Velis Solara, Western District Branch of Sunspire.
The light over the top of the Sunspire tower pulsed once—once only—before fading to a low, amber hum. In the pre-dawn stillness, Velis Solara's Western Dispatch Hall came to life with silent exactitude. Scrolls drifted along unseen threads, categorizing themselves into levels—danger, secrecy, urgency.
And then it arrived.
A letter.
Not a scroll. Not inscribed. No Twelve Titles' sigil in wax. Only a sealed envelope, dust-gray and curled like parched skin. It glowed softly with Void-static.
The Sorter—a bronze-and-glass golem archivist that never slept—stopped.
For the first time in a hundred and seven years, it wavered.
The letter defied categorization. No code. No scent-tag. No Title aura. And yet it was heavy. Not material—but metaphysical. As if something within was not just written, but recalled.
The golem deposited it in the black tray—the one for Tier-Null occurrences.
High Inspector Aelren arrived at it an hour later. He cut the seal with a silver-etched knife, hands gloved in star-silk, senses wound tight.
Inside, in worn charcoal that reeked of charred memories, were seven words:
"Caelum is breached. Void beasts are hunting."
No name.
No sender.
Only a hasty ink-scrawled sigil at the bottom—a circle of open, weeping eyes.
Aelren took a sharp breath. His voice barely a whisper as he turned to the scrying orb.
"Contact Inspector Varrion. He's posted near Caelum."
The orb crackled. Whispered something back.
Then silence.
By dawn, the message had already reached one man.
Somewhere along the edge of Caelum Hollow
Varrion's camp was quiet, as if nature herself honored his quiet. Frost gleamed across the ground, but he sat shoeless on dark stone—unflickering, eyes shut, hearing not the wind, but the cracks beneath it.
The Mark on his shoulder—a silver crescent embroidered with ink-black veins—flickered to life.
A hawk-feathered messenger orb fell from the air and broke in half while it hovered, speaking the words directly into his head.
> "Velis Solara dispatch. Unconfirmed Void activity in Caelum Hollow. Tier-Null alert."
He said nothing.
Rather, he extended towards the fire, where his Starlight Serpent slumbered curled in hibernation. At his hand, the beast unwound—light pouring from its body like silk through water. It wrapped around his arm, then hardened, becoming a jagged living spear inscribed with mirrored runes.
He took a step forward, serene as a blade poised before the draw.
Snow leaned away from him. Trees winced.
And then he disappeared—springing into the darkness, a silver flash on the breeze.
In the caelum,
Ash fell like snow.
Every flake hissed as it landed on the ground, bearing whispers of something long lost. The trees groaned—not in wind, but in agony. Roots curled, blackened by the same disease that had consumed the sky.
Alex ran.
Not because someone commanded him to. Not for glory. Not even for vengeance.
He just wanted to live.
His lungs strained for air. His legs—scraped, bloody, shaking—moved only because the Mark compelled them to. It throbbed like a second heartbeat under his skin.
A flash of silver light flared from his shoulder, sending long, jerking shadows dancing over the bark. He staggered, caught himself on a splintered log, and winced as the gash on his forearm ripped further open.
But he didn't slow.
The void beasts were behind him—he could hear their claws tearing bark, their breath crackling with violet fire. Each one born of corruption, shaped by hunger, led by a will older than the stars.
His sight blurred.
Not from tears.
From the Mark.
"Stay awake," he whispered. "Stay. with me."
The Mark responded—not with comfort, but with hunger.
It pulsed again. Stronger.
A radiating light forced its way through the dirt on his skin. A Smoky Silver circle, as if moonlight attempting to filter through storm clouds. In the center: a black center, rippling like water ink, surrounded by thorny veins of red and purple.
It was a wound.
A breathing wound.
He saw the creature before he heard it.
A growl. A whisper of voidfire. And then the crackle of a twig—and it sprang.
Too quick to avoid.
Alex bellowed—but not with terror. He brought up his arm, reflex more than reason.
The nothing monster crashed. and was gone.
Its body shuddered into light, being drawn into the Mark in a burst of blazing silver. Alex reeled backward, panting, as power surged through him—hot, savage, inappropriate.
His veins glowed. His fingers fizzed. The world hardened—but not benevolently.
He could sense the price.
"This is killing me." he panted, knees weakening. "But not before I outrun them."
The next monster charged. He didn't blink.
He moved.
Faster than he should have. Stronger than his age should permit.
Not with elegance. With desperation.
He charged into the creature shoulder-first, his hand trailing light. The beast screamed as it shattered—absorbed again. And again. And again.
Each death nourished the Hollow.
