Chapter One – The Frost Marks
Marcus had never been an early riser, but something about that morning forced him upright. The frost on his bedroom window wasn’t unusual for November—but the marks were. Three jagged symbols, carved into the ice with a precision that made his stomach tighten.
He pressed a fingertip to the closest mark. The frost burned—not cold, but sharp, like tiny needles stabbing into his skin. Pulling back, he noticed the faint redness left on his fingertip, as if the frost had drawn blood.
“What the hell…” he muttered, brushing at the glass. His reflection shimmered oddly in the window. For a moment, he thought he saw her—a shadow of a woman in a red veil, standing behind him. But when he turned, the room was empty.
The day did nothing to soothe his growing unease. On the bus, a woman’s clouded-white eyes followed him. The barista at his usual café denied ever seeing him, despite him being a regular. His phone lost signal entirely, yet everyone else’s devices worked. Even the hum of his apartment felt wrong, vibrating at a frequency that made his chest ache.
Then, the crow appeared.
It was dead, lying on his kitchen counter with black eyes staring as if they held some secret meant only for him. Its feathers were slick with blood. Marcus didn’t remember opening the windows or door; all locks were intact. His hands trembled as he scooped the bird into a plastic bag and carried it to the dumpster. It was heavier than he expected, as if something unseen pressed down on it.
That night, sleep offered no reprieve.
He dreamt of her—the woman in the red veil. The world around him was misty, colorless, and endless. She moved through it like shadow stepping forward, voice brittle as ash:
"You’ve been chosen to carry the debt."
Marcus awoke, drenched in sweat. His apartment was quiet, but the words lingered, echoing in his mind. Chosen. Debt. Carry.
By the third day, the visions weren’t confined to dreams.
Crossing the street, he froze. There she was, standing among the crowd, red veil hanging still despite the breeze. Her hand rose slowly, deliberately.
Before he could react, her palm pressed against his chest. The world went black.
The city was gone. The crowd vanished. Only the wind whispered, and hollow-eyed figures lined the edge of the void, watching.
"Your debt begins now," she said.
Marcus fell into nothingness.
Chapter Two – The First Task
Marcus woke to a scratching sound.
Not the soft, half-imagined scratching of a settling building, but sharp, insistent, nails dragging across wood. His chest heaved. The memory of the crow, the frost marks, and the veiled woman pressing against him in the void made his stomach twist.
The scratching stopped. Then, a whisper—so faint he almost didn’t hear it:
"Begin."
Begin what? His mind raced, but instinct urged him to follow the command.
By mid-morning, Marcus found himself compelled to leave his apartment. The city outside felt… thinner, unreal. People walked past him without acknowledging his presence, shadows twisted at the corners of his vision, and every reflective surface showed flashes of the red veil—her watching, waiting.
Hours later, he arrived at a burned-out bookshop on a narrow, deserted street he didn’t recognize. Its sign swung crookedly: “Hallow & Ash.”
Inside, dust coated every surface like a gray fog. Shelves sagged under the weight of blackened tomes. The smell of incense and ash was suffocating. At the center of the shop, a single object rested on a pedestal: a ledger.
Its cover was stitched with human hair, pages brittle and yellowed, and it seemed to hum with life. Marcus’s hands shook as he reached for it.
The moment his fingers brushed the leather, a sharp pain shot up his arm. The symbols on his window flared in his mind, pulsing red. And then the whisper returned, louder:
"Cut."
Instinctively, Marcus drew a small knife from his pocket and pricked his palm. A drop of blood fell onto the ledger. The book shuddered, almost alive under his touch, and the shadows in the room leaned closer, murmuring unintelligibly.
He wanted to drop the ledger, run, scream—anything—but a pull deeper than fear kept him rooted. The whisper returned, clearer now:
"Feed it. Begin the debt. Serve."
The ledger flipped open on its own. Words in an unknown script glimmered faintly across the pages. When he tried to read them, they seemed to writhe, forming commands in his mind: fetch, offer, surrender. The instructions were simple, terrifying—and absolute.
By the time he left the shop, the sun had set. The city felt empty, hollowed. On the rooftops, crows gathered in tight flocks, watching him. Each step home was heavier than the last, as if the world itself resisted him.
That night, sleep brought no rest. The veiled woman appeared at the foot of his bed, as corporeal and terrifying as ever. Her hand reached for his face, brushing his cheek with a chill that burned.
