I woke up with a name on my lips that wasn't mine.
It was gone before I could grasp it. The memory of it felt like smoke.
I was lying in a field of tall, purple grass under a sky with two small moons. I sat up. My head was full of static. Flashes of a world that couldn't exist. A room with glowing rectangles. The smell of rain on hot stone. The feeling of holding something, a small, hard object that fit in my palm... a phone? The word came to me, but the meaning was fuzzy.
None of it made sense. It was like trying to remember a dream after you've already opened your eyes. The pieces were there, but they didn't fit together. Who was I? The man with the phone? Or the man in the purple grass?
The only thing that felt real was the Hollow.
It wasn't in my chest. That's just the closest I can describe it. It was deep in the place where my "self" was supposed to be. A profound absence. A silence so loud it drowned out everything else. I felt less like a person and more like a sketch of one, waiting for colors that would never come.
I stumbled to a road. A farmer with a cart gave me a strange look. He spoke, but the words were nonsense at first. Then, slowly, my mind began to latch on.
"You lost, boy?" he asked. His voice was rough.
I just stared. Who was I? I didn't know. I couldn't find any answer to give him.
He waited a moment, then shrugged. "Well, don't block the road." He flicked the reins and his cart moved on, leaving me standing there in the dust.
So I started walking. I followed the road because there was nothing else to do. The walking became days. I learned the words for things slowly, by watching and listening. I learned to ask for "bread" and "water" with my hands and my eyes. People gave me things sometimes, mostly to make me go away. The Hollow made it hard to care. Why find food? Why find shelter? I was already empty. What more could the world do to me?
I ended up in a town called Oakhaven. I don't even remember how I got there. I was just... there. Standing in the market, watching people live. They had lives, histories, passions. I had static and a hole where my soul should be.
A memory flickered—a bright, noisy place. People were laughing. I felt a ghost of a feeling, something warm and social. It was gone as soon as it came, leaving the Hollow feeling even deeper.
That's when I saw the baker. He was shouting at a young boy who had dropped a loaf. The baker's face was red, his anger was a physical force. And for a reason I didn't understand, I was drawn to it.
I walked right up to him. I didn't want to steal. I just wanted to be close to that raw, real emotion.
He turned his anger on me. "What are you staring at, you vacant fool?"
His words shouldn't have mattered. But they did. Because as his fury focused on me, something shifted in that deep, empty place inside.
The Hollow... echoed.
It wasn't a sound. It was a sensation. A hot, sharp feeling that wasn't mine, but was now in me. For a single, breathtaking second, the absence was gone, replaced by the violent color of his rage. I was real. I existed.
Then he turned away, and it was over. The Hollow rushed back, colder than before.
But I stood there, trembling.
I had no name. I had no past. I had no soul.
But I had found a clue. Strong emotion, aimed at me, could touch the void. It was the only thing that could.
It wasn't a plan. It was an instinct, the first one I'd had that felt like my own.
I needed more.
I needed to do it again.
My eyes scanned the market. I saw a young couple arguing in hushed, tense voices. I walked closer, standing near enough to listen.
"...can't believe you forgot it, Lena," the young man said, his voice tight.
"I'm sorry, Jax. My mind was on the baby..."
I didn't understand their problem, but I felt the tension between them, a sharp, sour thing in the air. I stepped forward. "A sad day needs a happy heart," I said, repeating a phrase I'd heard an old woman say the day before.
They both turned to stare at me. The woman, Lena, looked confused. The man, Jax, scowled.
"Who asked you?" he snapped, his anger now pointed at me.
And there it was. The hot, red buzz flooded the Hollow. It was even stronger than the baker's, because I had pulled it to me on purpose. I stood there, soaking in the feeling, until Jax stepped toward me. "Get lost, you vagrant."
The connection broke. The red faded. But I had my proof.
Next, I saw a merchant looking bored at his stall of clay pots. I picked up a small cup. "How much?" I asked.
"Two coppers," he said, not even looking at me.
I didn't have two coppers. I fumbled with the cup, and on purpose, let it slip from my fingers. It hit the ground with a dull crack, breaking neatly in two.
The merchant's head snapped up. His face flushed with immediate, pure anger. "You idiot! You break it, you buy it! That's two coppers you owe me!"
The Hollow echoed with a clean, sharp, red heat. It was a purer anger than the baker's, less complicated.
"I have nothing," I said, showing him my empty hands.
He glared at my worn clothes, his fury not lessening but sharpening, now mixed with contempt. "Then you're a fool as well as a klutz! Get out of my sight before I call the guard!"
The red sensation intensified, mixing with a new, cold, slippery feeling—his disdain. It was just as substantial. I walked away, my mind racing. I could pull different shades of the same feeling from a person.
My final test was with the children. I didn't just trip. I sat near them and started making a figure out of mud and twigs. They crept closer, curious.
"What is it?" the girl with braids asked.
"It's a moon-dog," I said, the name coming from nowhere. "It chases the smaller moon across the sky." I made it hop along the ground.
They laughed. The sound was a fizzy, golden warmth that filled the Hollow completely. It was the best one yet.
"That's silly! There's no such thing!" a boy said, but he was smiling.
"It is if you believe it," I said. The golden feeling lasted as long as their laughter did.
By evening, I was exhausted but buzzing. I had spoken to more people in one day than I had in all my previous days in this world combined. Each interaction was a lesson. Anger was easy to get. Contempt was cold and sharp. Laughter was the best, but it was the most fragile.
As I settled into my spot behind the stable, I wasn't just a hollow man anymore. I was a student of a strange new craft. I had learned the first rule: to fill the void, I had to connect with people, even if the connection was brief, and even if it was built on a broken cup or a silly lie.