The kingdom of Hollowspire was dying.
Once, its towers shone white against the morning sky. TARITOTO Now, their stones were cracked, ivy choking their beauty. The rivers ran shallow, the fields turned to dust, and whispers of war curled through the air like smoke.
I was born far from the capital, in a fishing village on the edge of the western sea. My life should have been spent mending nets and hauling in the catch. But fate—cruel and stubborn—had other plans.
The day the soldiers came, the sky was black with ravens. They weren’t after fish. They were after me.
They dragged me to the capital in chains, saying I was “the chosen one.” I laughed in their faces. Me? A hero? I couldn’t even hold a sword without dropping it.
But the High Seer didn’t laugh. She said the old prophecy had been clear: When Hollowspire falls to shadow, the child born under the red tide shall bear the sword of kings.
The sword she spoke of was legend—The Blade of Hollowspire. Forged before the kingdom’s founding, it was said to cut not just flesh, but fate itself. For centuries it had been lost, buried in the ruins of the Dark Lands beyond the Veil.
And somehow, I was supposed to find it.
They gave me companions—probably to make sure I didn’t run.
There was Sir Calder, a knight whose armor was dented from more battles than I could count. He spoke little, but his eyes carried the weight of ghosts.
Then there was Kael, a thief from the city slums, all quick hands and quicker lies. I caught him trying to steal my boots the first night we camped.
Lastly, there was Lira—a mage from the Ivory Spire, her robes smelling faintly of burnt sage. She had a way of looking at people that made them tell her things they didn’t want to say.
We left the capital at dawn, riding east toward the Veil. The journey was long and dangerous—the roads were broken, the forests haunted by things that had learned to hunt men.
Three days in, we were ambushed.
They came out of the mist—shapes too tall to be human, their skin like stone, their eyes glowing like embers. Golems. Ancient war-creatures from the old days.
Sir Calder’s sword clanged uselessly against their bodies. Lira’s spells barely slowed them. It was Kael who saved us, hurling a pouch of alchemist’s powder into the air. When it exploded, the golems staggered long enough for us to flee.
That night, we didn’t speak.
The Veil wasn’t a wall or a gate—it was a shimmering curtain of light stretching across the land. On the other side lay the Dark Lands, where the sun rarely shone and shadows lived longer than men.
Crossing it felt like walking into ice. My breath caught in my chest, and for a moment I thought I’d frozen in place. Then it was over, and the world was… wrong.
The air was heavier, the sky a deep gray-green. The ground pulsed faintly under my boots, like it was breathing.
We traveled for days before finding the ruins. They were older than Hollowspire itself—massive stones carved with symbols that shifted when you looked at them too long.
At the heart of the ruins stood an altar. And on that altar, the sword.
It was beautiful—silver and black, its edge catching the faintest light. The moment I touched it, pain shot through me, burning like fire in my veins.
Visions filled my head—cities burning, armies clashing, a black crown rising above a field of bones. And then I saw myself, standing over the ruins, the sword in my hand, blood dripping from the blade.
I dropped it, gasping.
“That’s it?” Kael said. “You’re just gonna leave it?”
But the High Seer had never told me what the chosen one was supposed to do with the sword. Only that they would wield it. And from what I saw, that destiny didn’t end well.
Sir Calder picked it up. “If you won’t take it, I will.”
The moment his hand closed around the hilt, the blade turned black, shadows curling from it like smoke. Calder’s eyes went wide, then dark.
Lira shouted a spell, and the magic burst from her hands in a wave of white fire. The shadows peeled away, and Calder collapsed.
“It’s bound to you,” she said, looking at me. “No one else can hold it without being consumed.”
I didn’t want it. But leaving it here meant someone worse would find it. So I wrapped the hilt in cloth and strapped it to my back.
The journey home would be harder. Word would spread. Armies would come—not for Hollowspire, but for me.
As we left the ruins, I could feel the sword’s weight—not on my shoulders, but in my mind. It whispered to me, in a voice I couldn’t understand.
And though I tried to ignore it, a part of me… wanted to listen.