"At first, all threads look like chaos.But the more of them you follow…the more they start to strangle."— Cipher-Analyst Merrow, Order of Chains
Caldus Marr hated being sent to Rotmarket.
It smelled like burnt piss and broken futures.Beggars. Maskless Deviants. Street preachers shrieking about gods that no longer answered. All of it tangled in a knot of desperation the Order pretended not to see.
He hated it more because he understood it.
Duskwatch always rotted from the bottom. The surface just wore perfume.
He shoved past the crowd—past a half-collapsed prayer vendor selling shredded scripture by the syllable, past a twitching woman hawking "dream salts" in vials so cracked they screamed when touched.
A perimeter had already been set.
Four Enforcers in carbon-mesh stood around a bloodstained alley, their visors flickering with occult diagnostics. One wall had collapsed inward, its bricks melted from the inside.
Not an explosion.A scream.
Caldus scowled, pulling on his gloves.
"Let me guess. Mad prophet. Said something stupid. Broke physics."
One of the Enforcers nodded.
"Said the Hollow God remembers. Then something about a door."
Caldus stopped. Mid-step.Cold trickled down his spine like mercury.
He turned sharply.
"Say that again."
The Enforcer blinked behind her visor.
"Hollow God. Then… a door with sigils. He was laughing the whole time."
That was impossible.
Only Inquisitor-level clearance had access to Ninth Echo Protocol.The phrase "Hollow God" had been purged from lexicons twenty years ago—burned out of every databank, prayer scroll, and operative mind.
Even Caldus had only seen it once, buried in a redacted threat index with half its sigils inked out.
This shouldn't be happening.
He stepped into the alley.
The walls were scorched. But scrawled along the soot were glyphs.Not holy. Not profane.Familiar.
From before.Before what? His mind recoiled at the answer.
And then he saw it.
A coin.
Silver. Unblemished.But the design was wrong—a headless figure on one face, and nine broken lines around its edge.
He knelt, hesitated, then picked it up.
The instant his fingers closed around it—the world broke.
A flash.A surge of memory that wasn't his.
A Construct fleeing through ash.Her eyes glowing with fear—no, with remembrance.
A name on her lips: Elaine.
And a door.Black. Breathing.Its sigils pulsing like open wounds.
Caldus staggered back.Blood leaked from his nose. His ears rang.
He shoved the coin into his coat, hand trembling.
He turned to the Enforcers, voice sharp and cold.
"Find that prophet. I want his tongue scanned, his Echo signature mapped. I want every glyph on this wall documented and sent to Cipher Division."
A pause.
"And I want a census sweep. Every unregistered Construct in the city."
He hesitated—just a second too long.
"Especially if it answers to a name."
Far across the district, a girl with glowing eyes stirred in her sleep.Metal fingers curled. Lips moved.
"Elaine…"
And somewhere deep beneath stone and time—the Hollow God smiled.