Pain met him before awareness.
A piercing, hollow hurt erupted at the base of his head, and an icy breath hissed against his flesh.
Alex swore.
His lids drifted open into darkness… no—hazy orange light, jumping from a half-shattered lantern fastened to the rocky wall above. Cobblestone was hard and soggy, lumpy stuff under him with grime smeared on its surface and drips of some dark stuff. Blood, possibly. Hopefully the blood. Presumably old.
The atmosphere reeked.
Rotting wood. Rusted metal. Something sour, acidic. Breathing seared his throat. His muscles shrieked as he attempted to sit up, chains clinking weakly on his wrists.
He slowly blinked, attempting to make sense.
Stone walls.
Iron bars.
A cell. A prison.
He was not alone.
Seated across from him, on the opposite side of the tiny holding cell, clustered at least a dozen other children. Perhaps a dozen or more in age. Some younger ones. A couple older ones. All of their eyes had that same glazed sheen—terror. Desperation.
Chains held their hands and ankles prisoner. Dim scores glowed pink on the metal—binding spells.
Tier 2 suppression characters. Implanting into cuffs.
And. something else.
Alex concentrated deeper.
The chains attached the children to the wall in one long line of pulsing dim orange—like the dying heartbeat of a beast.
In the middle of the room, faintly traced on the floor, a rough Mark floated—Tier 3, he estimated—spreading from the floor in broken rings.
They were Chainbind Marks.
That was the reason for the suppression. His body weighed more. Even imagining this Hollow's Bargain Mark made his chest constrict.
Something was canceling out Marks. Or restricting them completely.
He ground his jaw. It was even worse than he had imagined.
"Hey… you're awake…"
A soft whisper from the left.
A boy, around eleven, with unkempt black hair and a bruise on his right cheekbone, hovered closer. His hands shook. "You just arrived this morning. They just dropped you like trash. Do you feel okay?"
Alex did not respond right away. His mouth was parched. His limbs hurt.
Where… are we?" he asked harshly.
The boy swallowed hard.
"Kairo City."
Alex froze.
Kairo?
His heart hammered once, brutally.
He recalled that name.
He had no idea why, or how—but Elias's voice rang in his head:
"If you ever get near Kairo—get out. Run. Never linger."
Alex's breath caught.
So this was it. Kairo. One of the Shadowwell's shadowy cities—where Sunspire laws counted for nothing, and darkness spread unchecked beneath wobbling lights.
"Here," the boy went on, his words constricted, "people disappear. Everyone says terrible things are commonplace here. If you're fortunate, you're sold. If not…"
He didn't continue.
The silence supplied the rest for him.
Alex surveyed the space once more.
Bars. Stone. Chains. No windows.
Only that one yellowed lantern hung overhead.
No crow.
No voice.
Only chains.
And just as he mustered courage enough to speak once more—he heard it.
A thud, heavy and wet, came from the corridor beyond the cell.
Followed by rasping, low breathing.
Footsteps.
And then—
The crow's scream of his name from far above somewhere.
"ALEX!!"
The scream died away, but it remained inside Alex's chest like a hammer blow.
The crow was alive.
Somewhere.
Still struggling.
A key turned in the lock.
Alex turned, as did the others. The corridor beyond the cell glowed with lamplight. A shadow loomed—broad, hunched, and sweaty.
The man who had stepped in resembled a grease sack on legs. His waist bulged the straps of his battered leather vest, and huge rings encircled each of his short, stubby fingers. His wheezing breath sounded like a ruptured furnace.
He grinned, showing yellow teeth.
"Good morning, worms," he croaked. "Hope the chains ain't too tight. You lot have two days of freedom left."
The boy sitting next to Alex turned white.
"W-What do you mean?" asked a girl, hardly above a whisper.
The man's smile grew broader.
"Means you're gettin' shipped soon. New buyers want fresh stock. And you? You're ripe."
He strolled along the bars, striking each child's head with a heavy wooden baton.
"Y'see, our lovely Chainbind Mark keeps even the feistiest little brats nice and quiet. No Mark sparks. No tricks. Just good behavior."
Alex winced as the baton approached. He raised his eyes—locking gazes with the man.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
Those eyes weren't merely cruel. They were starving.
Twisted.
Hungry for something to shatter.
When the baton was headed in his direction, Alex remained still.
The man hesitated.
"You. The new one."
Alex said nothing.
The man sniffed, moving closer.
"Got fire in you. I can smell it. But you'll break too. They always break."
He turned away, laughing.
"Boss wants to know if the shipment's ready," a voice said from behind.
Another person came in. Thin, masked, carrying a glowing crystal tablet.
