The creature lunged, a blur of teeth and shadow
but it passed through me.
Like fog.
I staggered back, heart hammering, expecting claws, blood, pain.
Instead, I felt cold. A bone-deep chill that clung to my skin and crawled beneath it like worms.
Then the voice returned.
Not from the creature.
From inside me.
You are marked. Chosen.
Or cursed.
Depends who you ask.
I screamed, not from pain—but from knowing.
Flashes burned behind my eyes: fire, a ruined gate, a woman screaming my name
Lior.
I dropped to my knees in the dirt. My breath came out in sharp bursts, like I'd forgotten how to be human.
Behind me, the creature had stopped.
Its eyes flickered like dying embers.
You're not ready, it growled, its voice more wind than sound.
But they will come. The Hollowborn. And when they do…
It faded. Dissolved into mist like it had never existed.
The silence after was heavier than the scream before.
I stood alone in the valley clearing. The only sound was my own heartbeat—and the distant echo of something ancient shifting beneath the earth.
A memory stirred. Not mine.
A name, scratched into flesh.
A voice that wasn't mine, but lived inside me.
Your name is Lior Veyren. And this place… this is where it all ended. And where it will begin again.
Then the ground cracked.
A pulse, deep and rhythmic, like a heartbeat in the dirt. The grass trembled.
And in the distance, through the trees, I saw it
A broken temple, swallowed by the mountain.
Half buried. Half bleeding light.
The wind shifted, carrying with it whispers.
Whispers that said:
Welcome home.
My legs moved before my mind caught up.
The forest swallowed me as I stumbled forward, branches clawing at my clothes, roots grabbing at my feet like hands reaching from graves. The wind howled through the trees, carrying voices I couldn't understand—moaning, begging, laughing. Some of them sounded like me.
The closer I got, the warmer the air became. Not comforting warm. Fever warm. Thick, heavy heat that smelled like rust and burning leaves.
And blood.
The temple loomed ahead. Stones cracked and blackened, as if struck by lightning or something worse. Vines coiled up the walls like veins. Statues lined the path—broken figures with their faces scratched off. One still had a crown. Another held a sword that had melted into its hands.
A single step onto the stone platform, and the whispers stopped.
Silence.
Then, the pulse again—beneath my feet. Steady. Alive. Like the mountain itself had a heart.
At the entrance, a doorless arch. Symbols scorched into the stone, glowing faintly. My body trembled when I looked at them. Not from fear. From recognition.
I had seen these markings before.
Carved into bone. Etched in fire.
And one of them… matched the one burned into my arm.
I stepped through.
The light inside the temple wasn't natural. It didn't shine. It throbbed. A red glow that bled from the walls, pulsing in rhythm with the thing buried deep inside this place. The air tasted of ash and metal. My vision blurred, and the voice returned.
You shouldn't be here.
A whisper.
But not mine.
I turned.
Someone stood at the end of the hall. No face. Just a cloak. Blacker than the dark around it. No feet. It hovered just above the ground, and the air rippled around it like heat off fire.
Lior Veyren, it said, voice dry as old paper. You have no right to return. You should have stayed dead.
My mouth opened to speak, but something coiled in my throat. Guilt. Or maybe rage. I stepped forward.
I don't even know who I am.
No. But you will. And when you remember what you did… You'll beg to forget again.
The floor cracked beneath me. A blast of force slammed into my chest, hurling me across the temple. I hit the wall hard, tasted blood.
And then I saw it.
Behind the faceless figure, a throne.
Made of bones.
And something was sitting on it.
Something with my face.
It grinned.
Not with lips—those were torn. Not with eyes—those were hollow.
But the grin was there, somehow. All wrong. Like someone had remembered how to smile without knowing what it meant.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't fucking breathe.
The cloaked figure floated back into the shadows, bowing its head as if in reverence. As if that thing—that mockery of me—was some kind of god.
"Who are you?" I choked out.
The thing stood.
Its bones creaked. Its skin—what was left of it—cracked like dried earth.
"I am what's left," it said. Its voice was mine. Twisted. Decomposed. "What you left behind."
"No… I never
"You did. You don't remember yet. But your soul does. It came crawling back. And now… now you're bleeding into me."
The red glow in the temple intensified. The walls pulsed faster. My heart matched the rhythm.
I backed away, but the ground beneath me shifted. The temple groaned, stone grinding on stone.
Then I saw the markings on the floor. Circles. Chains. Sigils I couldn't read—but felt. Felt like teeth on my skin. Like old prayers made of screams.
"You were sealed here," I whispered.
"Not sealed," it said.
"Buried."
And it took a step forward.
Shadows peeled off the walls, like smoke being inhaled by a beast. They coiled around the thing wearing my face. Its eyes began to glow from within—dim at first, then burning white.
"You left this place to burn," it said. "And now you're back to finish the job?"
"I don't remember!" I screamed. "I don't fucking know who I am!"
"That's the best part," it growled. "You will."
The throne of bones began to rise. The room shook. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Chains snapped beneath the floor.
