THE CALL

The horn blared, deep and thunderous, a sound that felt less like it was blown and more like it was ripped straight from the earth. Its low rumble rolled through the city streets, bouncing off stone walls and wooden shutters until even the air seemed to shudder.

Crows took flight from their spots on the rooftops, scattering into the gray sky with harsh, jarring cries. The echo hung in the air behind them, a hum that slithered through alleys and courtyards, stirring even those who tried to ignore it.

I froze mid-step. I didn’t just hear it; I felt it ripple through my bones, vibrating in my chest like the pluck of a string. My hand instinctively brushed against the hilt at my side not out of fear, but because the sound carried a weight that demanded to be acknowledged.

Around me, the city came alive. Merchants dropped their scales, children were pulled inside by anxious parents, and the once-bustling marketplace began to shift toward a single direction. The horn wasn’t just a call; it was a summons.

Tsarra tilted her head just a bit, her silver braid shimmering in the soft gray light. “That’s it,” she whispered, her voice tinged with a curious blend of nerves and excitement. “The Plaza of Ascension.”

Liora adjusted her cloak, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to gauge the very echo of the horn. She shot me a glance, noticing how I was caught up in the lingering vibration. “…You feel it too, don’t you?” she asked softly.

I hesitated before responding. The hum still resonated in my chest, both unsettling and vibrant. Finally, I managed to say, “…Yes, the time has come.”

The three of them flowed with the crowd, pulled along by the distant sound of a horn.

The streets of Duskvale were packed with people. Vendors hastily left their stalls, still draped in cloth, shouting half-hearted promises of “fresh bread when I’m back!” as they rushed to join the masses.

Children sat on stone steps, stretching their necks to catch a glimpse of the excitement. Elderly men muttered blessings or perhaps curses under their breath as the throng surged toward the city’s core.

Shimei trailed a step behind Tsarra and Liora, his hood pulled low over his face. He didn’t need to look around to feel the weight of the stares on him. Whispers slithered through the crowd like smoke.

“Is that him? The outsider?”
“Never saw him before the Hollow took him in.”
“A nameless stray… and they let him walk to the Plaza?”

A man spat near Shimei’s feet. Another jostled past, muttering something that sounded like a mix of an insult and a warning. Shimei’s gaze flicked sideways, but his face remained impassive. He let the hostility wash over him, as silent as stone.

In stark contrast, Liora moved as if the streets were parting for her. When she stepped forward, heads bowed almost instinctively.

Some greeted her with soft words “Lady Liora.” Others simply nodded, their expressions a blend of respect and fear. The leader of the Hollow needed no introduction; her mere presence spoke volumes.

Tsarra noticed it too. Her eyes darted between Shimei, enduring the cold glares, and Liora, enveloped in cautious admiration.

She clenched her fists, her braid brushing against her shoulder as she muttered, “It’s like night and day. They don’t even try to hide it.”

Shimei didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze drifted upward to the dark spires looming in the distance. The Plaza of Ascension dominated the city’s heart, its towers piercing the sky, banners fluttering with images of entwined serpents and dragons.

As they got closer, the murmurs grew louder one name echoed repeatedly:

“The Draconic Dimension.”

The news spread like wildfire, each voice tinged with either awe or dread, depending on who was speaking. A woman murmured it like a sacred prayer. A merchant spat it out like a curse. Children sang it out, blissfully unaware of its weight.

Tsarra frowned. “They talk about it as if it’s alive.”

Liora’s expression turned steely, her golden braid catching the light as she gazed ahead. “Because it is. The Dimension isn’t just a place it’s a trial.

A gateway that either welcomes you or turns you away. And those it turns away…” She let her words hang in the air, allowing the silence to finish her thought.

The crowd thickened, bodies pressing together until Shimei felt the air grow heavy. He moved through the throng like water flowing around stones, slipping past without a hitch, but he kept his senses alert.

Every brush of fabric, every furtive glance, every clenched jaw—he took note of them all.

At last, the Plaza came into view. The grand square opened. In the center, a raised platform shimmered with silver inlays, encircled by armored guards. Above, a balcony loomed reserved for the council.

As they approached the steps, a wall of robed attendants appeared. One of them bowed deeply to Liora, completely ignoring Shimei and Tsarra. “Lady Liora, the council is waiting. You must ascend.”

Tsarra tensed, her eyes darting between Shimei and the guards, as if bracing for trouble.

Liora glanced back at them, her gaze firm yet filled with unspoken words. “Stay close to each other. The council will call for you when the time is right.” Her eyes lingered on Shimei a moment longer, sharp as a knife, before she turned and followed the attendants.

The crowd surged forward, the space between them widening until Liora vanished among the robed figures, climbing the marble steps toward the council’s balcony.

Shimei and Tsarra found themselves engulfed by the throngs of people, the Plaza buzzing with chants, heated debates, and the constant echo of a chilling phrase:

“The Draconic Dimension.”

Shimei pulled his hood a bit lower, his gaze darting to Tsarra. He leaned in, his voice barely rising above the din of the crowd.
“…Now the real game begins.”

The Plaza of Ascension buzzed with life, a vibrant sea of people. Merchants cloaked in fabric, guards clad in armor, and flame-wielding adepts from every corner of the Hollow jostled together beneath the towering obsidian spires that framed the square.

The horn had summoned them all, and now they stood there, restless and eager for answers.

Shimei’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of Yoshiimune as he navigated through the crowd, Tsarra right by his side. Whispers sliced through the air like daggers:

“Draconic Dimension—could it be opening again?”
“They’ll need expedition forces this time.”
“Outsiders shouldn’t even be here…”

That last comment hung in the air. Shimei felt the sharp, dismissive gazes directed at him. Outsider. Nobody. He kept his cool, but the slight smirk on Tsarra’s lips told him she had caught on.

“They really adore you, don’t they?” she whispered, just loud enough for him to catch.
“Adore might be a stretch,” Shimei replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “Fear. Hate. Sometimes they’re two sides of the same coin.”
“True. Quite poetic. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still seen as a stray dog to them.”

He shot her a sideways glance, and she flashed a grin.

Ahead, the path forked. The crowd parted with respect as Liora approached, her cloak flowing like liquid night. Guards in darkened armor bowed slightly, stepping aside to let her pass toward the elevated stairs of the council chamber.

A hush spread through the crowd in her wake respect, reverence, even a hint of fear. Shimei noticed the stark contrast: the same people who had whispered venom about him now lowered their eyes for her.

Liora paused, glancing back at them for a moment. Her gaze lingered on Shimei longer than on Tsarra, unreadable, as if she was contemplating whether to say something. Finally, she simply said, “Stay sharp,” before turning and making her way up the stairs.

The heavy iron doors of the council chamber creaked shut behind her, sealing her from view.

“Crowd’s buzzing like hornets,” Tsarra muttered, a hint of unease in her voice. “Something feels off.”
Shimei’s fingers grazed the sheath again, not pulling it out—just sensing its weight.
“Feels staged,” he replied softly. “Like someone orchestrated this chaos.”

A thunderous roar from above hushed the plaza.

The council chamber’s tall windows, framed with black iron, flickered with light as shadows settled into their seats.

The rulers of the Hollow were assembling eleven thrones surrounding a massive round table, each figure embodying a faction whose words could tip the scales of the city. Their voices drifted down, faint yet clear, carried by the acoustics shaped by the flames, allowing the crowd below to catch snippets.

“…Draconic Dimension…”
“…risk of collapse…”
“…who will be chosen…”

Liora stepped into the circle, her presence cutting through the air like a sharp blade among seasoned wolves.