The World Left Behind
It had been forty-three days since the Hollow King rose.
The kingdoms of men whispered of a blight spreading through the east — not a disease, but a stillness. Entire towns vanished, no survivors, no bodies. Just silence.
And in the center of it all, where maps once showed the ruins of Aerlyn, now stood something else:
A spire of bone and flame, pulsing like a heartbeat.
People began to call it The Wound.
But few dared go near.
Those who did… never returned with their minds intact.
Whispers Among Shadows
Deep in the forests of Vael, three figures gathered around a dying fire.
A priest. A thief. A soldier.
All had seen things. All had run.
None of them spoke Kael's name — not because they forgot, but because the air choked on it.
The priest finally whispered, "They say he killed the god."
The thief shook her head. "No. He became it."
The soldier muttered, "And she— the girl. She stayed."
"They both did."
Then came a voice from the trees.
"You're all wrong."
The flames flared suddenly, and a fourth figure stepped forward.
Old. Hooded. Eyes like rust.
"He didn't become a god," the figure rasped."He broke one."
Inside the Wound
Selene woke every morning in a world that didn't move.
Time dripped slowly, like wax.
The throne sat empty now.
Kael no longer needed it.
He stood at the heart of the Wound, arms outstretched, not breathing, not blinking — more presence than person.
Sometimes he spoke.
Not to her.
To the sword.
Or maybe as the sword.
She built a garden near him.
Not of flowers, but of memories — carved into stone, names etched in languages lost.
Nera. Darien. Queen Astrel. Even her own sister.
She didn't remember how she got the chisel.
Sometimes she thought she was dreaming.
Sometimes she wished she was.
The Sword Sleeps, But It Dreams
Kael wasn't dead.
But he wasn't alive either.
Every so often, the sword — embedded in the center of the Wound — shuddered.
And Kael whispered things no one understood.
"Four left."
"Blood for roots."
"The mirrors aren't done with me."
Selene tried to reach him once — touched his arm.
Her hand burned for three days.
She didn't try again.
Instead, she began writing.
On the walls.
On her skin.
On the bones that grew like trees from the ground.
And sometimes, when her head ached from silence, she heard Nera laugh.
The Outsider Returns
On the forty-fourth day, the air cracked.
Not thunder. Not magic.
A tear.
And from it stepped someone she hadn't seen in over a year.
General Voren.
But not the man she remembered.
His eyes were black, and his armor bore no crest.
Selene raised her blade. "You're too late."
Voren smiled grimly. "I'm not here to fight."
"Then run."
"No." He dropped to one knee. "I'm here to kneel. You won, Selene. He won."
Selene stared at him.
"I didn't win anything," she said quietly.
"You're still breathing. That's enough."
"No." Her voice cracked."It's not."
The Broken Crown
Voren didn't speak for a long time.
Then, as the air thinned and the sky flickered, he said, "The other kingdoms are moving. They think this—" he gestured around them, "—is a weapon. Or a throne. Or a curse."
"It's all three," Selene replied.
"They'll come for him."
"Let them."
"They'll bring gods."
Selene's eyes glinted. "We already broke one."
Voren looked at Kael — still motionless, humming faintly, like the edge of a blade against skin.
"He's not who he was."
"No," Selene whispered. "He's who they made him."
The Pact of Dust
That night, as the stars writhed above, Kael moved.
Not his whole body — just his hand.
He raised it, slowly, like lifting a memory.
Selene froze. Voren drew his sword.
Then Kael spoke.
Only two words:
"It begins."
The sword burst into light, and the Wound rippled outward.
In the farthest corners of the realm, dreamers woke screaming.
Storms rolled in reverse.
And the sky split open.
From it, things began to fall.
Not meteors.
People.
They landed without sound.
Wore no faces.
Carried blades of glass and breath.
Voren stared at them.
"What are they?"
Kael's voice answered faintly:"The ones that come after."
The Last Light of Kings
A council met in the capital of Dreon that same night.
Rulers, warlords, and surviving god-priests gathered around a silver flame.
They had one goal: Contain the Hollow King.
But none could agree how.
"Strike now, while he's still rebuilding."
"No, wait. The girl— she's the key."
"He killed a god. Do you hear yourselves?"
A child stood at the back of the room.
A servant. Or so they thought.
She lifted her head, and her eyes were pale gold.
"I saw him," she whispered.
They turned.
"Who?" a duke asked.
The child smiled.
"The king who doesn't blink."
Then she vanished.
Selene's Decision
Selene stood in the center of the Wound.
Kael beside her.
The sky had turned red. Not with fire — with warning.
Selene spoke softly.
"They're coming. With gods. With magic. With names that haven't been spoken in centuries."
Kael didn't move.
She touched his shoulder.
"Let me fight them."
He turned.
Slowly.
Painfully.
And met her eyes.
"Would you kill me… if I asked?"
Her breath caught.
And she said nothing.
Because she didn't know the answer.
The Dream of Before
That night, Selene dreamt.
Of a time before the sword.
Before blood.
Before power.
She and Kael stood on a hill, wind in their hair, no crowns, no curses.
He smiled.
"Promise me something," he said.
"What?"
"When it ends… let it end."
She turned to him, confused.
But he just looked forward.
At a city burning on the horizon.
And then she woke up.