The morning air in Reth Vale carried the metallic tang of rain-soaked ash. The ruins had grown quiet overnight, but silence in this city was always deceptive. Shadows moved where they should not, and I felt them, crawling over my skin, whispering from corners I could not see.
Ryven had already been awake when I stirred, kneeling over a set of crude maps and sketches. Their dagger lay across the table beside them, untouched but gleaming faintly as though sensing some latent danger in the room.
"You've slept long enough," Ryven said, voice low, without looking up. "Today, you begin the next stage. Control is not enough. You must understand the consequences."
I rubbed my eyes. "Consequences?"
"The Hollow takes," Ryven replied. "The fragment does not care about good or evil, right or wrong. It reacts to intent and desire. If your intent is selfish, careless, or unanchored, it will punish you. And it always does."
I shivered. Last night's encounter with the hunter still burned in my mind. The fragment pulsed faintly in my pocket as though agreeing. The memory of twisting the air, bending reality, felt like a wound in my chest that would not heal.
"Today," Ryven continued, finally meeting my gaze, "you will face a choice. One that will mark the first real test of your will and your humanity."
---
The first exercise was deceptively simple. Ryven set two objects on the ground: a rusted knife and a small, cracked mirror.
"Move the knife with the fragment," they instructed. "Do not touch it. Control it entirely with your intent. Then, for the mirror, move it with thought alone—but anchor it to a memory you value. Protect it. Do not let it be lost or broken."
The knife vibrated under my focus. My hands trembled, my heart raced. A moment of doubt and it fell, clattering against the floor with a metallic cry. The fragment pulsed angrily, and I felt a sharp tug at the edge of my memory. A face, a name, something I thought I knew, vanished.
I swallowed hard. Ryven's eyes did not flinch.
"Good," they said calmly. "You survived the first mistake. Learn from it. The fragment does not forgive ignorance."
The mirror floated, slowly at first, swaying like a leaf caught in the wind. I focused on the memory, on someone I cared about—someone whose name I still remembered. The shard pulsed, vibrating in my palm, and the mirror steadied. For a moment, the room seemed suspended in that fragile victory.
Then it cracked.
A fragment of the glass fell like a feather, and I felt it—another piece of myself had disappeared. This time, a memory, not a face, a feeling. The warmth of trust I had held for someone, gone.
"You see?" Ryven said, voice calm but firm. "Every action has a cost. Every success is paid in pieces of yourself. If you forget what matters, you become hollow without even touching the fragment again."
---
Later, Ryven led me into the streets, where ruins twisted into unnatural shapes. The Hollow did not always appear as a single, visible pocket. Sometimes it hid behind broken buildings or twisted alleyways. Sometimes it lured you with the sound of a crying child or the smell of smoke, tempting you to act.
"Fragments attract," Ryven explained. "The Hollow always notices, and so do others like you. You will learn to resist them, to navigate without succumbing. But first, you must test your judgment."
We approached a collapsed building, one corner still smoldering. Inside, a figure moved—small, trembling, and clearly alive. Ryven's eyes narrowed.
"You must decide," they said. "Do you risk the fragment to help, or do you leave them to the Hollow? There is no right choice here. Only consequence."
My stomach twisted. The figure—a child, maybe ten—looked up at me with wide eyes, smoke curling around their hair. Something inside the fragment pulsed violently. It wanted to act, to freeze the scene, to take control. My hands shook.
"Callen," Ryven said, voice sharp. "Control yourself. Anchor your intent. Do not let it decide for you."
I inhaled. I reached out, not to the fragment, but to my own sense of what was right. I focused on guiding the shard, using it to move debris, to clear a path without harming the child.
The fragment obeyed, slowly. Rocks and splinters moved aside, suspended in the air. The child crawled free, coughing but alive.
I exhaled in relief. The fragment's pulse slowed, but another tug hit me—another memory, another piece of my identity lost in exchange. I could feel it eroding, the edges of myself fraying.
"You survived," Ryven said quietly. "But remember, the Hollow does not forgive mercy or fear. It only measures intent and feeds on hesitation. Do not mistake survival for mastery."
---
That night, I sat alone in the Refuge, staring at the fragment. It was no longer just a shard of black glass; it had a life, a hunger, and a memory of its own. I felt the weight of every choice pressing down on me. Every time I moved it, I lost pieces of my past. Every moment of hesitation could be fatal.
Ryven watched me silently, letting me come to my own realization. "You must choose what you are willing to lose," they said finally. "Some will lose everything and still survive. Others will be hollow before they understand what they have."
I gripped the fragment tighter. My reflection in the mirror cracked from yesterday stared back at me—a reminder of what had already been taken.
---
The following days passed in a blur of training and small skirmishes. Ryven took me to the outskirts, where remnants of the Hollow bled into reality more freely. Broken fragments of time, frozen moments of violence, grief, and terror floated like ghosts in the streets.
We practiced manipulating these fragments safely—redirecting a falling cart, freezing a collapsing wall long enough to escape, guiding shadows to create barriers. Each time, the cost was measurable. Memories, feelings, and the faint warmth of trust dissipated like smoke.
Ryven never lied about the stakes. Each time I succeeded, a whisper in the fragment reminded me of the price. Each failure pulled me closer to hollowing.
"Control alone is meaningless," Ryven said one evening, as we rested atop a ruined rooftop. "You need intent, precision, and willingness to pay the price. You are not ready for hunters yet. But soon, you will face them. And when you do, you must not hesitate."
The city below was a labyrinth of ash and shadow. The Hollow whispered from every corner. Somewhere, a hunter moved silently, drawn by the fragment's pulse, waiting for the first mistake.
---
A week later, the test came sooner than expected. A rival Binder, one I had never seen before, appeared in the Refuge. Cloaked in black, eyes sharp and calculating, they demanded the fragment.
"You've been careless," the figure said, voice like ice. "That shard belongs to me."
Ryven stepped forward. "This one is under my protection."
The fight was a blur. Fragment pulses collided, throwing the air into jagged waves. I barely understood what I did, only that I had acted, guided by instinct and Ryven's instructions. The rival stumbled, retreating, leaving behind a warning:
The Hollow takes what it wants. Even you cannot hide forever.
I collapsed afterward, the fragment pulsing in my hand like a heartbeat that was not mine. Ryven knelt beside me.
"You survived again," they said, voice calm. "But this was only a taste. Hunters, rival Binders, the Hollow itself—nothing will wait for you to be ready. You must train faster. Think deeper. Anchor yourself harder."
I nodded, exhausted, my mind reeling from loss and fear. Every choice had a cost. Every action left a mark. And I knew, with a certainty that made my chest tighten, that nothing in Reth Vale would ever be safe again.
---
By the time sleep claimed me, I understood the truth Ryven had been teaching: the fragment was alive, and it wanted everything. Memories, intentions, emotions—it wanted to consume. The Hollow was patient. Hunters were persistent. And I was still learning to survive.
I awoke to the fragment pulsing faintly beside me, a reminder that power was never free, and every action carried a price.
This was only the beginning.