[POV: RUVAN] (and the voices in his head)
Darkness slithered through the cracks of the mountain like smoke, followed by a familiar heat.
'Again?' He thought.
Then, one of his splintered selves answered excitedly, 'Another sacrifice!'
'Kill it,' came another.
'Blood everywhere. Paint the walls like last time.'
'No,' hehissed. 'The blood smells different…"
Ruvan did not open his eyes. He floated somewhere between dreaming and death, a liminal space where time had long since ceased to exist.
For centuries, there had been silence.
He only experienced anything beyond the sound of his own voices when a she-wolf would be left for him at the altar once every hundred years or so, and that meant death.
All of the women sacrificed to him were marked with a fake bond, dressed in sigils that referred to them as 'brides.'
It was an insult to the sacred mating ritual, utterly revolting.
'She has to die,' he thought.
Every time a woman was left for him, he killed them out of disgust and was promptly forced back into his slumber beneath the mountain. He had scarcely more than a minute of waking consciousness for each kill.
…But not this time.
The moment her blood touched the stone, something inside him opened.
A scream tore through him, though no sound left his mouth. His fingers twitched before curling into fists.
'She's here.'
'No. That's not—'
'Kill him before he binds you again.'
'Mate.'
'Bind him first.'
'Him? There's no man here.'
'Mate.'
The voices surged in unison, a storm of twisted memories and madness clawing against the walls of his mind. Faces flashed—gods, traitors, the ones who sealed him—and then her scent.
Wolfsbane and wildflowers.
'Smells nice.'
He felt a pull so primal it made his bones grind against the seal that was still trying to hold him. His wolf wanted to come out, but wasn't strong enough.
'We still have a wolf? Kairas, are you there?'
Ruvan instinctively reached out with all his strength, and his thoughts became jumbled as a flood of sensations overwhelmed him.
'Doesn't matter, where's my mate?'
'False mate. Impostor.'
'Kill her.'
Air. Real air.
Ruvan opened his eyes, inhaling deeply. His lungs burned as they filled with oxygen for the first time in ages.
The stone above him was splitting, and blinding red and gold light filtered in through the cracks. Magic pulsed through his veins, violent and unstable. The runes on his skin awoke, one by one, and the godfire in his blood was coming to life once again.
The altar exploded as he burst from his bed of stone.
Obsidian shards flew outward, slamming into the cavern walls and dislodging cursed skeletons and pieces of forgotten banners. The dust settled in the cave, covering everything in a thin layer of ash.
Ruvan rose, staggering forward. He couldn't feel his legs, but he didn't care. His hands burned with raw power, and his chest heaved as he tried to remember how to breathe.
…and across the chamber, she stood.
A girl in white, with blood on her shoulder and bonds on her wrists.
His mate.
Ruvan stared at her, panting.
She didn't look like a ghost, but her silence disoriented him. Why wasn't she screaming? Or asking him questions? Amid the chaos of an altar blowing up and after the trauma of being sacrificed, this woman hadn't made a sound.
'She feels... familiar.'
'Wrong shape.'
But the scent was the same. The feeling under his skin was the same.
He reached for her, breath shallow, vision tunneling. Her fear struck him like a blade to the gut.
His fingers brushed the burned bond mark on her chest, and his mind splintered again.
"Where is she?" he rasped.
This wasn't the fake mate. This wasn't the sacrifice.
'She is adorned in sacrificial garb.'
Wait… Was she the sacrifice?
'Kill her.'
'Taste her.'
Then, when her eyes met his, something inside him reacted immediately.
"Mate," he growled.
A sudden burst of power surged through his body. The weight of it knocked him off balance, and he collapsed at her feet, the last of his breath rattling through his lungs.
As he slipped into unconsciousness, her presence buzzed behind his eyes.
—
[POV: SOLENNE]
Solenne awoke to silence.
It wasn't the peaceful kind of silence that blanketed a forest in winter… it was hollow. It was the kind of silence that pressed against her ribs, crawled into her ears, and filled every crack of her mind until she wondered if sound had ever existed at all.
Solenne's head pounded, and she felt each individual beat of her heart from behind her eyes.
Her limbs were heavy, and there was blood crusted down her shoulder. Fortunately, it was all dried, and the wound itself had clothes. Her bare feet were numb with evidence of being frozen—it was a miracle that she hadn't lost any toes.
