The sky looks wrong tonight.
Kael Ardyn stands alone outside the cottage, eyes turned upward as the final sliver of daylight fades behind the black ridge of the mountain. The stars blink into existence one by one, but they don't seem to shine. They flicker, like dying embers — distant, cold, and silent.
He tightens his grip on the wooden bucket in his hand. The well creaks behind him, and the water sloshes as he begins the short walk back to the house. A sharp wind cuts through the trees, whispering like a voice he can't quite understand.
Inside, the hearth is dying too.
His younger sister, Lyra, curls beside their mother's bed, humming softly as she wrings out a wet cloth. Their mother's breath rattles faintly — not strong enough to stir the blanket draped across her fragile chest.
"You were out a while," Lyra says without looking up. "Did you fall in again?"
Kael sets the bucket down with a sigh and forces a smile. "Once. Then I remembered I can't swim and decided to survive after all."
"Shame," she says, flicking water at him with the cloth. "Would've made for a heroic funeral."
He sits beside her. The candlelight dances across the walls, giving the little house a warmth it doesn't truly have. Their mother doesn't stir. She hasn't spoken in two days.
Kael looks at her — pale, sunken, fading. Once, she had the strength to carry both of them in her arms. Now, the illness has turned her into a shadow of herself.
"Did she… eat anything?" he asks.
Lyra shakes her head. Her voice grows quieter. "I tried. She barely opened her eyes."
He says nothing. What is there to say?
Outside, the wind howls again. This time it doesn't sound like a whisper — it sounds like a scream.
That night, sleep doesn't come easily. Kael lies on the floor near the hearth while Lyra sleeps beside their mother. His eyes stay open long after the candle burns out.
Something feels… off.
The wind hasn't stopped howling. The stars aren't visible through the cracks in the roof. And there's this pressure — like the sky itself is holding its breath.
Then he hears it.
A sound he hasn't heard in years.
The temple bell.
His heart freezes.
The bell only rings in times of death. And the priest is the only one allowed to ring it.
Kael pushes off the floor and rushes to the window. He sees nothing at first — just darkness and trees.
But then, in the distance, just past the fields — a red glow. Like fire.
"Lyra!" he calls, panic already rising. "Wake up!"
She stirs, confused. "What—?"
"The bell is ringing. The fields… something's burning!"
There's no time to explain. He grabs the iron fire poker from the hearth and yanks open the front door. Cold wind rushes in — and something else with it.
A sound.
Whispers. Thousands of whispers.
They creep under his skin. Not words — just feelings. Grief. Hunger. Emptiness.
He stumbles backward, and the fire poker clatters from his hand.
Then he sees them.
Figures.
Shadowy, pale, twitching things stumbling through the fog just beyond the trees. Their mouths gape wide, but no voices come out — only more whispers.
One of them turns its head.
Its eyes are empty sockets. But Kael feels it see him anyway.
"Run," he breathes. "Lyra, run!"
She's already grabbing their mother's hand, trying to pull her from bed. "She can't walk—Kael, we can't leave her—!"
He hesitates, torn, and that moment is too long.
The wall explodes inward, splinters of wood flying across the room. A hand — bloated, gray, and stitched with black veins — snatches at the air between them.
Kael dives forward and shoves Lyra back. The hand misses. He grabs her arm and pulls her toward the back door.
Their mother doesn't move.
Another Hollowed steps through the wreckage, dragging something behind it. Not a weapon.
A corpse.
Kael's breath catches.
It's the priest. Or what's left of him.
Bloodied. Hollow-eyed. His mouth is wide open, and from it pours a long, gray mist that slithers into the air — reaching toward Kael.
Memory-Eater.
That's what the old stories called them.
Not just monsters. Thieves of the soul.
Kael grabs Lyra's hand and bolts for the back, kicking the door open.
They run. Through trees. Over stones. Past the boundary stones that once marked safety.
But there's no safety now.
The stars are gone. The moon is red. And the world is full of screaming silence.
They don't make it far.
A sharp pain slices into Kael's leg — something pierces him from behind.
He falls. Lyra screams.
A Hollowed towers over him, arms bent at unnatural angles, head twitching with each step. It opens its mouth — and Lyra's voice echoes from it:
"Kael, I'm scared…"
No.
No. That's not her. That's not her voice.
Lyra tries to shield him, but another creature lunges forward and grabs her by the arm. She fights — she's strong for her age — but it drags her down, mouth opening wide.
Kael tries to rise. He can't.
He watches as something gray and glowing tears itself from her chest.
Her soul.
"KAEL!" she screams.
And everything goes black.
To be continued in Chapter 2: "The Breath of the Dead."