Each breath shortened his life.
The trees grew sparse. The light faded. And then, quiet.
Alex fell to one knee, gasping. The Mark faded—but did not disappear.
The crow settled beside him. In watching.
No caws. No solace.
Just presence.
Far away, something stirred. Something worse than beasts. Something that waited.
But Alex stood.
He was just ten.
But he wanted to survive.
The town of Caelum lay in shambles.
Ash fell like snow. Lanterns remained lit in a few windows, dancing against the smothering blackness. The wind bore the smell of burnt remembrance.
The Hooded Man strode through it all, unscathed. His cloak flowed like oil in reverse, consuming the light it touched.
He paused at the library—its formerly majestic arch now fractured, symbols over the door half-destroyed. His gaze swept over the ruin, and his lips opened to speak—not in common speech, but in a tongue older than names. The Void listened.
The beasts froze.
They regarded him, as if waiting for command.
He moved cautiously. Each room was scoured: under broken-up altars, within locked-up archives, even behind the illusory panels of the Sunspire outpost.
Nothing.
His forehead furrowed. A faint, flickering burn seared beneath his collar—deep red, with crawling black veins. It throbbed, as though mirroring his frustration.
He came to the central hall and looked up at the broken ceiling where the Sunspire banner had previously flown. A piece was left, fluttering. Starlight in fabric, now dirty and frayed.
With one breath, he conjured a tongue of dark fire and held it to the fabric.
It dissolved in silence.
"Where is it?" he breathed.
His eyes changed—this wasn't merely failure. It was humiliation. Someone had gotten to it first. Someone weaker.
Someone disobedient.
His fists clenched. The mission he'd been assigned was easy: get the Shard before Sunspire acted. It had been somewhere in town.
He discovered a shattered house where a little kid had some toys and some books, like someone had been reading them stories.
There, he received the location of the reality shard.
And now that was missing.
He knelt where the shard had lain. There remained a slight impression—fractures in space like a spiderweb, all but imperceptible.
"It's not here !"
Not with trepidation, but shame. Whatever person had entrusted him with this task would not be lenient.
His eyes blazed with a fresh anger as he rose.
He would locate the thief.
The forest had fallen quiet. No wind. No animals. Even the crows were absent.
Alex lurched forward, each breath slicing into his lungs, the bark of trees streaking past him in bands of violet fire. His Mark throbbed weakly on his shoulder—Smoky silver, with corrupted light veins weaving toward his heart.
Then he halted. Not because he wanted to.
Something colder than death enveloped him.
The Hooded Man emerged from behind a crooked birch tree, as if the world had swung open the door specifically for him. His arrival did not herald itself with noise or fanfare. Just pressure. As if the universe was recalling something awful.
Alex was stuck. His Mark erupted involuntarily, responding like prey to the predator.
The man said nothing.
His own Mark—a Tier 5 Starbound—was concealed under his cloak, but its weight was undeniable. Reality warped weakly around him, as though the light itself was subject to other laws.
Alex reacted on reflex. No strategy. Only terror.
He flung his arm, blazing Hollow's Bargain into ragged curves of half-formed starlight—clumsy, raw, blindingly bright.
It went wide.
A flick of the Hooded Man's wrist was all it required.
Alex's body twitched like a ragdoll, flung sideways into a tree with a crack that sounded like breaking bones. He gasped, blood spattering the moss, arms dangling.
Coughing, he struggled to get up.
One eye refused to open. His legs trembled. He was only a boy.
But he stood up anyway.
He spat blood into the ground.
"But I won't die here. I won't."
The forest didn't care.
The Hooded Man dipped his head to one side, as if surprised. And then started moving forward. Slowly. Purposefully. The stride like he sure as heck would kill Alex today.
Within Alex's satchel, something throbbed—a spark of impossible geometry. A Reality Shard, responding to the tension in the air. The man's eyes flicked to it. His footfalls hesitated a fraction too long.
Alex stared back at him with one good eye. Bleeding. Broken.
Remaining upright.
That caused the Hooded Man to hesitate once more.
Then he advanced again—silent, unstoppable.
The battle was no longer about monsters.
Now, it was personal.
The Hooded Man glided like a sword drawn.
He bridged the gap in a matter of seconds—one step, then another, the third already imbued with deadly purpose. His Mark, though concealed, blazed with quiet potential: Starbound grade. Not explosion of light, not shriek of power—but the quiet erosion of natural principle.
Alex was unable to flee. Could scarcely draw breath.
But something deep within him came apart.
The moment the man attacked, Alex's Mark was ignited.