"Your first task has begun," she whispered.
"Complete it, or the debt will claim more than you."
Marcus’s heart raced. He didn’t know what the ledger wanted, how to serve, or how much of himself he would have to give. But one thing was already terrifyingly clear: the veil was never lifting, and the debt had begun.
Chapter Three – Whispers in the Streets
Marcus thought the ledger was the worst of it. He was wrong.
By the third night after retrieving the book, the city itself seemed to turn against him. Shadows stretched in impossible angles along the alleys, whispering his name. Streetlights flickered, plunging him into darkness for long, suffocating seconds. Every reflective surface—store windows, puddles, even car mirrors—caught glimpses of her: the woman in the red veil, standing silently behind him, her presence unbearable, her voice a faint rasp:
"Serve."
He tried to speak to people. Tried to tell them he was being followed, cursed—but every time he opened his mouth, the words came out wrong. A stutter, a whisper he couldn’t control, or sometimes no sound at all. Strangers passed him on the sidewalk as if he were already a ghost. Panic rose in his chest.
And then came the first hallucinations.
They were subtle at first. A crow perched on a lamppost that vanished when he blinked. His reflection in a shop window smiled at him, even when he didn’t. But within hours, the hallucinations became violent—walls bled shadows, streets twisted into endless corridors, and hollow-eyed figures emerged from corners to follow him silently.
By dusk, he realized the curse was not content to haunt him alone—it was changing the world around him. The ledger’s instructions were growing clearer, written in his mind: Find the mark. Offer blood. Bring her here.
Marcus had no idea where here was. All he knew was that the pull of the ledger was irresistible. His hands itched with the memory of the first cut, the first drop of blood, and he could feel a gnawing emptiness in his chest that demanded he obey.
That night, when he tried to sleep, the woman in the red veil appeared again. This time, she spoke as if through his own voice:
"You cannot run, Marcus. The Hollow is closer than you think. Your mind is mine to shape."
The room darkened. Shadows stretched, twisting into shapes that lunged at him. He covered his face, but even behind closed eyelids, he could see her. She smiled beneath the veil, and a whisper cut through his thoughts:
"They watch, and they wait. Serve, or be claimed."
The city outside was no longer a city. It had become a mirror of the void he had glimpsed when she first pressed her hand to his chest. Marcus realized the curse was not only in him—it was leaking into reality itself.
He didn’t know who—or what—he was running from anymore.
And yet, he had no choice but to follow the ledger’s next command.
Chapter Four – The Hollow Watching
The first time Marcus saw them clearly, he thought his mind had broken.
Three figures stood at the end of his street, unmoving, faces pale and hollow where eyes should have been. They didn’t breathe. They didn’t blink. And yet, their attention was fixed on him, following his every step.
Marcus turned corners, darted into alleyways, tried to lose them—but the hollow-eyed watchers were always there. Around corners. In reflections. Sometimes, he would catch a glimpse in a passing car window, only for them to vanish when he looked straight at them.
He realized the curse had grown stronger. The ledger wasn’t just a book—it was a bridge, and every act of obedience widened the gap between him and reality.
By mid-afternoon, his apartment no longer felt safe. The marks on his window had multiplied overnight, sprawling across the glass like black veins. Each symbol pulsed faintly red, as if alive. Touching them burned, and whispering voices echoed in his skull: “Serve. Obey. Give.”
Marcus began researching. He scoured old libraries and online archives, searching for anything that resembled the symbols. He found fragments—references to a ritual called The Hollowing, a curse that bound the living to a debt they could never repay. Historical accounts spoke of victims haunted until madness or death claimed them, often leaving behind corpses or empty husks, eyes gone, mind broken.
His journal became a ledger of its own—pages filled with sketches of the symbols, notes about the hollow-eyed watchers, and frantic scrawls about visions and voices.
That night, Marcus left his apartment again. Compulsion drove him forward. He needed to obey the ledger. Needed to understand. Needed… something he couldn’t name.
The hollow-eyed figures followed, more numerous now, forming a silent procession along the streets. They didn’t walk; they glided, tilting unnaturally, moving like marionettes with invisible strings. When he passed them, they whispered, a chorus of hollow breaths:
"The debt is yours. The debt is yours."
Inside the burned-out bookshop, the ledger waited. Marcus approached it, but the shadows didn’t stop at the doorway. They poured into the room, swirling around him, whispering, leaning into his mind like a suffocating tide.
