The stone passage groaned behind them as Brannoc pushed the door open.
A thick, metallic musk filled Duncan's nostrils—like rust and decay, but older, deeper. Alive.
Their torches cast flickering halos into the dark. The tunnel sloped downward, carved in a style unlike any Dominion structure. Smooth walls, too perfect to be chiseled. Symbols etched into the stone glowed faintly with a dull green phosphorescence.
"Who built this?" Duncan whispered.
"Not us," Brannoc replied. "Not even the First Dominion. These ruins predate our written records. They say the Ancestral Tribes carved this place with beastbone tools and blood rites."
"Why is it still sealed?"
Brannoc didn't answer.
Instead, he stopped before a mural etched into the right-hand wall. The stone depicted a man standing amidst wild beasts—lionhawks, boneback boars, tusked serpents—all bowed before him. His arms were outstretched, and his veins glowed with light.
But his eyes were empty.
"They say the Oldbloods could command the wild," Brannoc muttered. "But the price wasn't power. It was identity."
Duncan swallowed hard. His fingertips brushed against the stone.
It was warm.
Pulsing.
Alive.
Deeper In – The Throne of Bone
They reached a vaulted chamber, circular and vast, the ceiling lost to shadow. At its center stood a massive throne, forged from fused beast skulls, twisted horns, and scale-plated hides. It was hideous and regal all at once.
Duncan's breath caught.
Something in him stirred.
A pressure behind his eyes. A tremble in his bones. The hairs on his arms lifted as if some unseen wind brushed his skin.
"You feel it?" Brannoc asked.
Duncan nodded slowly. "It knows I'm here."
As he stepped forward, the torches dimmed. The green glyphs brightened in response, and the throne seemed to lean toward him. The bones cracked—not from weight or age, but from motion.
Then came the voice.
"Child of the Wildblood…"
"You walk the path once forsaken…"
"Claim… or be claimed."
Duncan froze.
The voice hadn't echoed in the room. It had echoed inside him.
The Trial of the Hollow
Brannoc drew a blade, stepping back. "It's starting."
"Starting what?"
"The Hollow's judgment. It'll test your blood—see if you're kin or meat."
From the shadows, movement stirred.
One by one, figures formed. Tall, beastlike, humanoid—but not men. Fur-covered torsos. Bone masks fused to flesh. Weapons made of jawbone and talon.
Hollowborn.
Echoes of the Oldblood tribes. Not alive. Not fully dead.
Duncan reached for his sword—but his arm locked in place. Invisible pressure bore down on him, like being pinned beneath a mountain of instinct and memory.
One of the Hollowborn stepped forward, eyes glowing through its mask.
"What walks with you?" it growled.
Duncan gritted his teeth. "Nothing."
"Liar."
The creature lunged.
Duncan barely dodged, rolling under the swipe. He came up behind it, slicing across its back. No blood spilled—only smoke. The creature hissed and turned, slashing with a clawed spear.
He blocked, pivoted, then thrust through its heart.
The beast shuddered… then bowed.
The others stepped back.
And the throne pulsed once.
"Blood remembers."
The Memory of the Beast King
The chamber darkened again. Duncan stumbled, suddenly dizzy, knees buckling.
Then—
He was elsewhere.
Not standing, but kneeling in a jungle clearing beneath twin moons. Around him: a hundred beasts. All silent. All watching.
Before him stood a man with golden tattoos and eyes like a wolf.
"You carry our mark," the man said.
"Who are you?"
"We were the first rulers—not of stone, but of claw and kin. When the stars bled and the world split, we made a pact with the Wild."
"What happened to you?"
"We chose silence… so your kind could rise."
He stepped forward and pressed a clawed hand to Duncan's chest.
"Now our silence ends."
Duncan gasped.
And the vision shattered.
Back in the Hollow
Brannoc stood nearby, watching warily as Duncan staggered to his feet. The Hollowborn had vanished.
But something had changed.
The air no longer pressed against him. The green symbols had dimmed.
And the throne was gone.
"What happened?" Brannoc asked.
Duncan looked at his hands.
They glowed faintly—only for a moment—then faded.
"I saw the one they called the Beast King."
Brannoc's face paled. "He spoke to you?"
"Yes."
"Then the Hollow accepted you." His voice turned grim. "That means your blood runs true."
Duncan didn't reply.
He could still feel the wild gaze on his back, even as they left the Hollow.
He hadn't claimed anything.
But something had claimed him.