Whispers of the Hollow

The fire crackled softly in the hearth of the Thorncroft estate library, its warm glow unable to dispel the chill that had settled in the room. Eleanor, Lena, and Seraphae sat around the central table, their attention fixed on the Codex of Light and Shadow. The faint hum of the Obelisk’s distant presence lingered in the back of their minds, a reminder of the looming threat.

Lena traced a line of text in the Codex with her finger, her brow furrowed. “These symbols here… they remind me of the markings on the shards. But they’re not identical. It’s like… they’re incomplete.”

Eleanor nodded, her dark eyes fixed on the intricate diagrams. “The shards are fragments of something larger, tied to the Obelisk’s true purpose. If we can understand the connection, we might finally get ahead of whatever is happening.”

Seraphae leaned back in her chair, her fiery red hair catching the flickering light. Her expression was contemplative, almost distant. “The Obelisk doesn’t just destroy,” she said quietly. “It… transforms. Its influence reshapes people, their thoughts, their beliefs. That’s why the cult grows so quickly.”

Eleanor glanced at her. “You speak like you’ve seen this before.”

Seraphae hesitated, her gaze flickering to the fire. After a long pause, she sighed. “There are things I’ve seen, things I’ve been a part of… It’s why I left my old life behind. The Obelisk’s influence feels disturbingly familiar. I don’t know if I can outrun it this time.”

Lena tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her hazel eyes. “What kind of life are you talking about? You’ve hinted at it before, but you never say much.”

Seraphae gave a small, bitter smile. “A life bound by rules I didn’t believe in. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

Her words hung in the air, unanswered questions swirling in the silence. Eleanor didn’t press further, sensing that Seraphae’s past was a thread that would unravel in its own time.

Instead, she turned back to the Codex, her fingers brushing against an illustration of an ancient battle. The Five Core Gods stood united, their forms radiant and imposing, as they faced a swirling vortex of shadow. Beneath them, smaller figures—subsidiary deities and mortal champions—fought against an encroaching tide of chaos.

“This battle,” Eleanor murmured, tracing the lines of the drawing. “It’s the same one Edgar mentioned. The gods fought to seal the Obelisk, to stop something from breaking through.”

“But they failed,” Lena said, her voice subdued. “If they hadn’t, the Obelisk wouldn’t still be here, and the shards wouldn’t be spreading.”

“Maybe they didn’t fail completely,” Seraphae interjected. “The fact that the world still exists means they managed to contain whatever was trying to come through. But the seal… it’s fractured.”

Eleanor’s gaze hardened. “And it’s our task to fix it.”

Before they could delve deeper, a knock echoed through the library door. Theodore stepped in, his face pale and his hammer gripped tightly in his hand.

“There’s trouble in the square,” he said. “A group of villagers is accusing one of their own of being marked. It’s turning ugly.”

Eleanor rose immediately, her expression grim. “Let’s go.”

The square was a cacophony of shouting and fear. A young man stood in the center, his arms raised defensively as the crowd closed in around him. Faint lines glowed on his skin, marks that twisted and shifted like living things.

“I didn’t ask for this!” he cried. “I don’t know how it happened!”

“Liar!” someone shouted. “You’ve been touched by the Obelisk! You’ll bring ruin to all of us!”

Eleanor stepped forward, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!”

The crowd fell silent, their eyes turning to her. She approached the young man, her expression calm but firm. “What’s your name?”

“Martin,” he stammered, his voice trembling.

“Martin, listen to me,” Eleanor said. “The marks are not your fault. But they are dangerous. We need to understand what’s happening to you before it spreads.”

The crowd murmured uneasily, but Eleanor’s presence seemed to steady them.

As she examined the marks, Seraphae stood nearby, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her gaze was sharp, scanning the crowd for signs of trouble. When a man in dark robes stepped forward, his voice dripping with malice, she tensed.

“You can’t save him,” the man said, his tone cold. “The Obelisk has claimed him. He belongs to it now.”

Eleanor met his gaze evenly. “And who are you to decide that?”

The man sneered. “A servant of the truth. The Obelisk is the future. You fight against inevitability.”

Before Eleanor could respond, the man raised his hand, and a wave of dark energy surged toward her. Seraphae moved in a blur, her blade cutting through the air. The energy dissipated as her strike connected, leaving the man stumbling backward.

The crowd gasped, their fear turning to awe as they watched Seraphae. For a moment, her presence seemed larger than life, her movements almost otherworldly.

The man fled into the shadows, and Seraphae lowered her blade, her breathing steady.

Lena stared at her, wide-eyed. “What was that?”

Seraphae didn’t answer, her expression unreadable.

Eleanor turned to the crowd. “Go home. This isn’t over, but it’s not a fight we’ll win by turning on each other. Trust in each other, and trust in us.”

The villagers dispersed reluctantly, their fear lingering but tempered by Eleanor’s words.

As the three women returned to the estate, the weight of the day settled over them.

“What you did back there,” Eleanor said to Seraphae, her voice quiet but firm. “That wasn’t just skill. There’s more to you than you’re letting on.”

Seraphae hesitated, then met Eleanor’s gaze. “There’s more to all of us than we realize. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

Eleanor nodded, accepting the answer for the moment. But in her heart, she knew that Seraphae’s secrets would eventually come to light—and when they did, they would change everything.