The wind atop the rooftop whispered secrets it wasn't meant to know. Cold and biting, it clawed at Asher Blackwood's coat, threading through the fibers like an invisible serpent. He stood unmoving, not out of courage, but because his legs were too weak to run. The mask in his hands pulsed with residual heat, like a living thing that had just awakened from a long, hungry slumber.
His breath fogged in front of him. Shallow. Unsteady. It wasn't the physical toll that staggered him—it was the weight of what he had just seen.
Memories. Visions. Ghosts of a self he couldn't name but knew, deeply, intimately.
He dropped to his knees.
"I saw myself," he whispered to no one. "But not... me. Not this me."
The concrete beneath him was coarse and wet with the residue of rain. It grounded him, vaguely, as his mind spiraled. The city below glimmered like a broken circuit board, beautiful but fragile. Was that all he was too? A flickering light among countless others?
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Not rushed. Not panicked.
Measured.
He didn't look up.
"You always wait until the moment I'm unraveling," Asher said bitterly.
A pause.
"I wait until the moment you're ready," came her reply.
The woman. The shadow-dancer. The bearer of truths never fully given. She stood just behind him, her presence like an eclipse—impossible to look at directly, yet too overwhelming to ignore.
"I'm not ready," Asher muttered, lifting the mask in his hands as though it had betrayed him.
"But you chose to put it on," she said, stepping into view, her eyes reflecting the dying city lights. "Even choice can feel like fate when you're being pulled by truth."
He stood slowly, the mask still cradled in his hand like a newborn burden.
"You said it would change everything. You didn't say it would destroy me."
A thin smile curved her lips. "You're not destroyed. You're revealed."
He narrowed his eyes. "What is this mask? Why does it show me lives I've never lived?"
The wind howled louder as though reacting to the question.
The woman's voice was a breath against it. "The mask doesn't show you anything. It unlocks you. Your past. Your inheritance. Your curse. It only reveals what's already inside."
"That makes no sense."
"Neither does living the same life twice."
Asher blinked.
The weight in his chest spread like lead in his bloodstream.
Was that what this was? A second life? A fragment of a self scattered across time?
Before he could ask more, a prickling sensation swept across his skin.
Then cold.
Then dread.
His instincts screamed—move—but he froze, eyes scanning the rooftop.
The woman felt it too. Her body tensed, subtle but telling.
"They're here," she said, eyes narrowing.
"Who?"
"Not who. What."
The words struck harder than they should have.
Reality began to twist at the edges, like someone tugging at the seams of a tapestry. The shadows lengthened unnaturally, curling and coiling until they detached entirely from the structures that birthed them.
Asher stepped back. The mask pulsed again in his palm—hot this time.
Figures began to emerge.
Not quite human. Not quite anything.
They slithered into form like tar made flesh, eyes glowing with malice, limbs stretched and bent at angles that broke anatomy.
Asher's blade was in his hand before he thought to reach for it.
The woman drew hers in silence, posture fluid, battle-worn. "They're called Hollowed. Shades that hunt memory. They've tasted your past now—and they want more."
Of course they do, Asher thought grimly. Everyone wants a piece of me, even my memories.
The first one lunged.
Asher dodged—barely. His body moved faster than his mind, instincts fueled by something deeper, something the mask had stirred loose. He parried, blade clashing with an oily appendage that screeched on contact.
The Hollowed hissed and shrieked, recoiling only to circle again.
The woman danced through the shadows with inhuman grace, her blade singing arcs of silver light. Two Hollowed fell, dissipating into smoke.
But more were coming.
Asher turned just in time to deflect another strike. The thing's claws grazed his cheek, slicing shallow but burning hot. Blood mixed with sweat.
His pulse pounded.
This is it, he thought. No more running. No more questions. I either survive this... or die in ignorance.
The mask pulsed again, and something within him responded. Not power. Not rage.
Clarity.
He could see their movements a second before they acted, feel the tension in the air that marked a strike, sense the fear—yes, even they had fear—hidden beneath their monstrous shrieks.
Asher struck.
And for the first time, one of the Hollowed howled like something truly alive.
The tide turned. Slightly.
But the numbers kept growing.
And Asher's limbs were beginning to slow.
He stole a glance at the woman—she was moving, but even she looked strained, pushed past her limit. There were too many.
We're going to lose this rooftop, he realized. We'll be overwhelmed unless something changes.
Unless...
He looked down at the mask again.
The one thing he feared more than the monsters.
Could it help him?
Could it save him?
Or would it break him again?
His fingers hovered near it, hesitation coiling like a snake.
But he had no time left to debate.
The shadows lunged again—
And Asher chose.
[End of Chapter 19]
Asher stands alone against the shadows that hunt him, his instincts and the power from the mask being pushed to their limits. The real battle has begun.
Preview for Next Chapter:
Chapter 20: Rising Shadows
The rooftop becomes a battleground as Asher dives deeper into the mask's power. But the more he taps into it, the less of himself he recognizes. As allies and enemies blur, and the Hollowed close in, Asher must confront the cost of the truth he asked for—and the darkness within it.