The air was thick with poison, a silent rot that bled through the city's bones and seeped into Nerin's blood. Every breath was a dagger, every heartbeat a countdown to collapse. The Hollow Mark throbbed beneath his skin—a cold flame licking at his soul, promising both salvation and damnation.
Nerin moved through the shattered streets like a ghost stitched together from pain and desperation. The blood-red moss clung to his boots, pulsating with unnatural life, feeding on the decay that spread like a plague. Above, the twin moons hung low, their cracked faces leaking shadows that slithered down walls like serpents.
His mind was a battleground—fragments of forgotten memories collided with raw instinct, the Echo of the Forgotten sharpening his senses, twisting his perception. Faces from his past and futures never lived flickered like broken mirrors in his mind's eye.
The whispers grew louder, a chorus of hollow voices threading curses and truths alike.
"Survive, or be swallowed."
"Remember the price."
A figure emerged from the haze—a woman draped in tattered veils, eyes glowing faintly with cold blue fire matching Nerin's mark. Her smile was cruel, sharp as shattered glass.
"You carry the Hollow Mark," she said, voice a silk thread laced with poison. "But do you understand its hunger?"
Nerin's hand tightened around the bone knife, knuckles white. "I don't even understand what I've become."
Her laugh was a fracture in the silence. "Then you're already lost."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them pulsed—veins of black flame snaking through cracks in the stone, spreading tendrils that wrapped around Nerin's ankles like living chains. The city itself was alive, a beast with a thousand hungry eyes.
The woman's gaze bore into him. "The Hollow Mark is not just a curse—it is a living prison. To break free, you must consume what haunts you."
Pain flared, memories bleeding into the present. The echoes screamed in his head—faces twisted in agony, voices begging for release. Nerin's world shattered and reformed, the hollow memory weaving into a weapon forged from suffering and resolve.
He raised the bone knife, the cold edge gleaming with dark promise.
The city whispered, the mark burned, and Nerin stepped into the abyss.
Nerin's breath was ragged, each gasp a shard of ice stabbing through his chest. The black flames coiled around his ankles hissed like serpents, binding him to the cursed earth beneath the Hollowed City's rotting bones. The bone knife in his hand felt heavier—no longer just a weapon, but a conduit for the twisted memories flooding his mind.
The woman's veiled smile cut sharper than any blade. "To escape, you must feast on the past. Consume the echoes or be consumed."
His mind screamed as fractured memories shattered and reassembled, shadows of faces long dead whispering secrets soaked in blood and despair. The hollow voices clawed at his sanity, promising power and ruin in equal measure.
Around him, the city pulsed—its decay alive and hungry. Walls whispered forgotten curses, their voices scraping like dry nails on bone. The red moss pulsed with each beat, tendrils creeping closer, hungry for flesh.
Nerin's fingers trembled, the Mark burning brighter—a cold fire that gnawed through the layers of flesh and spirit, demanding sacrifice.
"Who... who are you?" he rasped, eyes burning with desperate fury.
The woman's laugh was a shattered symphony. "I am the last memory you refuse to face—the shadow in your mirror, the truth you bury beneath flesh."
Her chains rattled, casting spectral patterns on the cracked stones, a cruel dance of light and darkness. "You seek to break free, but every step forward is a step deeper into the abyss."
The ground split open beneath him again, black flame surging upward in a twisted geyser. Nerin leapt back, bone knife flashing as shadows lunged—hulking forms twisted with rot and sorrow, their eyes voids of endless torment.
He fought with desperate fury, each strike a scream in the darkness. The echoes inside him pulsed stronger—adaptive instinct sharpening his reflexes, hollow memory weaving pain into power.
But with every enemy felled, the city's hunger only grew louder.
The woman's voice lingered, cold and cruel in his mind. "Remember, Nerin—the Hollow Mark is a prison forged from your own soul. To escape, you must first destroy what you once were."
The truth was a blade twisting in his chest.
And Nerin knew—the trial was far from over.
The city had ceased to be merely a place; it was a crucible, burning away the last vestiges of Nerin's past until only ash remained. The blood-red moss stretched like veins across crumbling stone, pulsing with a sick rhythm that matched the hollow fire beneath his skin. Each beat was a reminder: the Mark was alive, and it demanded sacrifice.
Nerin staggered through the twisting streets where shadows crawled like hungry serpents, their whispers lacing through the stale air like poison. The scent of rot clung to his throat, bitter and thick, choking away clarity. Somewhere far above, the cracked moon wept shadows that bled into the dusk, swallowing the fading light.
His fingers curled tightly around the bone knife, its edge glinting faintly in the unnatural twilight. The echoes inside him stirred—fractured memories folding and unfolding like jagged mirrors, sharpening into a blade forged from agony and resolve.
A voice, smooth and cruel, broke the silence. "You're close now," the veiled woman's form emerged from the mist, her chains clinking softly—a spectral crown heavy with torment. "The final veil awaits. Behind it lies the truth you fear most."
Nerin's heart hammered, a storm trapped beneath his ribs. "What truth?" His voice was raw, stripped of hope.
"The Hollow Mark is not just a curse. It is a mirror. It reflects what you refuse to see—the hunger inside, the darkness buried beneath your skin."
She stepped closer, and Nerin saw the faint glow of the Mark on her wrist—black sun split in two, pulsing with cold fire.
"Destroy the veil. Consume the last of your fears. Only then can you break free."
The ground beneath them cracked open, spilling shadows like smoke. From the abyss, twisted faces emerged—his own, twisted and broken, screaming in silent agony. The hollowed reflections lunged, clawing at his flesh and soul.
Pain exploded, and Nerin's world fractured. The Mark blazed bright, searing his veins as memories long buried clawed to the surface—faces lost, promises broken, the weight of all he was and all he could never be.
With a cry that shattered the dusk, Nerin plunged the bone knife into the nearest reflection. The echo screamed, dissolving into shards of light and shadow.
One by one, the hollow mirrors shattered beneath his will—each a piece of himself consumed and reborn.
The city held its breath. The blood-red moss retracted, the shadows recoiling as the Hollow Mark pulsed with a steady, fierce light.
The veiled woman's eyes softened, just for a moment—a flicker of something almost human.
"You have taken the first step toward freedom. But the path ahead is darker still."
Nerin swallowed hard. The trial was far from over.
But for the first time, beneath the hollow moons and bleeding skies, he felt the faintest pulse of hope.