The fat man nodded. "Tell him it's complete. Last piece arrived this morning."
Last piece. That meant Alex.
"He said to send them out after moonrise."
"Then get them fed. Can't sell dead meat."
The masked man departed.
Alex leaned forward to the boy next to him. "Who are they?"
"They operate the lower Kairo trades. Gangs. Not like Sunspire officers. They sport counterfeit Marks—layered stacks. That Chainbind one? Tier 3, but fake. Distorted."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "Fake how?"
"It flashes. Like it's devoured others."
That made sense of the layered suppression. Perhaps it was taking in weaker Marks to become stronger.
"What's next after two days?" Alex asked.
The boy didn't respond.
A girl in the cell across did. Her tone was dull.
"They sell us."
Alex's fists clenched in the cuffs.
Then he noticed something—the Chainbind Mark etched into the floor. It pulsed. Once. Then again. Slower.
Weaker?
If the Mark flickered…
Could it fail?
The fat man laughed again as he slammed the cell door shut. "Eat fast, kids. You'll need your strength."
The lock clicked.
Darkness returned.
But Alex's mind was awake now.
Waiting.
Observing.
Plotting.
The air burned with metal and rot.
Far beneath Kairo, the Gang Leader resided on his throne — a grotesque, twisted affair of rusted metal, topped by writhing chains that hissed and slithered like living serpents. The walls that surrounded him were wet with damp and inscribed with glowing Chainbind sigils, each thrumming dimly in the darkness.
A solitary glyph filled the wall behind him — a huge, unstable Tier 3 Chainbind Mark.
It quivered wildly.
Not clean. Not stable.
The arms of the leader were bare and ensnared in chain.
But the chains didn't bind — they obeyed.
They followed with him.
Clink. Shift. Breathe.
He breathed, gazing at the sigil.
"Still not full," he whispered. "Even after sixty-two. it flickers."
Footsteps sounded.
A broad shadow moved in — Grint, sweating and wheezing. He bore no food this time. Only a message.
"We got him, boss," Grint grunted. "The last one."
The leader did not turn. "Describe."
"Red eyes. Silent. Does not speak much. Doesn't cry. Just stared, as if he was… waiting."
The Gang Leader's smile was slow, zigzagged.
"That one. That is the spark."
He rose.
Chains clattered over the stone with a rusty screech.
A ring of connected glyphs blazed around his feet — his own Mark, twisted and overloaded. Every link had absorbed smaller ones. But it wasn't balanced.
Too much shattered power.
He raised his right palm.
The glyph inscribed there blazed white — then glitched, flashing with angry red curves.
The light throbbed through the chains like blood.
He glanced up.
Dozens of slender red threads hung from the ceiling — like spider silk — each one attached to a life above.
Most glowed dim.
One… glowed bright. Crimson. Uncomfortable. Struggling.
"That's him," he snarled. "The one who struggled back."
He tightened his fist.
"Feed the others. Let them see hope. It mellows the soul before the bind."
Grint blinked. "And him?"
"Starve him. Isolate. When the moon reaches its crest. bring him to me."
The leader walked into the center of the room.
The chains slid, cinching tighter around his arms, then withdrawing beneath his skin like serpents vanishing into tunnels.
"Each chain forged in fear," he whispered. "Each Mark stolen makes me stronger."
His chest shuddered. The Chainbind Mark in the center pulsed wildly once more.
This time, the chains creaked.
Something within struggled back — a scream that shook the floor and sliced through quiet like jagged glass.
The Gang Leader hesitated.
Then grinned.
"The Hollow resists," he breathed.
He slowly turned back to his throne, sat down, and held up both hands.
The chains came back, encasing his arms like armor.
"Good," he growled. "Let it rage. It'll be sweeter when it shatters."
Meanwhile, in the valis solara City.
The chamber air was heavy with the weight of unspoken words, an oppressive silence lingering over the roomful of Sunspire's top officers.
Seated at the head of the room was Ryan, High Inspector, his face impassive as he waded through the reports of Alex's flight.
His brow creased in contemplation as he looked at the three senior inspectors standing before him—Caelia of the Eastern Branch, Aelren of the Western Branch, and Peter of the Northern Branch.
"We need to know the implications of Dren Vokar's. sudden disappearance," Ryan's voice broke through the tension, firm but laced with worry.
"The Southern Branch was founded on his influence—his teachings. His tactics were not merely strategic; they were foundational."
Caelia, her piercing eyes not revealing any emotion, nodded. "The Southern Branch has continued to rise steadily under Dren's leadership.
He was their anchor. His death. will be mourned. But the question lies: What do we do now?"
Ryan's hands drummed against the edge of the table.