His hands shook as he placed another drop of blood onto the pages. The ledger shivered and shuddered, and Marcus felt it reach into him, tugging at the edges of his soul. He wanted to scream, to run, to fight—but he obeyed.
Because he had no choice.
Outside, the hollow-eyed watchers lingered. They would follow him anywhere, wait for him anywhere, and they would not relent. And through it all, the red veil flickered at the edge of his vision, smiling beneath her shroud.
Marcus understood, then, that the Hollowing wasn’t just a curse. It was a predator. And he was its prey.
Chapter Five – Bloodbound Ritual
The church had been abandoned for decades. Its spire was crumbling, windows shattered, and the air inside smelled of rot and decay. But when Marcus approached, compelled by the ledger, the doors swung open as if they were expecting him.
Inside, the shadows moved differently. They weren’t just patches of darkness—they had shape, mass, intent. The hollow-eyed watchers lined the walls, silent and still, their gaze fixed. He tried to speak, but no words came.
The ledger hovered in front of him, its pages fluttering. Symbols glowed faint red, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He had no choice. Another cut. Another drop of blood.
When the crimson fell onto the page, the room shuddered. The shadows writhed. The hollow-eyed watchers leaned closer, their whispers filling his mind:
"Serve. Obey. Give. Serve."
Then she appeared. The veiled woman, more real than ever, stepping out of the darkness. Her red veil shimmered like fire, though no light came from anywhere. Her voice was a razor:
"The ritual begins."
A circle appeared on the floor, etched in ash and dried blood. Marcus recognized it instantly from the ledger. He knelt, hands trembling, and began to follow the instructions: chant the words the book placed in his mind, offer the blood in the right pattern, focus on the energy pulsing through the hollow-eyed watchers.
The shadows surged, clawing at him, trying to tear him from the ritual. Pain lanced through his arms and legs. For a moment, he thought he would collapse—but the ledger’s pull anchored him. Obeying was survival.
He felt it then: the Hollow was alive. Watching. Testing him. Every whisper, every tug of energy from the ledger, every pulse of the symbols in the circle was part of the predator reaching through the ritual, probing for weakness.
Suddenly, the hollow-eyed watchers surged forward, phasing through the ash circle. Marcus screamed as they pressed against him, hands like iron clamps gripping his mind, forcing him to relive every fear he had ever had. The veil of the woman brushed against his face, whispering:
"You are mine. Do not fail."
He poured the final drops of blood onto the ledger. The symbols flared, burning his vision with red light. The shadows recoiled, vanishing into the walls. The hollow-eyed watchers stilled, watching from the corners, silent but present.
Marcus collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving, mind fraying. The church was silent. The ritual was complete—or at least, it had been obeyed.
And yet, he knew this was only the beginning.
Outside, the city waited. The hollow-eyed watchers lingered on rooftops. The crow cawed thrice from somewhere unseen. And at the edge of his vision, the red veil shimmered like fire, smiling.
The debt had begun in earnest.
Chapter Six – Fractured Mind
Marcus didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear—but because he couldn’t. Every time his eyes closed, the red veil appeared, closer, pressing against his mind, whispering impossibilities, contradictions, and commands he could barely comprehend.
When he did manage to drift into half-sleep, the visions attacked. Memories that weren’t his invaded him: a child screaming in a burned house, a man with hollow eyes pleading for mercy, whispers in a language that shouldn’t exist. He began to wonder if they were real—or if the Hollowing was carving them into him.
By morning, he realized the curse wasn’t just in the shadows—it was inside his own skull. Every sound was amplified. Every shadow stretched unnaturally. Every stranger’s glance carried the weight of accusation, mockery, or threat. And through it all, the whispering persisted:
"Serve. Obey. Give."
Marcus tried to talk to friends. Tried to explain. But even those closest to him hesitated, their eyes vacant for brief moments, lips twitching unnaturally, as if they didn’t entirely recognize him. The veil was reaching through reality itself, and he was beginning to fray under its pull.
At the bookstore, the ledger waited, ever patient, pulsing with the same red glow as before. Its pages now contained instructions too complex to read aloud—images, sigils, and diagrams that shifted and writhed like living things. He touched it, and pain flared across his skin, sending shards of memory and vision tearing through his mind.
