The storm finally broke the next evening. Rain pounded against the Academy's towers, drowning out the usual clamor of students, muffling even the bells. The halls seemed emptier than ever, shadows pooling in corners where the torchlight couldn't quite reach.
Alaric, Clem, and Darvin moved together through the library's back corridors, their steps soft, their breaths shallow. They had no orders from Eldrin, but after the previous night's carnage, none of them could stay still.
It was Darvin who found the trail first — faint footprints pressed into dust near a forgotten stairwell, leading down beneath the eastern wing.
Clem frowned, tightening her grip on her dagger. "No one's supposed to use this passage. Not since the collapse last year."
Darvin smirked faintly. "Looks like someone didn't get the memo."
The stairwell spiraled downward, deeper than any of them expected. The air grew colder, damp, and foul with the scent of mildew and something sharper — metallic, like blood.
At the bottom, a heavy door stood ajar. Flickering green light spilled through the crack.
They pushed it open together.
Inside was a chamber unlike any they had seen before. Tall shelves lined with jars and vials filled the walls, their contents glowing faintly — fragments of shadow sealed in glass, scraps of bone etched with runes, and cages where small, malformed creatures whimpered in silence. At the center of the room stood a large sigil carved into the stone floor, glowing faintly with dark energy.
And beside it, bent over an open book, was Professor Corval.
He looked up slowly as they entered, his pale face lit by the eerie green glow. His smile was small, almost polite, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp, hungry.
"Well," Corval said softly, closing the book with deliberate care. "The prodigal children arrive. I wondered how long it would take you to follow me."
Alaric stepped forward, his fists clenched. "You knew. About the Hollow Ones. About the souls."
Corval's smile widened, thin and sharp. "Of course I knew. How else does one study a predator, except by watching it feed?"
Darvin spat on the floor. "You let students die. You wanted them to die."
Corval shrugged lightly, as though discussing spilled ink. "Progress requires sacrifice. Their souls were weak, fleeting things. But yours, Alaric…" He tilted his head, studying him. "Yours is different. Stronger. A perfect vessel. The Hollow Ones bow because they recognize you for what you are. The rest of us are just clever parasites, clinging to scraps of power."
Clem's hand tightened on her dagger. "And what does that make you?"
Corval chuckled softly. "A realist." He spread his hands, revealing faint black runes etched into his palms. "Eryndor's return is inevitable. I intend to be on the right side when he rises."
The sigil on the floor flared suddenly, green light filling the room. The shelves rattled, jars cracked, and the malformed creatures whimpered louder. From the sigil, shadows began to pour, shaping themselves into half-formed Hollow Ones.
"Consider this," Corval said, his voice calm even as the air trembled with dark energy. "A test. If you are truly destined to rule them, Alaric, then command them. If not—" His smile sharpened. "Then they will consume you, and my work will be complete."
The first of the shadows lunged.
Darvin was faster — he shoved Alaric aside, drawing his short blade in a flash of steel. The shadow's form split under the strike, but instead of dying, it reformed instantly, shrieking soundlessly.
Clem darted forward, her dagger glowing faintly with the runes Eldrin had carved for her. She slashed at the next Hollow, and this time the creature staggered, its form tearing like cloth.
"Runes work!" she shouted. "Keep striking!"
Alaric stood at the center of the storm, his heart pounding, the whispers already rising in his head. The Hollow Ones moved toward him, but instead of attacking, they hesitated — their faceless heads tilting, their bodies trembling.
"…Bow, our king…"
He clenched his fists. "No!" The word tore from his throat, raw and desperate. "I am not your king!"
But the Hollow Ones froze, caught between his denial and their instinct.
Corval's voice cut through the chaos. "Yes, you are. Stop lying to yourself, Alaric. They hunger for you. They belong to you. If you would just accept it—"
Darvin's blade slashed through another shadow, sweat dripping down his face. "Don't listen to him! He's twisted, Alaric!"
Clem ducked beneath a swipe, her dagger slicing clean through another. "We fight them together! That's what matters!"
Alaric's chest burned. Without Rudra's voice, without Kenive's fire, he felt weaker, lost. But when he looked at Clem's fierce eyes, at Darvin's defiant grin, he felt something else. Not the hunger of the Hollow Ones. Not the weight of Eryndor.
He felt choice.
He raised his hand. The amber stone flared, brighter than it had since Rudra's silence. The Hollow Ones shrieked, their forms unraveling under its light. The chamber shook, shelves toppling, jars shattering.
Corval staggered back, his smile faltering for the first time. "Impossible—"
The shadows dissolved, vanishing into smoke. The sigil on the floor cracked, its light dying.
Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breaths of the trio.
Clem raised her dagger, her voice sharp. "You're done, Corval."
But Corval only laughed — a quiet, bitter sound. "Done? No. This was only a glimpse, children. A taste of what's coming. You can fight me, you can fight the Hollow Ones, but you cannot fight destiny. When Eryndor rises, you will bow — just like they do."
With a flick of his runed palms, smoke exploded across the chamber. When it cleared, he was gone.
The three of them stood among the wreckage, hearts racing, the air heavy with the stench of shadow.
Darvin wiped sweat from his brow. "Well. I'd say that answers our question."
Clem sheathed her dagger, her face pale but resolute. "Corval's not just studying the dark. He's serving it."
Alaric's hands trembled around the stone, its glow fading again. His voice was low, haunted. "And he won't stop until he drags me into it."