The Crossing
The horn sounded again—closer now.
Sora's pulse quickened, though he wasn't sure if he even had a heartbeat anymore. The girl—silent as always—lifted her lantern and began walking. The cracked glass did not hinder its glow. If anything, the light seemed sharper, cutting clean lines through the darkness of the corridor.
"Wait—" Sora followed, almost tripping on the uneven tiles. "Where are we going? And what exactly is a Luminary? And—"
She stopped.
Not gradually—she froze mid-step, head tilting slightly to the side, as though listening for something only she could hear.
Then, without warning, she turned sharply and led him through a doorway that hadn't been there before.
The moment he stepped through, the air changed.
The hallway behind him vanished.
They now stood on a massive stretch of black water, so still it could have been glass. A single wooden pier jutted out into the expanse, and tethered to its end was a long, narrow boat carved from bone-white wood. Its bow curved upward like a swan's neck, and a lantern hung from its tip.
Figures stood on the pier.
Tall, thin silhouettes. Cloaked entirely in black. Their faces hidden beneath hoods.
Each carried a lantern of their own—some cracked like the girl's, others pristine. The light inside them flickered in colors that weren't just white—gold, blue, crimson, violet—each pulse like a heartbeat.
One of the figures stepped forward. The air around him shimmered faintly, bending like heat waves.
"You brought him," the voice said. Male—calm, but not unkind.
The girl nodded.
"He's raw," the man continued, studying Sora as though measuring his weight without touching him. "The Echo hasn't settled."
"I'm right here," Sora muttered, bristling. "And I'd appreciate someone telling me what the hell is going on."
The man reached into his cloak and produced a lantern. Its glass was flawless, but inside… there was no flame. Only darkness.
"This will be yours," the man said.
Sora frowned. "A lantern? You're kidding."
The man ignored the remark. "A Luminary without a lantern is blind. With it, you can see the lost roads. You can find the ones who are fading. And—if you have the will—you can guide them."
"Guide them where?"
The man's voice dropped, almost like a whisper. "Home."
The word struck Sora in the chest, though he didn't know why. Something in him wanted to ask—my home, or theirs?—but before he could, the water surrounding the pier began to ripple.
From the distance, a dark shape emerged.
At first, it seemed like another boat.
Then the ripples deepened, turning into waves. The black water churned.
The girl's lantern flared bright.
The man's voice hardened. "Hollows."
Hollow on the Blackwater
The thing rising from the water was wrong.
Not monstrous in the way stories described—no teeth, no scales—but empty. Its form shifted like smoke trapped under ice, human one moment, skeletal the next. A face half-formed drifted across its surface, then dissolved, leaving only two pits that swallowed light.
Sora's skin—or whatever counted for it now—prickled. "What is that?"
The hooded man didn't take his gaze off the rippling void. "A Hollow. A soul that lost its way, starved until it forgot its name." He glanced at Sora. "And now it hunts the lanterns."
The Hollow's movement was silent, but the water screamed in ripples around it.
The girl stepped forward, holding her cracked lantern high. Light bled from it in jagged strands, cutting across the pier. The Hollow recoiled for a heartbeat—then lunged.
"On the boat!" the man barked.
Sora moved before thinking, feet pounding the pier. The wood didn't creak; instead, it thudded, like running across a heartbeat. He vaulted into the bone-white boat, almost tipping over the side.
The man followed, shoving off with a single push of a long, metal-tipped pole. The boat slid into the black water, unnervingly fast. The girl jumped in last, landing beside Sora with her lantern clutched close.
The Hollow hit the pier behind them—hard. A spray of black droplets arced into the air, hissing when they touched the boat's wood. Where they landed, the surface smoked and warped.
"They're not supposed to cross into the ferries' path!" the girl's voice was small but sharp—her first words since Sora met her.
"They're not supposed to exist this close to the Lantern Gate," the man said, jaw tight.
The Hollow glided after them, its form stretching across the water as though the rules of shape no longer applied. Sora could feel its hunger—like cold fingers brushing the inside of his ribs.
Without warning, the girl thrust her lantern into Sora's hands. "Hold it steady!"
"What? Why—"
"Because if you drop it, we all fade."
She drew a small hook-bladed weapon from her belt—something between a sickle and a crescent dagger. Its edge glowed faintly, mirroring the light of her lantern. She crouched at the boat's edge, waiting for the Hollow to come within reach.
The man's pole scraped the water as he steered them into a narrow, twisting channel between looming black stone spires. The Hollow followed, stretching around the rocks like ink poured into cracks.
Then—movement.
The Hollow's edge lashed out like a whip. The girl slashed, the blade sparking against the formless dark, and for a moment, the Hollow screamed—not in sound, but in pressure, like the air itself pushed inward.
Sora gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the lantern. The light inside flickered weakly. He could feel the thing's pull—trying to drink it dry.
"Feed it your Echo!" the man shouted over his shoulder.
"My what?!"
"Your self! The part that knows who you are—give it to the light before it dies!"
The Hollow lunged again.
Echo
The lantern's light trembled in Sora's hands, flickering like a candle in the wind. The Hollow's tendrils coiled closer, dimming everything around him—sky, water, even the white bones of the boat.