The hollow-eyed watchers didn’t need to move anymore—they existed in the spaces between his thoughts. When he walked down a street, he could feel their presence lurking behind walls, in alleyways, in the dark corners of every shop. Reality itself felt broken.
And the veil… she whispered constantly now, sometimes in his own voice:
"You are not you. You are mine. The debt is yours, and it grows."
Marcus sank to the pavement outside his apartment, gasping. The city around him had begun to warp, streets stretching impossibly long, lights flickering in unnatural rhythms. Every passerby was distorted, faces blending and twisting, murmuring words he could not understand.
The ledger pulsed in his coat pocket, a steady heartbeat calling him to obey. He realized he had a choice: continue following its commands, or risk losing not just his sanity, but the last remnants of who he was.
And yet… he couldn’t resist.
Because deep down, he already knew the truth: the Hollowing wasn’t just a curse. It was a living, breathing force, and Marcus was its tether to the world of the living. The moment he failed, the debt would spread—beyond him, beyond the watchers, beyond the city.
The veil flickered at the edge of his vision, red as fire, smiling.
"The debt grows," she whispered.
"And so must you."
Marcus rose from the pavement. He had no idea how much longer his mind would hold together—but he had no choice but to continue.
The Hollowing would not be denied.
Chapter Seven – Crossing the Threshold
The city had changed.
Marcus couldn’t explain it, but the streets no longer followed logic. Buildings twisted in impossible angles, alleys stretched into endless corridors, and the air vibrated with a low hum that pressed against his skull. Shadows moved on their own, reaching toward him with silent, skeletal fingers.
The ledger had guided him to this place—a forgotten subway station far from the map he knew. Its walls were cracked, and water dripped from the ceiling in slow, heavy drops that echoed like distant gunshots. But as he stepped onto the platform, reality fractured completely.
The red veil appeared first, standing on the far end of the platform, her head tilting unnaturally, watching him. Around her, the hollow-eyed watchers had multiplied, now dozens of them, drifting silently, circling the space as if it were a stage.
Marcus took a step forward, and the platform stretched beneath him, elongating like a bridge into nothingness. The lights overhead flickered out, leaving him in near-total darkness. He could feel the air thickening, pressing against his lungs, making each breath a battle.
Then the whispers began—hundreds of voices layered atop one another, repeating his name, mocking, instructing, demanding obedience:
"Serve. Obey. Give. Serve."
The ledger pulsed violently in his hand. The next instruction was clear, though unintelligible in words: he had to cross the threshold between this fractured reality and the Hollowing realm. One step, and the world would cease to be familiar.
He did.
The platform dissolved. Concrete and steel melted into shadow and ash. Hollow-eyed watchers drifted like smoke through the space, their whispers louder, sharper. Time itself seemed to bend—the past, present, and possible futures collided in flashes of memory, fear, and visions he could not name.
He saw people he had loved, or thought he had loved, twisted into hollow-eyed versions of themselves, whispering for him to obey. He saw the veiled woman’s hand reaching for him, red flame curling around her fingers, beckoning, promising power and pain in equal measure.
Marcus faltered. His mind screamed to retreat, to deny the ledger, to abandon the curse—but the pull was too strong. He felt the Hollowing reach into him, tugging at his consciousness, tearing his sense of self into threads.
And then, he saw her.
Another victim—or was it a memory?—struggling in the shadows, hollow-eyed and screaming, their body a marionette of the curse. They reached toward him, voice cracking:
"It doesn’t end. It never ends."
Marcus clenched the ledger, teeth gritted. The shadows recoiled slightly at his defiance. For the first time, he realized that the Hollowing didn’t just feed on him—it feared him.
He took another step.
The red veil smiled beneath her shroud.
"Cross. Or be consumed."
And Marcus crossed.
Chapter Eight – The Veiled Confrontation
The Hollowing had sharpened Marcus into a tense, frayed version of himself. Every step through the liminal space between reality and shadow felt like walking on the edge of a blade. The red veil was always there—sometimes in his peripheral vision, sometimes in reflections, sometimes in his dreams while awake.
And now, she wanted him to see her fully.
He found himself in a cathedral-like void, walls of shadow stretching impossibly high, the floor a patchwork of ash and cracked stone. Hollow-eyed watchers crowded the edges, their whispers forming a constant low hum that vibrated through Marcus’s skull.
The veil stepped forward from the darkness. This time, he could see her face—not beneath the veil, but behind it. Pale, perfect, and terrifyingly serene. Her eyes burned red as she studied him.
