The sky bled slowly toward dusk, though no sun could be seen. Hollowspire's tower loomed over the valley like a candle caught between gusts, its once-brilliant glow dimming by degrees. The crystal walls that had sung with life only days ago now murmured uncertainly, a heartbeat stuttering between pulses of gold and gray.
Aric stood on the highest balcony and felt the change in his chest before he saw it: the rhythm of the Core had shifted. Each beat was slower, heavier, as though something immense beneath the world pressed against it from the other side. The resonance no longer flowed outward; it bled backward, feeding some unseen absence.
The wind carried the scent of metal and rain. When he looked toward the horizon, he saw the first signs of inversion—threads of light unraveling from the clouds, falling like molten glass, vanishing before they touched the ground.
The world was folding inward.
---
Eira's boots echoed as she climbed the spiral stair. She emerged from the shadows, her coat smeared with soot and luminous dust. "It's spreading," she said, breathless. "Reports from every direction—light collapsing into itself. The Faithbound call them Hollowfields. Whole forests turning to glass, beasts frozen mid-stride."
Brann followed, armor blackened from travel. "And the Accord's using it. They're calling the darkness proof that you've doomed us."
Aric didn't answer. He watched the horizon. A flock of birds took flight there—only to vanish halfway across the sky, swallowed by a curtain of black fog that reflected no light.
Eira moved closer, studying him. "It's feeding on you," she said softly. "On the Core. Every surge of creation draws its twin."
He turned to her, eyes faintly gold. "Balance."
"Parasitism," she corrected. "You're fueling it."
Aric looked down at his hands. The veins beneath the skin glowed faintly, but now a shadow threaded through them, black veins pulsing opposite the gold. "Then we find it," he said. "Before it finds us."
---
They left Hollowspire at dawn. The Faithbound begged him to stay, but Kaen and a small band of hunters followed, their armor etched with spiral markings. The air grew colder with every mile. The ground lost color. Trees turned to stone, their leaves shattering when touched.
By the second day, sound itself had thinned. When they spoke, their voices seemed swallowed by distance. Eira checked her readings again and again, though her instruments faltered. "We're near a Hollowfield," she whispered, as if afraid the world might hear.
The landscape ahead bent unnaturally—an entire valley turned inside out. Rocks hung in midair like slow raindrops. Water climbed upward in shimmering threads. In the center lay a crater filled with liquid darkness, perfectly still.
Aric felt it long before he stepped near. The Hollow's presence was not heat or cold—it was absence, a hunger that erased everything it touched.
Kaen gripped his weapon tighter. "This place is wrong."
Eira's voice trembled. "It's the world's reflection turned back on itself."
Brann spat into the dust. "Let's make it unreflect."
They entered.
---
Inside the Hollowfield, every step echoed like thunder, yet no sound reached their ears. Light warped around them, bending into rings that stretched and collapsed. Shapes moved beyond the edges of perception—shadows shaped like people, walking backward through time.
Serae froze, pointing ahead. "There," she whispered.
Something drifted through the darkness: a creature half transparent, half molten glass, its outline blurring between form and void. It looked like a stag made of smoke and crystal shards. Its eyes were hollow.
When it turned toward them, Aric felt recognition stab through his chest. He'd killed that creature weeks ago outside Halvspire.
But this version was wrong—an echo of that battle, reassembled from memory and void.
Eira whispered, "Echo Wraith."
Kaen loosed a spear of light. It passed through the wraith harmlessly, scattering into ripples. The creature opened its mouth and released a silent scream. Every shadow nearby convulsed. From the ground rose dozens more forms—beasts, humans, even a faint shape that looked disturbingly like Aric himself.
Brann's voice shook. "They're us."
Aric drew his blades, their glow struggling to hold. "Not us. What's left when we forget."
The fight erupted like a dream collapsing. Blades met ghosts. Each strike sent bursts of inverted light, white on black, painting the air with silent lightning. The wraiths fought like memories—each move unpredictable, repeating past strikes from battles long gone.
Aric met his own reflection mid-swing. The wraith version of himself moved with flawless precision, a dancer of darkness. Their blades collided, sending waves through the field that distorted space itself.
The shadow's lips didn't move, but he heard its voice inside his head: "You rebuild what I erase. You are not its savior. You are its echo."
The Hollow's whisper.
Aric faltered. For a moment the wraith pressed close, its blade sinking into his shoulder—not cutting, but absorbing. Pain flared, and with it came understanding. This wasn't corruption—it was balance seeking completion. The Hollow did not destroy. It equalized.
He fell to his knees as the wraiths dissipated into smoke. Around him, the valley quivered, the crater rippling outward.
Eira reached him first, gripping his face. "Aric! What did it do?"
He forced breath through shaking lungs. "It spoke."
Kaen growled. "The dark spoke to you?"