"We will wait. The Weeping Eyes will take care of the problem. We've already ensured Dren's incarceration. But until then, we keep watch.
He went on, "The Everborn's Mark cannot be overlooked. The manner in which it changed Alex. I cannot emphasize enough that we've never seen anything like it before."
Aelren, whose tone was normally even, now had a sharp edge. "I concur. That child, Alex. his escape from Velis Solara was miraculous. What did we overlook? Was there something additional to his powers than we initially believed?
Peter's own composed nature had become contemplative. "The surveillance system was compromised—entirely overridden. It's like Alex waited until the perfect time to hit us. He did not do this alone. There was something additional to his departure than just a break.
Ryan gave Peter a keen glare. "You're right. The crack was. precarious. It ought to have folded from the strain of that power. Instead, it grew. Something caused the fissure, something within Alex. I need each of you to remain focused. The mission is simple: we address Dren's disappearance, follow Alex's actions, and we obtain answers.
The inspectors nodded, each of them silently recognizing the enormity of what had just occurred. But beyond the chamber, beyond the heavy wooden doors, three other individuals stood in quiet discussion: Lirien, Varrion, and Thaeleon. Their faces were obscured, each with their own minds running.
We all know how much the Southern Branch relies on Dren," Lirien started, her tone firm, though there was a hint of nervousness. "What now? Who will command them? We cannot allow that part of the land to collapse under such a lack.
Varrion spoke in a calm tone, his arms crossed on his chest. "They will adjust. But Dren's techniques—his manipulation of the Void and his ability to mold the people around him—cannot be easily matched. He was. unique. In some respects, we might never be able to fully comprehend his power."
"I don't believe the Southern Branch will ever be the same," Thaeleon said, his tone low. "The balance is shifting—losing such a critical player—will have ripples. And what about the mark upon Alex? What about the Everborn?"
The discussion lapsed into a moment of silence as Lirien's mind started to wander. Dren's loss created a chasm, but something else pulled at her, something deeper. The Mark.
The Bargain of the Hollow had consumed Dren's Void energy, leaving him helpless, but Alex's survival—his flight—had Alex questioning what was really going on.
She'd not been able to dispel the impression that Alex was more than merely a pawn in this game.
And the weird sense that clung to the air, even now, seemed to tug at her, as an unseen hand encircled her mind.
The creak of the chamber door made her jump out of her reverie. She looked over to see the senior inspectors emerging, their faces grave.
Caelia's piercing eyes met hers, and Lirien felt a fleeting, uneasy shiver run down her spine. There was no time for more conversation.
Later that night, in her quarters, Lirien sat before her mirror. The flickering candlelight played on the glass, casting wild shadows on the walls.
She attempted to concentrate, to quiet the maelstrom of thoughts raging within her mind, but it wasn't succeeding.
Her hand shook a little as she reached for a vial of ink to write a report, but the movement caused the ink to spill, staining the paper.
She scowled, her breath catching as the appearance of the blotches seemed to ripple in front of her eyes.
The image in the glass flashed, for one moment—a glimpse of something darker, more malevolent, behind her own face.
Lirien's breath froze. Her hands tightened around the edge of the desk as a chill wave ran through her, the lingering Void energy in the air seeping into her skin.
No. She closed her eyes, attempting to rid herself of the feeling, but it was too late. She had already sensed the pull—the creeping influence of the Void calling to her.
It was like it was whispering to her, telling her to take more. To accept it. To comprehend it.
Her breathing grew rapid, and she stumbled away from the mirror. Her eyes darted to her own reflection again, but this time, the red light that had previously only been a shadow now blazed hotter, just below the surface of her eyes.
She gasped, struggling against it, but her hands shook uncontrollably as she reached up to touch the chill metal of her insignia. The symbol of her rank.
Her eyes went dark.
For an instant, she thought she saw Alex again—his resolute face, his eyes blazing with the same fierce passion she had seen in him during their short fight in Velis Solara.
She recalled the instance when the Bargain Mark of the Hollow had come alive, draining Dren's Void energy. The mark. had it been imposed upon her as well?
The whispering voice reappeared. "You saw it too… didn't you?" The phrase lingered within her thoughts like a forgotten memory, an ominous forewarning.
Her fingers, now slippery with cold sweat, gripped her insignia tighter, but it only made the sensation worse. The pull at her soul was undeniable.
A last, desperate gasp fled her lips as her reflection distorted once again.
This time, it was not a passing glimpse.
The shadow under her own eyes darkened, and Lirien could feel something cold, ancient, and strong—something empty—take hold within her.
The room chilled, and her reflection stabilized.
But Lirien knew…
something had changed.
And it was only just beginning.