Chapter 39: The Hollow Call

Wind howled through the ruins of the outer realms.

Cael stood at the edge of the old world, the obsidian feather still burning in his palm. Its fire pulsed, not with warmth—but with warning.

Behind him, Selene tightened her grip on the girl's hand. Alina paced just outside the circle they'd carved into the ground with salt, ash, and forgotten names.

The earth trembled.

Not from magic.

From memory being disturbed.

"What is it?" Selene asked.

Cael turned, voice hoarse. "Something older than gods. Something we didn't write."

The feather hissed.

The girl spoke next, her voice not her own: "The Hollow One wakes."

All light around them dimmed, not from clouds—but as if the stars themselves were afraid to shine.

In a crumbling monastery high above the vale, a single monk remained.

He had waited lifetimes. Eyes stitched shut. Mouth sealed by spell and vow.

And when the feather flared in Cael's hand, the monk's body convulsed.

He tore the stitches from his own lips.

And screamed a name:

"Naerith."

The sound carried across realms.

Selene dropped to her knees, hands over her ears. Alina cried out.

Cael did not flinch.

He heard it clearly.

"Naerith," he whispered. "The first exile."

The girl gasped. "He was erased from all memory."

"Then why do we remember him now?" Alina asked.

The feather flickered.

And the answer came—not from voice, but from shadow.

A figure emerged behind them.

Wrapped in mist, faceless, featureless, full.

Cael stepped forward.

"Because he's coming back."