Aric nodded, voice faint. "It doesn't hate us. It pities us. It wants to end the noise."
Eira's brow furrowed. "End as in silence, or end as in extinction?"
He looked past her to the dark horizon. "Both."
---
That night they camped at the Hollowfield's edge. The stars above flickered—half gold, half black. Even the wind felt divided, carrying warmth and chill in alternating breaths. No one slept easily.
Kaen approached the fire, his expression hard. "The hunters grow restless. Some say we should spread the Covenant farther—burn the Hollow out with resonance."
Eira's head snapped up. "That will just feed it. For every spark of light, there's an equal shadow. You'll accelerate the collapse."
Brann crossed his arms. "So we do nothing while the dark eats the world?"
Aric stared into the flames, their light flickering in his golden eyes. "We can't fight balance. We can only understand it."
Kaen stepped closer. "Understand? It's killing us."
Aric stood, the fire bending away from him. "And killing it may kill the world. You still think in sides. Light. Dark. Core. Hollow. But what if there's only one wound, bleeding from both ends?"
Kaen's expression twisted. "Then you're already lost."
He left, his hunters following. The crack in the Covenant widened that night, silent but final.
---
At dawn, the Hollow spoke again.
Aric awoke to the sensation of weightless air. Around him, time had stopped—the fire frozen mid-flicker, ash suspended above the ground. A voice slid through the stillness, soft and ancient.
"You rebuild what I erase. You sing the song that drowned us."
Aric turned slowly. The world around him had dissolved into gray. In its center stood a figure woven from shadow and gold, neither man nor woman, both beautiful and terrible.
"You are not its savior, Aric Venn. You are its echo."
He felt its thoughts press against his own. The promise it offered was gentle, seductive.
"Join me, and the world will sleep again. No hunger. No grief. Only peace. The Core's song burns you. My silence will heal you."
Images flooded him—worlds without pain, forests unchanging, oceans still as glass. No death. No birth. Only quiet perfection.
For a moment he wanted it. The exhaustion inside him was vast. The Core's heartbeat hurt.
Then he remembered Hollowspire—the people singing, the child he had healed, the way the light had felt alive because it moved.
He whispered, "A world without pain is a world without pulse."
The Hollow tilted its head. "Then you choose to suffer."
"I choose to live."
The shadow's form rippled. Its voice grew faint. "So be it. The balance will find you."
The world snapped back into motion. Eira stood before him, shaking his shoulders. "You vanished! What happened?"
He looked at her, eyes darker now. "It offered peace. I told it no."
"Good," she said, though her voice betrayed doubt. "Because I don't think it'll ask again."
---
They returned to Hollowspire days later. The spire's light was weaker still, its hum fractured. The city below had changed—half the Faithbound gone with Kaen, half remaining but afraid. Strange hybrids wandered the outskirts: beasts with glass wings, humans whose eyes glowed faintly void-black.
Eira called them Divines. The Faithbound called them miracles. Brann called them curses.
When Aric entered the spire, every surface flickered between gold and shadow. The resonance lines etched in the floor split, some glowing, some dark. He felt the Core inside him recoil from its twin.
Eira followed quietly. "You're fading," she said. "Your glow—it's weaker."
He flexed his hand. The skin on his left palm had turned translucent, veins dark beneath. "The Hollow marked me."
"Can we remove it?"
He shook his head. "It's part of the equation now."
---
That evening, Hollowspire trembled. The sky dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again until the difference vanished. Eira ran to the tower's edge, instruments whirring. "It's happening everywhere! The Core's pulse is syncing with the Hollow's! They're collapsing into harmonic interference!"
Brann shouted over the rising wind. "In words that make sense!"
She turned, pale. "Day and night are fusing!"
Thunder cracked—not golden, but mixed, a storm of colorless light. The air split open above the valley. Half the sky burned gold, half black, the divide a perfect line running through the heavens. Lightning hung motionless, frozen in both directions.
Aric stepped onto the balcony, the wind wrapping around him like breath. He could feel both forces now—the Core's warmth in his chest, the Hollow's chill creeping from his hand. Two heartbeats out of sync, threatening to tear him apart.
Eira shouted, "Aric, what do we do?"
He raised his gaze to the divided sky. The storm reflected in his eyes—one gold, one void. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost reverent.
"Find the place where gods die."
And then the sky convulsed. The heavens split fully, the divide running from horizon to horizon, light and shadow locked in silent struggle. The spire groaned as both forces met at its peak.
For a heartbeat, all was still—perfect balance suspended between creation and erasure.
Then came the sound: not thunder, not wind, but a single heartbeat that shook the valley to its bones.
> Above Hollowspire, the heavens split in two — light and void, bound by a single heartbeat.
---
End of Chapter 14 — When the Light Falters