The dreams began after the siege—if they were dreams at all.
Kael stood in a realm not bound by time or breath. A crimson sea shimmered beneath a sky of mirrored glass, each pane reflecting versions of himself: conqueror, tyrant, martyr, monster.
At the heart of it rose the Blood-Reflected Throne.
Not carved, but grown—woven from sinew and memory, forged from the lifeblood of a thousand fallen rulers. Every step Kael took toward it brought pain. Voices clawed from the shards around him: screams of the Vyr, whispers of lost kings, the echo of every strike he'd made in the System's name.
Then—he saw himself.
Sitting atop the throne was Kael—not as he was, but as he could be. Radiant and terrible. The blood-crowned god of a dead world. His followers bowed not from loyalty, but fear. His enemies wept not for justice, but extinction.
"Take it," the Blood System whispered. "You have earned this. Rule. Rewrite. Remake."
His hand lifted. The throne pulsed in response. He felt the hunger bloom again—the promise of order, of power, of finally making the suffering mean something.
But then—
"Blood is memory, not fate."
Duran's voice. Not loud, but anchoring.
Kael hesitated.
In the vision's fractured sky, he saw other paths: A caravan child's laughter. Duran teaching him to map stars with dirt and broken lenses. The look of someone who'd once loved him without fear.
He stepped back.
"No," Kael whispered. "I won't become what broke this world."
The throne cracked. The sea howled. The vision collapsed inward—and Kael awoke with blood on his hands, but clarity in his mind.
He would not rule through fear. He would not be the next Vyr tyrant reborn.
But as the System recoiled from his rejection, a new pathway unfurled in his mind: one the System had not offered him. One that perhaps it feared.
He wasn't just a weapon.
He was a memory that refused to obey.
•
It began with a pulse beneath his ribs—soft, then sharper. A throb, then a hollowing. Like something inside him was waking up hungry.
Kael clutched at his chest, staggering to the edge of the campfire's dying glow. His breath hitched. It wasn't pain, exactly. It was absence. Like someone had carved a hole into his center and forgotten to tell him what they'd taken.
[Blood Core Destabilizing: Hunger Threshold 78%]
[Stabilization Required: Feed or Seal]
He fell to one knee.
The System's voice was cold and calm. Efficient. Uncaring. A heartbeat later, he felt the hunger gnawing at his mind—twisting memories into temptations.
He saw Sereya's open throat. Tarren's broken spine. Duran, arms outstretched, offering himself like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"No," Kael whispered, eyes wide. "No, I'm not like that. I'm not—"
"Kael!"
Duran's voice cut through the spiral. The scholar sprinted down the sand ridge toward him, cloak flaring in the wind. He dropped to Kael's side, steadying him with both hands.
"It's happening again," Kael breathed, sweat cold on his skin. "The Core—it's hungering."
Duran's jaw tightened. "Come. Now. There's one chance to stop it before it feeds on something we can't get back."
The Temple of the Hollow Seal
They moved fast, riding across dried riverbeds under the bleeding sky. Duran didn't speak much—he was focused, searching. At last, they reached a buried ruin, half-consumed by time and ash.
Inside: silence. The air was thick with age and dust. They descended into the heart of it, where a circular chamber pulsed faintly with rune-light.
"This is where the Rite of Containment was once practiced," Duran explained, unfurling a brittle scroll. "Ancient Bloodbearers used it to still the Core without feeding it. Temporarily."
Kael leaned against a wall, breathing hard. "What does it cost?"
"Memory." Duran's voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of guilt. "Not just any. A cherished one. The more vivid, the stronger the binding. You offer something the Core can consume without blood."
Kael's stomach twisted. "It wants who I used to be."
"No," Duran said softly. "It wants what still makes you human."
Kael looked down at his hands. Calloused. Stained. Trembling. "And if I don't do the ritual?"
"You collapse. And the Core takes what it wants."
The Stranger in the Shadows
As they began drawing the blood-runes in the chamber's dust floor, a third presence announced itself with a quiet ripple.
"Interesting place for a ritual," a voice said from the doorway.
Both Kael and Duran turned, weapons half-drawn. A figure stepped into view—hooded, cloaked in desert-grey, with a mask of polished bone. Eyes like glass. A scent like ozone.
"Who are you?" Duran demanded.
"I go by many names," the figure replied. "But tonight, I'm just someone who's solved your little hunger problem before."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You're a Bloodborne."
"Once. And something else now."
He held up a black crystal vial. Inside: a silver vapor curled like smoke. "This is called The Hollow's Veil. Mix it with your memory offering and your Core won't just still—it'll quiet for days."
Kael stared. "What's the price?"
"A trade," the masked one said smoothly. "Help me retrieve something from beneath the Iron Reliquary. In the Whispering Caves. After the hunger is still."
Duran shook his head. "You expect him to take corrupted alchemy from a masked stranger?"
"It works," the man said. "Or I'd be dead."
Kael looked at the ritual circle. At Duran. At his shaking hands.
He took the vial.
The Offering
The chamber darkened. Candles flickered against the carved stone. Duran read the incantations aloud, voice sure despite the tension in the air.
Kael stood at the center, blood circle complete. The vial hovered over the chalice of memory.
"What memory will you give?" Duran asked quietly.
Kael closed his eyes. A field of broken towers. Duran laughing in the rain. The first time he was taught to read the stars. The sound of Sereya singing while sharpening her blade.
He chose one.
He remembered the night Duran had wrapped a cloak around his shoulders without a word, after Kael's first collapse. No judgment. Just warmth. That memory had kept him from breaking.
"I give this memory," Kael whispered, "not because I want to forget, but because I want to keep going."
He sliced his palm and let three drops of blood fall into the bowl. Then a single drop from the vial.
The chalice hissed. The vapor turned blood silver. The runes ignited.
Pain followed—swift and strange. His chest pulled inward, like his heart was folding around itself. He screamed, once, and then silence.
The hunger vanished.
Kael collapsed, coughing. Duran caught him.
"It's done," Duran said, relief and grief in his voice. "You're stable."
Kael sat up slowly. His body was whole. His Core was quiet. But when he reached for the memory—it was mist. He could remember the cloak, but not the warmth.
"Is it always like this?" he asked.
Duran nodded. "Yes."
Debts and Departures
The masked man stood at the edge of the chamber, arms folded. "You've bought yourself time, Kael. But the Core will hunger again. The Rite buys days—not freedom."
Kael rose unsteadily. "You said something about the Iron Reliquary."
The man smiled beneath the bone. "I did. And we'll speak of it soon."
He turned to leave, then paused. "You chose a good memory. It tasted… rich."
Kael's fists clenched, but Duran gripped his arm. The masked figure disappeared into the dark without another word.
Dawn, Hollow but Whole
Outside, the sky had lightened. Not quite sunrise—but no longer night.
Kael stood at the edge of the ruin, hands in his pockets. The silence was vast, but bearable.
Duran stepped beside him. "We'll find another way next time."
Kael nodded, though his eyes were heavy. "Maybe. But next time, the memory might be worse."
"We'll face that when it comes."
Kael looked down at his hands—still shaking, but his.
"Thank you," he said.
Duran smiled faintly. "You kept the world from bleeding a little longer. That's enough for now."
And behind them, the Rite-circle cooled. The hunger slept—for now.