with faint red veins pulsing beneath.

He reached out.

Maela grabbed his arm. "Don't."

Konrad circled the room. "This place… it's not a tomb."

"It's a memory," Maela whispered.

Alric stared at the mask. "Whose?"

No one answered.

There was a deep hum — low and rising — and the pedestal cracked. The mask split in half. From its hollow interior, vapor spilled out, cold and bright, and the room trembled.

They stepped back.

The fog curled upward, shaping into a figure.

Not a man. Not a woman. Something… forgotten.

It had no face. Just flickering shadows where features might've been. It stood tall, but not steady — like a flame stretched too far.

"You returned," it said, though its voice was like ice in the skull. "But not whole."

Konrad stepped forward. "What are you?"

"I am what remains of your oath."

Maela's lips parted. "You knew us?"

"No," it replied. "You knew me."

The shadows surged.

Each of them was struck with a vision — not of the future, but of their first breaking.

Konrad fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

He saw himself as a child, hands bloody, standing over a man with a shattered skull. His father's voice in the air, not yelling — weeping.

Maela staggered.

She stood in an ancient chamber, dressed in robes she had never worn. People bowed before her. And she... was afraid. Of what she might become. Of what she had already chosen.

Alric's breath caught in his throat.

He was alone in a hall of stone. A man knelt before him, pleading. Alric raised a blade — not out of anger, but duty. The man was his brother.

They awoke, gasping, on the floor.

The figure stood still, silent.

"You were part of the first Circle," it said. "You shattered the Veil."

"That's not possible," Maela whispered.

"You've lived many faces," it replied. "The shards remember what you choose to forget."

Alric got to his feet. His voice was low. "What do you want?"

"To warn you," the figure said. "The Circle rises again. But it is no longer whole. The woman in violet seeks not power, but to seal the world. To trap all paths. All futures."

Maela stepped forward. "Lady Vael?"

The figure tilted its head. "No. Not Vael."

"What do you mean—"

"She wears the face of Vael," it said. "But she is not the first to wear it."

They stood in silence, processing.

Konrad spoke first. "If we knew all this before — if we were part of it — why don't we remember?"

"Because you chose to forget," it said. "You shattered the law. You buried the truth inside yourselves. And now, it calls you back."

The figure flickered.

"The gate must be opened. Or the world will end not in fire, but silence."

The pedestal began to collapse. The figure cracked, like glass under frost. The chamber groaned.

Then one final whisper:

"The mirror waits beneath the drowned city."

And it was gone.

They fled the chamber just before it collapsed in on itself. Dust and shadow chased them up the steps. By the time they reached the surface, the Vale was no longer quiet.

Above them, the sky had changed.

A second sun had risen — faint, red, pulsing.

Not real, yet casting shadow.

They didn't speak for a long time.

Konrad finally broke the silence. "So we're not just inheriting the mistake."

"We are the mistake," Alric said flatly.

"No," Maela replied. "We're the ones who can fix it. Because we broke it."

They turned toward the north, where the sky bled against the mountains.

Toward the drowned city.

Far away, in Ebron, Lady Vael stood at a balcony, watching the false sun rise.

Her hands trembled for the first time in years.

She turned to her Whisperer. "Send the Sigiled Ones. Tell them to burn the northern pass. If the shards remember… we'll make them forget again."

And behind her, her shadow moved — but her body did not.

TO BE CONTINUED...