Cold stone pressed against her spine, and the scent of ash, old blood, and fire clung to the air.
The false bond burned like a brand across her chest, but she ignored it.
'Where is the King?' she wondered. 'I can't feel his presence…'
Solenne sat up slowly, her vision swimming. The altar behind her had cracked in half, leaving black obsidian rubble littered in the cave... or what should have been a cave.
The chamber had changed.
The ground had split open where the altar used to be, revealing a corridor of jagged stone and petrified roots leading deeper into the mountain. Faint light glimmered along the path, lighting the way enough that she wouldn't trip if she followed the tunnel.
Solenne stood. 'Should I run?'
The idea was quickly dashed when she glanced at where the exit should have been, only to find a stone wall.
'I could have guessed,' she sighed quietly.
Solenne's legs trembled as she stood, her body weakened by the loss of blood. She was dizzy and felt she might fall unconscious at any moment—but she walked anyway.
She approached the corridor and took a few steps in. The strange hallway narrowed, then widened until a grand hall stretched out before her.
'…Ancient,' she noticed immediately.
Obsidian pillars climbed toward a ceiling so high and so dark that she couldn't see it. Braziers flickered with pale fire that did not burn. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting strange wolves and stars with constellations she didn't recognize.
Then, at the center of the hall, was the throne itself. The royal seat was massive, far larger than any she had ever seen—even in art… but it was cracked, and empty.
Solenne stepped into the room. Her breath fogged, but the air didn't move.
Frozen warriors stood in formation along the walls. They were large figures that donned dark armor, their faces obscured by helms.
'Not statues,' Solenne thought, puzzled. '…but not quite living, either. They aren't breathing, but I can feel them watching."
She moved carefully, her fingers brushing the nearest tapestry. The fabric didn't decay, and the dust didn't settle – but suddenly, the braziers flared to life with a loud "WHOOSH!"
—
[POV: RUVAN]
'He returns.'
'No. She is not the same.'
'You failed him. You failed them all.'
'Kill her before she kills you.'
Ruvan clawed his way back into consciousness.
He was once again half-tangled in stone, the weight of his seal pressing against his entire body like gravity. His hands trembled as he listened to the voices in his head snap and hiss.
…But her scent was there. It was sweet and tempting, and he longed to breathe her in from up close, the feeling pulling him toward the surface.
The runes on his skin flared. Godfire he hadn't felt in centuries surged in his veins, burning with madness and power.
"Mate," he muttered.
He didn't understand or trust it, but he needed to find out more.
—
[POV: SOLENNE]
Solenne was startled by the braziers but calmed herself.
'I just got sacrificed by my own people,' she scolded herself. 'Why am I getting startled by fire?"
She was at the edge of the throne dais when she heard the sound of stone cracking, and when she spun around to see what it was, he was there.
The Hollow King.
Seated on the throne he had once ruled from, slouched, silver hair tangled around his shoulders. Glowing runes lined his bare chest and arms, pulsing faintly.
'Why was he encapsulated in stone again?' Solenne was perplexed. 'He was just with me in the cave...'
Ruvan's piercing gaze locked onto her, but he didn't speak at first. He only stared, as if unsure she was real.
Then, he spoke one word in a gravelly voice: "You."
Solenne didn't move. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she eyed him cautiously, paying close attention to each of his little movements.
He stood and staggered slightly. "You were dead."
The large man paused, "No. No… you cursed me."
He growled softly, eyes flaring. "Not her. Not yet."
'He's insane,' she decided. 'I guess the stories about the Hollow King did mention he was unpredictable.'
Ruvan took a step forward, followed by another, then another. His movements were fluid and powerful for a moment, but his practiced grace faltered. As if in a drunken stupor, he suddenly swayed, head tilting as if listening to something she couldn't hear.
"Why do you feel like mine?" he asked.
The bond between them flared—hot and overwhelming. Solenne gasped, staggering back a step. Ruvan's eyes widened curiously, and he reached for her, slow and unsure.
"Mate."
His fingers brushed the false bond mark. It ignited, and pain shot through her chest, causing the room to spin and landing Solenne back onto her knees.
Then, as if a result of the interaction, the grand fortress they were in came to life.
The floor rumbled, and the frozen warriors lining the hall twitched.
Ruvan straightened and his expression sharpened. "They'll come for me now."
He looked at her again, this time with clarity—he didn't appear confused or lost, "But I have you. Don't I?"