A scream erupted from somewhere deeper in the temple—high, shrill, inhuman.
"You have one chance, Lior Veyren," it hissed. "Run. Or stay. Either way, your past is coming."
Then
The ceiling cracked open. A column of red light shot down like lightning, engulfing the throne.
I turned and ran.
Behind me, stone shattered. Something clawed its way out of the pit where the throne had stood. Screeching. Laughing.
And the voice in my head—the real voice—screamed one word:
Run.
I sprinted through the undergrowth, branches slashing at my arms, thorns ripping my legs. The mountain trembled behind me, echoing with the unholy screeches of whatever I had left behind. The air itself seemed to tear as I moved, thick with power I didn't understand.
Something followed me.
Not just the creature. Not just the scream. But something bigger—older.
The forest darkened as if the sun had been swallowed. Leaves shriveled in seconds. Trees groaned and twisted, pulling their roots from the earth to escape. The sky bled red through the canopy.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out. I collapsed near a ruined arch, half-covered in moss and bone dust. My hands dug into the dirt, trembling.
The voice returned.
You're awakening.
I bit my lip until it bled. "What the fuck is happening to me?"
Your past is hunting you. And your future depends on remembering.
Lightning cracked above. I looked up—and saw something impossible.
A figure stood atop the broken arch. A woman. Cloaked in dark robes. Her face hidden beneath a porcelain mask, mouth twisted into a cruel smile painted in red.
"Lior Veyren," she said, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Echo Vale welcomes you back."
I tried to rise, but I couldn't move.
She raised a hand. The ground beneath me turned cold again—colder than before. The same rot. The same chill. My name began to burn on my skin.
"I serve the Hollowborn," she said. "And you, Lost One… you're overdue."
The shadows behind her moved.
Not one. Not two.
Dozens.
Eyes opened in the dark, watching. Waiting.
A laugh echoed through the trees—dry, mocking, ancient.
The last thing I saw before everything went black… was a blade, hovering just above my chest.
And the whisper of my own voice saying:
Not yet.
I woke up gasping, the scent of ash and pine in my nose, blood in my mouth. The blade was gone. So was the masked woman.
What wasn't gone… was the cold. The kind that didn't leave your bones.
I pushed myself up. Everything ached. The whisper in my head was silent now, like it too was holding its breath.
Then I heard it—a rustle. A footstep.
I turned fast, fists up.
She stood there, wild-haired, clothes torn, and holding a stick like it was a sword. "Don't move! I'm trained in seven types of forest combat."
I blinked. "What?"
She tilted her head. "Oh good, you speak. Was worried you'd be another moaning shadow-ghoul."
"I'm not."
"Well, you *look* like one," she said, circling me cautiously. "Dark eyes, blood, mysterious presence... Classic ghoul behavior."
"I'm Lior," I said, standing slowly.
She frowned. "Lior, huh? Weird name. I don't have one."
I glanced at her arm, expecting the same scar I had.
Nothing.
She shrugged. "Woke up an hour ago with zero memories, a splitting headache, and a strong craving for apples. Thought maybe the trees were trying to feed me."
Despite myself, I chuckled. She smiled.
It was a warm moment.
Too warm for Echo Vale.
The ground rumbled.
From behind her, the trees bent inward, cracking at unnatural angles. The air turned metallic, humming with unseen power.
Her face changed. "What is that?"
"Run," I said.
But we didn't run fast enough.
Something *snatched* her. Not a creature. A force. Like the air itself folded around her and swallowed her whole.
"No!" I dove forward, fingers brushing hers—too late.
She vanished.
Gone.
The voice returned in a cold whisper.
She was never meant to stay.
And suddenly, I was alone again.
Echo Vale… wasn't done with me yet.
The temple loomed ahead, etched into the mountain like a scar. Its stones were blackened by time, cracked by battles long forgotten. Vines had clawed over the broken archways, but the carvings beneath remained untouched—like they dared time to defile them.
Lior stepped into the shadow of the entrance. His breath caught.
A mural stretched across the inner wall—ancient, vivid, impossibly preserved.
It showed figures cloaked in light battling twisted shapes of shadow. In the center: a lone warrior. Faceless. Flame in one hand, darkness in the other.
Beneath it, a single line in a language Lior somehow understood:
"He who bears no past shall shape the end."
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Was that about him?
He turned—then froze.
She was gone.
No tracks. No cry for help. Just… gone.
Lior ran outside, eyes scanning, heart racing. "Hello?!"
Silence.
Then, a whisper—no, *a memory*—slid into his mind. Her laugh. The way she held that stupid stick. The first person he'd seen who made this cursed place feel… less dead.
And now she was missing.
Ahead, the mountain path forked.
Left: deeper into the temple. Toward answers. Toward the truth about who he was.
Right: toward the forest. The place where the air shimmered like a wound and she had vanished.
A voice in his head spoke again.
You must choose, Lior Veyren. What matters more: your truth… or someone else's fate?
And the wind answered with the sound of a girl screaming far, far away.