"Not every confrontation is against an enemy; sometimes the opponent is a forgotten version of yourself."
The hollow man's breath rasped in shallow, uneven drags. Each inhale sounded like gravel being pulled through a cracked flute; each exhale faded into a kind of silence that didn't belong in any living creature. Aarav wished he could pretend it was normal. Wished he could pretend the world around him still operated on rules he understood.
But nothing around him felt normal anymore.
Not the warped buildings leaning at impossible angles as though folding inward.
Not the shimmering air that flexed as if it had temperature but no heat.
Not the faint reverberations crawling through the ground like echoes left by footsteps that never actually happened.
Arin stepped away from the collapsed man, his expression carved from quiet dread and ancient memory. "We can't stay here. The imprint field is unstable."
Meera knelt beside the hollow man and touched his shoulder gently, as if some part of him could still sense comfort. "We can't just leave him."
"We're not," Arin said, voice steady but strained. "We'll bring him with us. But this place is still connected to whatever tore through it. If a second shard crosses, it won't be alone."
Amar lowered himself beside the hollow man and pressed fingers to his neck. "Alive. Barely, but alive. We move fast before the field shifts again."
Aarav hovered near them, hands trembling even when he tried to clench them still. "He pointed at me. He remembered… something about me."
Meera looked up at Aarav, eyes soft but fierce. "That isn't your fault."
"Maybe not," Aarav whispered, voice thinning. "But something used him to send a message."
Arin didn't deny it.
The silence he offered instead was worse.
Together they lifted the hollow man—Amar taking most of the weight, Meera guiding his head, Arin stabilizing his limbs so they didn't jerk. Aarav put a hand on the frightened boy's back and gently urged him forward.
The outpost stretched around them like a graveyard of memories—not burned, not destroyed, simply… emptied. A hollow shell where lives had existed only hours or days earlier. As if someone had lifted the meaning out of the world and left behind the shapes.
The deeper they walked into the crooked main road, the louder the hum inside Aarav's chest grew—shifting subtly, like the tone of a distant instrument sliding off-key. Then it sharpened, pressing against his ribs.
He stopped mid-step. "Something's ahead."
Arin raised one hand. "Stop."
Everyone froze, tension drawing the air tight around them.
At the center of the outpost lay an old stone well. Around it shimmered a faint distortion—not a full fracture, not a shard, but something in between. A _resonant ghost_.
A lingering imprint of something powerful.
Something ancient.
Something watching.
Arin walked toward it slowly, staff held low.
The air around the well rippled like disturbed water.
Then a shape formed—
not human,
not truly anything definable,
but unmistakably kin to the force that had cracked the boundary stone.
A flicker.
A broken outline.
An echo of intent burned into reality like an afterimage of something too bright to look at.
Aarav inhaled sharply. "Is that… him?"
Arin didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
The projection twitched like old film skipping frames. Its edges frayed, reforming, dissolving again. A faint whisper crawled into the air—not a sound exactly, more like the idea of sound scraping faintly inside the skull.
Not a word.
Not a voice.
A feeling.
Cold.
Empty.
Hollow.
Aarav staggered back as the sensation brushed him—light as breath across the neck, sharp as a blade gliding beneath thought. Not pain, not quite, but something that tugged at an inner thread he hadn't known existed.
"He's watching," Aarav whispered.
Meera grabbed Aarav's arm and pulled him behind her. "Aarav—look at us. Not at that."
Arin planted himself between the projection and the rest of the group. His grip tightened around his staff as though grounding himself. "This is a remnant, not a being. But remnants carry intention. And this one is directed at our Anchor."
Aarav swallowed, throat dry. "Is it dangerous?"
"Not physically," Arin said. "But mentally? Emotionally? Yes. If you look too long, it will pull your thoughts toward it. That is how the King erased the first minds he touched—slowly, quietly, through fascination."
The shadow flickered again, rippling like a heartbeat.
Aarav felt something brush against his consciousness—curiosity, hunger, familiarity. A sense of recognition that did not belong to him.
He gasped and stumbled.
Meera stepped between him and the projection, squaring her shoulders. "Back off," she snapped, glaring at the illusion as if it could hear her. "He's not yours."
The projection distorted—its form shuddering in a way that almost resembled annoyance. Or amusement. Or simply recognition.
Arin struck the ground beside the well with his staff. A burst of grounding energy cracked outward like a shock wave, brushing through their bodies with the sensation of cold wind.
The projection spasmed—jerking sideways, flickering into fractured shapes—
—then snapped out entirely, vanishing into thin air.
Silence collapsed back around them.
Arin exhaled slowly, leaning into his staff. "It's getting stronger."
Aarav wiped cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "What did it want?"
"All remnants want the same thing," Arin said. "Connection. Anchors hold the pattern of the world together. The King lost his anchor long ago. Now he seeks another."
Aarav felt the weight of that settle into him—not as fear but as inevitability. Like something had always been waiting for him, and now it had simply been acknowledged.
"I'm not becoming him," Aarav said, voice trembling but firm.
Arin nodded. "Then you'll have to fight harder than he ever did."
Amar stepped forward, his presence grounding. "Then we fight. All of us."
Meera added softly, "But not alone. Not anymore."
Aarav looked at them—
Amar, steady as stone;
Meera, fierce and unwavering;
Arin, burdened with centuries of knowledge;
the frightened boy gripping Meera's sleeve.
Something inside Aarav shifted—
not fear,
not resolve exactly,
but recognition.
Acceptance.
"We take him with us," Aarav said, nodding toward the hollow man. "And anyone else we find. Even if they're like him."
Arin blinked, surprised. "You're sure?"
Aarav nodded again. "If this outpost fell because something was chasing me, then I'm responsible for whoever's left behind."
A faint smile touched Meera's lips. "Good. Because we weren't letting you decide otherwise."
Amar snorted. "Finally. A decision that doesn't make me want to knock you out and carry you home."
Even Arin's expression shifted, though he tried to hide it—admiration flickering beneath the lingering fear.
"Our next step," Arin said, "is to reach a place strong enough to protect our minds from influence. A place where resonance is anchored into the earth."
Aarav frowned. "Where?"
Arin turned to the east, toward hills wrapped in pale haze.
"The Temple of Hollow Stone."
Aarav felt the name settle over him like dust from an old tomb—
heavy, ancient, inevitable.
Meera exhaled. "Sounds safe."
"It isn't," Arin said. "But it's safer than here."
Amar lifted the hollow man again, adjusting his grip carefully. "Then we move. Before night decides to warp itself too."
Aarav helped the boy step over a fractured ridge of earth where the ground had sagged inward, forming a shallow bowl. Every shadow in the outpost seemed to stretch toward them as they walked, drawn by lingering resonance.
"Then let's go," Aarav said.
They crossed the boundary of the outpost just as the last light of day bled across the ruined homes behind them. The wind shifted, brushing through the empty buildings—almost like a sigh.
And as they left, the air shimmered—
once, faintly—
as if something in the broken place
noticed
their departure.
"He walked away knowing he hadn't defeated anything—he had recognized it."