The wind howled through the abandoned ruins of what was once the village, its broken structures half-buried in overgrowth and decay. No one came here anymore. No one dared. Even the animals avoided the land, sensing what humans chose to forget. But Aaron could not forget. Not after all these years.
Ten years had passed since the entity had been sealed, ten years since he had walked away with nothing but scars and the memories of the ones he lost. The world had moved on. Graves had become a whisper, Matthias a faded face in his mind, and Elias… Elias was nothing but an echo of screams swallowed by fire and darkness. But Aaron had not moved on. He couldn't. The entity never left him. It lingered in the edges of his thoughts, burrowed into his dreams, whispering from the abyss.
It started as a voice. A murmur in his sleep, calling to him with an eerie familiarity, like a lover's whisper in the dead of night. At first, he ignored it. Then came the visions—fleeting, fragmented glimpses of the altar where they had sealed the Hollow One. The longer he resisted, the worse it became. Shadows stretched unnaturally in his presence, his reflection in the mirror lingered half a second too long, and sometimes, in the silence of his home, he would hear breathing that wasn't his own.
By the time the tenth year arrived, he had stopped fighting it. The world had become a blur, his thoughts no longer his own. His mind had been gnawed at for so long that it was difficult to tell where his thoughts ended and the entity's voice began. He had long since stopped dreaming of escape. He had only one purpose now—one task that had been drilled into his soul.
Free me.
And so, he had returned.
Aaron walked the overgrown path with slow, deliberate steps, a shovel gripped tightly in his hand. The moon cast pale light over the ruins, illuminating the collapsed structures and cracked stone pathways leading to the village's heart. The closer he got, the more the whispers intensified.
He could feel it.
The altar still stood, though it was now covered in moss and cracks, time having done its best to erase its significance. But Aaron knew better. He could still see the faint carvings along its base, the last remnants of the ritual that had trapped the Hollow One. His fingers twitched, the shovel shaking in his grasp. His mind screamed at him to stop, to turn around, to run—but his body no longer obeyed.
He placed the shovel's blade against the stone and raised it high. The whispers coiled around his mind, soothing, guiding, promising. One strike. That's all it takes. One strike and you will understand.
Then swung.
The impact rang out through the empty village, a sharp crack splitting the silence. A jagged fracture snaked across the surface of the altar. A deep, thrumming sound pulsed beneath Aaron's feet, like something ancient exhaling its first breath in centuries.
He struck again.
The crack widened, dark mist hissing from within like escaping steam. The air turned heavy, the temperature plummeting as the surrounding shadows twisted and elongated. Aaron barely registered the sweat dripping down his forehead, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands trembled, but not with fear. No, this was something else. Something euphoric. Something inevitable.
One more.
He lifted the shovel and drove it down with all his strength. The altar shattered.
Silence.
For a moment, there was nothing but stillness. Then, the ground beneath him rumbled. A deep, guttural sound emerged from within the shattered remains, something ancient stretching in the darkness. The mist thickened, spiraling outward like ink dissolving in water.
Then he heard it.
A breath.
Slow, deliberate, alive.
Aaron staggered back as the mist coalesced, taking form. The shadows trembled as something began to rise from the ruins of the altar. A figure, tall and gaunt, its shape shifting as though it were barely clinging to a physical form. Its hollow eyes locked onto him, empty yet filled with something beyond comprehension.
The Hollow One had awakened.
Aaron fell to his knees, unable to move, unable to breathe. The whispers that had tormented him for years now surrounded him completely, drowning him in their chorus. The entity's gaze bore into him, and though it had no mouth, he understood its words.
You have done well.
A sharp pain lanced through Aaron's skull as his body convulsed. He clawed at his head, gasping, but it was too late. The darkness crept into his veins, slipping through his skin like a parasite. His limbs twitched, his breath hitched, and his vision blurred. He saw flashes—graves, fire, Matthias screaming, Elias' final words before the explosion—then nothing but the abyss.
And then, he was standing.
But he wasn't alone.
His body moved without his command, his lips curling into a slow, unnatural grin. He turned to face the ruins, the village beyond, and the city miles away. He could hear them—humans, unknowing, unprepared. He could smell their fear, feel their hearts beating in the distance.
He had freed the Hollow One.
And now, it was him.
The sky above darkened, the stars swallowed one by one. The wind howled louder, a low, hungry moan that echoed across the empty landscape. As Aaron took his first step forward, the mist followed, slithering across the ground like fingers reaching for something unseen.
The Hollow One had been bound for too long. Now, it was free.
And the world would suffer for it.