"You’ve come far," she said. Her voice was both a caress and a blade. "But it is not enough. The debt demands more."
Marcus swallowed hard, clutching the ledger. His hands shook, his heart raced, but something inside him stirred—something that said he didn’t have to obey blindly.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded, voice echoing strangely in the void.
The veil smiled, tilting her head.
"Obedience. Blood. Devotion. You will give what is asked, or the Hollow will take everything."
She raised her hand, and the hollow-eyed watchers surged forward, pressing against him. Their whispers became screams in his head:
"Serve! Obey! Give!"
Marcus stumbled, nearly falling, but he remembered the ledger—the only anchor to his sanity and the curse’s rules. He opened it and saw the instructions writhe, twisting into a new form he had never seen before. It was no longer about offering blood or performing tasks—it was a challenge: turn the ledger’s power against her.
He hesitated. This was dangerous. Unthinkable. The ledger pulsed violently in his hands, as if testing his resolve. But he did it anyway.
Marcus traced his blood along the symbols as the veil advanced, chanting the command the ledger had carved into his mind. Shadows screamed and flailed. The hollow-eyed watchers recoiled. The veil faltered for a moment, surprised by the act of defiance.
"Fool," she hissed, though the sound was almost drowned out by the pulsing of the ledger. "Do you think you can defy the Hollowing?"
He didn’t answer. He kept tracing, kept offering, kept resisting. Red fire blossomed around her veil, pushing the shadows back. Marcus felt the curse’s power surge through him—the Hollowing, alive, furious, clawing at the edges of his mind—but he held it.
The veil shrieked, a sound that ripped through reality itself. For the first time, she retreated, the shadows bending with her, dissolving into the void.
Marcus collapsed to the ground, exhausted, shaking. He had won—if only temporarily.
Outside, the world flickered back into a semblance of normality. The hollow-eyed watchers remained at the edges, silent, watching. And at the edge of his vision, the veil lingered—smiling, waiting.
The confrontation had changed something. Marcus could feel it deep in his bones: he could resist. But the Hollowing was patient, eternal, and it would not forgive failure.
Chapter Nine – Possession’s Edge
Marcus could feel it—the Hollowing clawing at him from inside, a force older and more relentless than anything he had ever known. The veil’s presence was constant now, brushing at the edges of his vision, whispering in a language that burrowed under his skin.
The city around him had grown stranger. Streets stretched into impossible lengths. Shadows moved independently of objects. Every reflective surface warped, showing not his own face, but hollow-eyed versions of himself, screaming silently.
And the ledger pulsed in his hands, glowing red, pulling at his blood, his mind, his very soul.
By nightfall, Marcus realized the possession was inevitable. He could feel his thoughts being invaded. Memories that weren’t his flickered behind his eyes: previous victims of the Hollowing, their terror, their despair, their hollowed bodies. He heard their whispers mingled with the veil’s constant command:
"Serve. Obey. Give. All is yours to give."
He fled into the streets, hoping to escape. But the hollow-eyed watchers were everywhere—hundreds of them now, drifting in impossible formations. They pressed against reality, stretching it, bending it, each step he took collapsing the world into shadow and whispering voices.
The ledger forced him toward a building he didn’t recognize. Its entrance was black as night, and the air around it shimmered like heat waves. Inside, he saw what the veil wanted him to see: the epicenter of the Hollowing. Shadows swirled in a vortex, a living void of hunger and malice.
"The debt is complete only when you are mine," the veil hissed. Her hand reached for him, and this time, he couldn’t resist. A jolt of cold fire shot through his chest as if she had burned a mark into his very soul. His mind teetered on the edge of possession. He could feel himself slipping.
And yet, the ledger pulsed again, giving him one final command: fight.
Marcus traced the symbols faster, blood dripping onto the pages, chanting the commands that flared in his mind. The shadows shrieked and recoiled, the hollow-eyed watchers faltered, and the veil’s voice grew frantic:
"You cannot resist forever!"
He felt it—the edge of losing himself completely. Memories of his life, his friends, his family, flickered like dying embers. The Hollowing wanted all of him. But Marcus held onto the ledger and the tiny spark of defiance inside him.
Red fire erupted from the ledger, flaring through the vortex. The veil screamed, twisting in rage and fear. Hollow-eyed watchers dissolved into shadows that were swallowed by the light. Marcus collapsed to the floor, soaked in sweat and blood, but still himself.