Smoky silver went bright, ash-veins along his body burning violet, then white. A scream—not from his lips, but from the Mark itself—teared through the stillness like a soul birthed too quickly.
Time broke.
A jagged burst of raw starlight spilled out from Alex's chest, slamming into the man halfway through his attack. Not contained. Not graceful. Just will—raging, molten will.
The forest erupted.
Trees cracked. Soil ripped towards the sky. Light warped wrong for an instant, showing the wound left by Hollow's Bargain—power not meant to be wielded by a boy.
The Hooded Man was hurled back.
Not close. But close enough to fall.
Close enough for uncertainty to flash across his dark face.
Alex fell to one knee, gasping, veins burned open with agony. The light of his Mark faded, but still throbbed weakly.
His hands trembled. His vision blurred. He hadn't struck with skill—he'd struck with refusal.
"I told you…" he gasped, clutching at the dirt. "I'm not dying here."
The man steadied himself, cloak fluttering with ambient energy. For the first time, he looked… interested.
Not in killing the boy.
In what he was becoming.
Alex fell completely, face to the ground, one hand still clenched as if grasping at something intangible. His Mark glowed again—slightly. But it was not healing him. It was merely. keeping him present. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to not disappear.
Above him, the illumination of the attack still lingered in the air—echoes of a screaming child with cosmic rage.
The forest stood watching silently.
The Hooded Man strode with death incarnate—silent, precise, unstoppable.
Alex couldn't outrun him. Could hardly stand.
But his Mark throbbed.
A gasp. A flash.
Then—explosion.
Silver blazed from his shoulder, veins running violet and crimson as Hollow's Bargain fired. Not a guided blow—just sheer survival. Scream of light.
The explosion caught the man dead on, taking him back. Trees splintered. The ground ruptured.
Alex fell, smoke wisping from his arms, skin fissured with starlight wounds.
"I'm not… dying here," he gasped, barely conscious, voice scraped raw.
The Mark still glowed, faint but stubborn, trying—failing—to heal him. It wasn't built for this. Not yet.
The Hooded Man steadied himself, cloak rippling. Not furious—curious. Measuring. His Mark burned faintly beneath his collar in answer, like a predator recognizing a cub that bit back.
Alex coughed blood, fingers clawing the soil. Still alive.
But only just.
Above them, the broken light shone like an open wound in reality.
And the world stayed still for a moment.
The Hollow had landed.
The Hooded Man's attacks were vicious, each blow rattling the air itself. His strength—Starbound rage—cut through the air like a sword. The crow's shield wavered, straining against the force of the attacks, but it held—for the moment.
With every strike, the crow's wings cracked, its ancient power draining. Its eyes shone with silent desperation, throwing one last warning.
"You look for the Shard. but it is already possessed. By one you will never locate."
The crow's voice was heard, its body becoming more and more translucent with each sentence.
"The Reality Shard. is taken."
The Hooded Man's face contorted into a snarl. He halted in mid-swing, his dark eyes glinting.
What do you mean? Where is it?"
His voice broke with uncontrolled fury.
The crow's wings faltered, the final remnants of its strength spent. Its voice fell to a whisper:
"The one who holds it. is beyond your reach."
The Hooded Man's rage burst forth. With a bellow, he charged at the crow, his Void-imbued power raging, eager to extinguish the final flicker of defiance.
The shield broke. But the crow persisted, though growing weak.
The crow burst forth into a storm of starlight and violet fractals, intercepting the attack halfway through.
Light met corruption. The woods exploded in fractured time and shadow.
But it remained. Barely.
And deep inside, the crow had but one thought:
"He's not ready… but I won't let him die."
The Hooded Man's blows came like thunder made flesh—each one warping the air, shattering trees, scarring the earth.
The crow hung over Alex's shattered form, wings spread wide. Glyphs throbbed along its feathers—old, fluid, barely readable.
It didn't strike back.
It shielded.
An irradiant barrier erupted from its chest—fractal starlight, interweaving into a lattice of silver and emptiness. Each of the Hooded Man's blows shattered it further, cracks branching like spiderwebs.
Within the barrier, Alex stirred—breath shallow, brow creased. The Mark on his body flared.
The crow's form faltered, Reducing his powers
"You will not undo him."
One last blow crashed into the shield. It cleft down the middle.
And for one heartbeat, all noise disappeared.
The crow bled light.
The barrier fell.
But Alex survived.
Alex was bleeding. The crow was lying next to him, broken and hurt.
The blade within the Alex's sleeves quivered.
Its edge shivered red, violet. then white.
It was not crying out for assistance.
It was electing war.
And it pointed—silent and definitive—at the Hooded Man.