Chapter 60 – What the Hollow Remembers
Part 2: Under the Breath of Old War
They found the shelter by chance.
A half-buried ruin, marked by broken banners and collapsed blackstone. The glyphs carved into its entrance were long dead—mana bled dry, protection spells gone brittle—but it had a roof. And walls. And silence.
Enough for a night.
Luceris scouted the perimeter and warded it with three-layer sigils. Nothing fancy—just enough to give warning if something tried to crawl inside while they slept.
Serika secured the entrance, her blade resting in arm's reach.
Ariz said nothing.
He just sat cross-legged in the corner, back against stone, eyes closed.
His familiar didn't appear—but its presence pressed faintly against the far wall, like it was watching from the void between light and form.
They didn't light a fire.
The Hollow didn't like fire.
Instead, they sat in the half-dark—Luceris already half-asleep against the far wall, boots still on, smirking even in rest.
Serika sat closer to Ariz this time.
Closer than the last camp.
Still a careful distance.
Still respectful.
But not far.
"I've never seen you sleep," she said softly, not looking at him.
"I do," he answered, voice quiet. "Just not for long."
She folded her legs, resting her arms on her knees.
"Luceris says you never had formal training. That everything you do is just... learned. In blood."
"I didn't have teachers," he said. "I had targets."
She glanced at him then—really looked.
His face was relaxed now. Still, carved in hard lines and long shadows. The violet in his eyes dimmed in the dark. Not dulled—just deepened.
Not a boy.
Never a boy.
Not anymore.
Serika didn't speak for a while.
She didn't know how to ask what she really wanted to.
So she said something else.
"My first kill was at thirteen.A traitor to my house. He was hiding in the cellar.My father told me to burn it with him inside."
She smiled faintly.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"I wanted to fight him.Prove I could win.Father said, 'Don't waste strength on vermin. Use fear instead.'"
Ariz didn't reply.
But he opened his eyes.
She met them.
"He was right," she continued. "Fear works. Power works. But it doesn't feel like a win. Just feels like surviving."
Ariz tilted his head, studying her.
"You're not your father."
"No," she whispered. "But he's in my blood."
"So is something else."
He meant it.
And she heard it.
Not as praise.
Not as comfort.
As truth.
Luceris snored once, turning over.
It broke the silence like a match to a solemn room.
Serika chuckled once, under her breath.
Ariz smirked—not a smile. Just a shift in his cheekbone. A twitch.
But she saw it.
And she liked it more than anything he'd said all day.
Later, when Luceris was snoring again and Ariz finally leaned his head back against the wall, breath slowing—
Serika watched him.
Not long.
Just long enough to notice the lines beneath his eyes.
The way his fists stayed half-clenched even in sleep.
Like he didn't trust peace to last.
"You don't rest," she whispered, "you just close your eyes between battles."
She didn't move closer.
Didn't touch him.
But she stayed awake longer than she needed to.
Just in case something tried to crawl in.
Just in case something dared get past her blade.
And not for Luceris.
Not for points.
Not for her house.
Just for him.