The night bled crimson.
They said the Blood Moon was a curse, that it marked the return of the Hollow Crown—a name buried in forgotten tombs and whispered in prayers too afraid to speak it aloud. But in the remote village of Wyrm's Hollow, curses were part of the air they breathed. Superstition danced in the smoke from hearth fires, and truth lay buried beneath ash and silence.
Kael Evernight stood alone atop the cliffside cemetery, wind threading through his raven-black hair, cloak flapping behind him like a battered flag. Below, his village lay shrouded in unnatural stillness. Not a crow stirred. Not a dog barked. The moon overhead was no pale guardian—it glared, swollen and blood-red, casting an eerie pall over the world.
He'd dreamed of this moon. Not once, not twice—but every night for a year.
A crown of thorns melting into ash.
A city of spires crumbling into black sand.
A voice behind the veil whispering his name.
Kael.
Tonight, the dream bled into reality.
"Kael."
He turned. His younger sister, Elira, barefoot and shivering in her nightdress, had followed him despite his warnings
"You weren't in your bed," she whispered. Her voice trembled more from fear than cold. "I woke up… and the sky was wrong."
He knelt to her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Go back, Elira. Stay with Mother. Don't leave the house."
"But—"
"No." His voice cracked like frost underfoot. "If anything happens, you take her and run. Run and don't look back."
Elira stared at him, eyes too wide for her small face, then slowly nodded and turned away.
Kael didn't watch her go. His eyes were drawn to the valley.
The trees were swaying. But there was no wind.
The ground hummed beneath his boots.
The ancient cairn at the heart of the woods—long sealed by moss and time—was glowing.
He moved.
Down the slope, over stones and roots and ghost-walked trails that only madmen dared tread. Toward the cairn that no man touched. Toward the place where his dreams always ended.
The clearing was bathed in moonlight. The cairn stood like a rotted tooth in the earth, massive stones forming an arch over a sealed door carved with runes older than language.
Kael didn't speak the words. He didn't need to.
The door opened for him.
And inside—darkness. Living, breathing, hungry darkness.
A thousand whispers coiled like smoke in his mind as he stepped over the threshold.
"You were born beneath the Hollow Star."
"A child of ruin."
"A name forgotten in light, remembered in shadow."
Kael reached the center of the chamber. A dais, stone and bone, rose from the ground. On it—a crown. Black. Twisted. Wrong.
The moment his fingers brushed it, the chamber exploded in light.
And pain.
White-hot agony flared in his veins. Visions slammed into his skull:
A kingdom torn by war.
A woman with silver eyes screaming his name.
A beast of void and teeth devouring suns.
And himself—crowned and cloaked in fire—leading an army of the dead.
He collapsed.
When he awoke, he was no longer alone.
A man stood beside the dais, armored in black and red, face hidden beneath a helm shaped like a skull. He held a spear that throbbed with malice.
"You took the crown," the stranger said. "That makes you the last heir."
Kael, still panting, rose to his knees. "Who are you?"
"I am the Blade of the Hollow Throne. Your death was foretold the moment you touched it."
The spear lunged.
Kael rolled aside, grabbing a jagged rock from the floor. Instinct moved his body, not thought. He struck the warrior's leg, buying a heartbeat.
The voice returned.
Call it.
"What—?"
Call the Flame.
Kael screamed. Fire erupted from his palm.
The warrior recoiled as the blaze surged like a serpent, coiling around Kael's arm, forming a blade of living fire. The heat was unholy, not of this world.
Kael didn't know how to wield a sword. But something ancient inside him did.
They fought.
Steel met fire. Sparks scattered like dying stars. Every blow Kael deflected sent pain up his arm, but he endured.
Finally, with a cry of fury and fear, Kael drove the flame-sword through the warrior's chest.
The body collapsed into ash.
The crown pulsed.
Kael dropped to his knees again, chest heaving. The crown called to him, not with words but with promises. Power. Vengeance. Destiny.
He picked it up.
And the chamber whispered one last truth.
The Hollow King has returned.