Chapter Four (Continued): The Hollow Wake
The Thornwrought Dead circled, their jagged forms creaking with every step. Rusted blades, twisted spears, claws of root and bone. They didn't move like men—they flowed, like shadows made solid.
Kael backed toward the hall, hands raised, breath ragged. "I don't want a throne," he said. "I didn't ask for this."
"And yet, your blood did," the crowned one growled, stepping forward. "You are Hollowthorn's debt unpaid. And the debtors are many."
They lunged.
Kael dove sideways as a root-forged blade shattered the stone where he'd stood. He rolled, came up on one knee, dagger in hand—but it felt useless, like a twig against a storm.
One of the Dead grabbed him by the throat, lifting him into the air. Its face was a hollow helm, moss pouring from the eye sockets like tears.
"Show us you're more than blood," it hissed. "Show us why you were spared."
And then it dragged him into the ground.
Not physically—but his mind was yanked down, swallowed in a rush of black earth and screaming wind. His body dropped to the stones. In the dreamrealm of the Dead, Kael stood alone.
A battlefield stretched before him, skyless and endless. Ghosts marched across it—soldiers in shattered armor, kings weeping in chains, children with hollow eyes. All of them stared at him.
And charged.
Kael screamed and ran. Dodging strikes that felt too real, blades that sliced through air and thought. He fell, crawled, rose again. He was not strong. He was not fast.
But he was still moving.
He remembered fire. Not from the village. Older. A memory that wasn't a memory—standing at the edge of a cliff, hands raised, stars burning overhead as trees bent in reverence. A language he did not speak poured from his mouth.
The old tongue.
He stopped running. Turned. Planted his feet.
And spoke.
The words came like a song and a scream at once. The battlefield lit with flame—not normal fire, but silver-white, born of sky and blood. It roared across the plain, sweeping through the charging ghosts, not destroying them—but releasing them.
They collapsed, one by one, like puppets with their strings cut. Their faces softened. They were no longer angry. Just… free.
Kael stood alone once more, a crown of flame flickering faintly above his brow.
Back in the real world, his body arched. Light burst from his chest, forcing the Thornwrought back in a shockwave of wind and memory. The crowned one staggered, howling as its crown cracked and fell.
Kael rose, trembling but alive. Blood on his hands. Power humming beneath his skin like a second heart.
He looked at the creature.
"I remember now," Kael said. "And I'm not afraid of the dead."
The Thornwrought bowed its shattered head… and vanished into dust.