The possession had been fought off—barely. But Marcus knew it wasn’t over. The Hollowing was patient. Eternal. And the veil… she would return.
For now, though, he had survived.
Chapter Ten – The Reckoning
The city was quiet, deceptively calm. Marcus moved through streets that now seemed normal, but he knew better. He could feel the Hollowing lurking beneath the surface, coiled like a predator, waiting for the moment to strike again.
The veil appeared before him, standing in the center of an empty square. Her red shroud shimmered like fire, and her hollow eyes burned with a cruel intelligence. Around her, shadows writhed, the hollow-eyed watchers surrounding the perimeter like a cage.
"This ends tonight," she whispered, voice both sweet and lethal.
"Obey—or be consumed."
Marcus didn’t respond. Instead, he held the ledger tightly, tracing the symbols with trembling fingers. Blood dripped from his palms, staining the pages and his coat. He had no illusions about victory—only survival.
The veil advanced. Shadows surged, reaching for him, bending reality with their sheer presence. Marcus could feel the Hollowing tugging at his mind, seeking to devour him entirely. Memories, fear, and fragments of his identity were ripped apart and reassembled into grotesque illusions.
He chanted the ledger’s commands, pushing back against the force, twisting the curse’s own energy into a weapon. Red fire erupted from the book, lashing at the shadows and the veil alike. The hollow-eyed watchers shrieked and recoiled, scattering into the corners of the square.
The veil screamed, a sound that twisted reality itself.
"You think this ends with you? The debt is eternal!"
Marcus clenched his teeth. No. It ends now. He poured the last drops of blood he had left into the ledger, forcing the ritual to its final act. The red symbols flared brighter than the sun, burning into the air, burning into the veil, burning into the Hollowing itself.
For a moment, everything stopped. Time froze. The city, the shadows, the whispers—they all held their breath.
Then the veil was gone. The hollow-eyed watchers evaporated into mist. The square returned to normal, silent, empty, and real.
Marcus collapsed to the ground, trembling, exhausted. The ledger lay dormant at his feet, its pages dark and lifeless. He had survived. He had turned the curse back on the void itself.
But he was not unchanged.
The Hollowing had left a mark. His hands shook with residual power, his mind carried echoes of the void, and shadows sometimes flickered at the edge of his vision, whispering faintly. He was free—but at a cost. A permanent awareness of the otherworldly, a tether to the Hollowing that would never fully release him.
The veil had been defeated, but Marcus knew better than to believe it gone forever. Patience was its weapon, and he had learned the hard way that some debts never truly vanish.
He rose, shaky but resolute. The city around him was quiet, real—but the world had changed. And so had he.
The reckoning had passed. The Hollowing had been resisted. But Marcus understood the truth, etched into his soul: darkness never dies. It waits. And one day, it would return.
Epilogue – Shadows Remain
Months had passed.
The city had returned to its mundane rhythm: traffic, chatter, and the flicker of neon lights. Marcus walked through it all like a ghost among the living, his presence solid, but his soul frayed at the edges. The ledger was locked away, buried beneath layers of metal and stone, but he knew it would never truly be safe.
He avoided mirrors. Not because he feared what he might see, but because sometimes, in the corner of his vision, the red veil lingered. A shimmer. A flicker. A whisper he couldn’t quite hear, calling him back to the debt he had narrowly survived.
Sleep was scarce and fitful. Dreams returned occasionally, not as nightmares, but as warnings—echoes of hollow-eyed watchers, cities stretched into impossible angles, and the scent of ash and blood that lingered like a memory that refused to fade.
He tried to connect with friends. Tried to live normally. But there was always a distance now, a chasm between him and the world that hadn’t touched the Hollowing. Their laughter, their small, ordinary joys, felt like echoes from another life—one he might never fully reclaim.
And sometimes, when the city was quiet, he could hear it: faint, whispering voices at the edges of his mind. Not commanding him, not yet—but observing. Waiting.
Marcus clenched his fists. He had survived the veil, resisted the Hollowing, and turned back the curse—but he knew it was patient. Eternal. Unyielding.
And he knew, deep in his bones, that one day, it would return.
Until then, Marcus would live in the shadow of what he had endured. A man marked, haunted, changed forever.
The city was silent. But in the silence, the shadows waited.
And the debt… it had not ended.
The End