The Hollow King's Name

Chapter 23: The Hollow King's Name

The sky didn't just move—it peeled. Light bent inward over the horizon, like reality itself was cracking to make way for something bigger. Something ancient. Something watching.

Noah had seen weird since the day he fell through the mirror, but this? This was different. This wasn't strange magic or twisted monsters. This was purpose. Something out there had finally noticed him.

"Lyra," Noah said, "what do you know about the Hollow King?"

Her expression darkened.

"That name hasn't been spoken in the Veillands for over a hundred years."

Riven squinted into the shifting sky. "Because people are scared?"

"No," Lyra replied. "Because everyone who spoke it forgot they ever had."

Noah shivered.

The sixth shard pulsed in his hand—urgently now. It wasn't just showing him images or whispering impressions. It was speaking in pieces, fragmented memories bleeding through like ghost signals.

"He ruled before time had rules… when memory bled into matter."

"He was sealed—not destroyed."

"He is returning."

Noah turned the shard in his hand, watching as violet runes glowed along its edges. "Why me?" he whispered.

Lyra shook her head. "Because you're the bridge. Your Sight connects you to the shards. And the shards were once part of something bigger. Something he wanted to control."

"Wanted?" Riven asked. "You mean he doesn't anymore?"

Lyra didn't answer.

Instead, she pointed toward a jagged gap between two cliff faces. "We need to move. There's a Mirror Gate in the Ruptured Spires. It might get us closer to the last shard."

They walked in silence for a while—Noah still clutching the sixth shard, feeling its fear and urgency like a second heartbeat.

As they neared the cliffs, a sharp whistle split the air.

They froze.

From above, a figure leapt.

It landed silently between two broken stones—slim, fast, and cloaked in mirror-threaded armor that shimmered like moonlight. A metal mask covered the figure's face, shaped like a fox with no mouth.

Noah stepped back. "More Watchers?"

"No," Lyra whispered. "Worse."

The figure raised a hand, and the air rippled. A wave of silent pressure pushed outward, freezing the wind, silencing the mist. The sixth shard in Noah's hand went cold.

Then the figure spoke.

Its voice was distorted—layered and echoing.

"Veilwalker Noah Vale. The Hollow King summons you."

Noah blinked. "Wait. He knows my name?"

The masked figure tilted its head. "You carry the lost. You awaken the forgotten. He remembers you now."

Lyra stepped forward, staff raised. "If he wants him, he'll have to go through us."

"No," the voice replied. "He doesn't want the boy. He wants the mirror inside him."

Before anyone could respond, the figure snapped its fingers.

The world shattered.

Not in pieces—in time.

Suddenly, they were all somewhere else. Same cliffs. Same rocks. But younger. Less broken. The sun shone overhead like a memory someone left unlocked.

And standing in the distance—clear as day—was a version of Noah.

Maybe ten years old.

Running. Laughing. Chasing something through the grass.

Noah gasped. "That's me."

The figure appeared beside him again, still masked.

"Your memory is a prison. He built it for you."

"Break it—and he loses his hold."

Noah didn't understand, but he stepped forward instinctively, reaching toward the boy.

As soon as their hands touched—

A surge.

Images flooded Noah's head.

A room of glass. A throne made of teeth and silver. A man without a face. A voice made of wind and hunger.

The Hollow King.

He saw Noah.

He saw through him.

"You are my door," the Hollow King whispered. "And I will step through."

Noah stumbled back, gasping. The vision snapped. The sky returned. The cliffs returned. Lyra and Riven were beside him again.

The masked figure was gone.

In its place—etched into the stone—was a rune.

Not just any rune.

The same one burned into the back of Noah's hand the day he touched the first shard.

Lyra stared at it in silence.

"He marked you."

Noah looked down at his palm.

The rune glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the shard's heartbeat.

"I don't want to be his door," he said quietly.

"You don't have to be," Lyra replied. "We'll seal it. We'll shut him out."

Riven cracked his knuckles. "Or we break him in half and call it a day."

Noah almost laughed.

But the sky didn't.

The sky watched.

And far off in the distance, beyond the Ruptured Spires, a storm was forming.

Not wind.

Not lightning.

But shadow.

And inside it: a throne rising again.