Feed it your Echo, the man had said.
Sora didn't even know what an Echo was, but something deep inside him responded—like the way muscles react before you decide to move.
He closed his eyes.
And remembered.
The smell of rain on the cracked asphalt outside his apartment. The glow of his phone screen at 3 a.m. The sound of his little sister laughing when he made her that stupid origami crane.
The memories didn't come as pictures—they came as weight. Heat in his chest, tightening in his throat. Without thinking, he pushed that feeling into the lantern.
It caught like dry paper to a match.
Light exploded outward—not gold, not white, but something between, threaded with faint blue veins. It wasn't just bright—it was alive. The Hollow reeled, its formless body splitting like torn cloth under the force.
The girl didn't hesitate. She leapt forward, sickle-blade flashing, and carved a line straight through the Hollow's center. The wound hissed and bled more darkness, which the lantern's light devoured.
The Hollow shrieked—not with sound, but with the tearing pressure again. Then it collapsed into the water, dissolving into a hundred pale motes that sank beneath the surface.
Sora's knees buckled. He didn't realize how much the light had drained from him until the lantern's weight felt like a stone in his hands.
The girl snatched it back, inspecting it. "It's stronger than before," she said, not looking at him. "He fed it well."
The hooded man angled the boat toward the far shore, finally letting the pole rest. "You're not just a stray soul, boy. You're a Luminary."
"A what?" Sora asked, still trying to steady his breathing.
"Someone who can turn memory into light strong enough to burn a Hollow," the man said. "Rare. Dangerous." His gaze was unreadable. "And hunted."
The girl frowned. "If he's a Luminary, we can't leave him untrained. Not now."
Sora glanced between them. "Trained… for what?"
The man didn't answer. The boat slid into a wider channel, and on the horizon, Sora saw it—
A sprawling city built on towering black arches, each spire crowned with massive lanterns whose flames burned brighter than the sun. Bridges of bone and steel connected the structures, and above it all, a colossal gate shimmered with pale fire.
The man's voice was low. "Welcome to Ashgrave, last light of the After-World."
The Last Light
The moment Sora set foot on the dock, the world hit him like a storm.
Ashgrave wasn't quiet. It pulsed. Lanterns swayed from steel chains above the streets, spilling light that kept the shadows at bay. People—if you could call them that—moved with purpose. Some had no faces, only masks of carved wood. Others had wings of paper or arms of glass filled with glowing fluid.
Everywhere, the air smelled faintly of smoke and metal.
The hooded man didn't slow. "Stay close. This city will eat you alive if you don't."
Sora followed, nearly stumbling as a cart rumbled past, pulled by a skeletal ox whose horns burned like torches. Street criers shouted news about Hollow swarms, missing lanterns, and new bounties.
The girl stayed behind him, her sickle casually resting on her shoulder. He noticed she never looked at the ground—her gaze was always scanning the rooftops, alleys, and the people they passed.
They turned down a narrow lane where the lanterns hung lower, casting long, sharp shadows. At the end stood a building unlike any other—a tower of polished obsidian, its surface etched with silver lines that formed shifting constellations.
The hooded man pushed open its door.
Inside, the light was softer, more golden, and the air smelled of old parchment. A massive circular hall stretched upward, filled with shelves of glass jars, each holding a flickering mote of light.
At the center stood a figure in armor shaped like overlapping lantern plates, the helm hiding their face completely. They turned as the group approached.
"You brought me a stray?" the armored voice was neither male nor female—more like an echo speaking in two tones at once.
"Not a stray," the hooded man said. "A Luminary."
The helm tilted, focusing on Sora. "Prove it."
Sora blinked. "I—I don't know how—"
The armored figure reached into a shelf, pulling out a jar. Inside, the light flickered weakly, like a dying ember. "Give it your memory."
Sora hesitated, then remembered his first day of high school—standing in the rain at the gate, terrified but determined. He pushed the feeling into the jar.
The ember flared into steady flame.
The armored figure was silent for a moment. Then: "The Council will want to see him."
The girl groaned. "They'll eat him alive before the Hollows even get the chance."
"They'll have to try," the armored figure replied. "Especially with the other Lords stirring."
Sora's stomach tightened. "Other… Lords?"
The hooded man finally looked at him, his expression grim. "The Hollows have rulers, boy. Seven of them. And each one is waking."
The Sound Beneath the Stone
A deep, rumbling thoom rolled through the tower. Dust drifted from the rafters, and the golden light in the jars dimmed ever so slightly.
The armored figure stiffened. "That wasn't thunder."
The girl's sickle slid into her hand as if by instinct. "It's under the city."
The hooded man cursed under his breath. "Already?"
Sora's heartbeat spiked. "What's happening?"
The armored figure's helm turned to him. "A Lord of Hollow woke up."
The words hung in the air like the drop before an avalanche.
Another thoom—closer this time. The jars rattled violently, some nearly tipping from their shelves. The lights inside them flared and sputtered like panicked birds.
The girl moved to the doorway. "If it's who I think it is, we don't have time to evacuate the lower quarters."
"Name," the armored figure demanded.
"Morvath," she spat. "The Lord of Chains."
Sora saw a flicker in her eyes—something between hatred and fear.
The hooded man turned to Sora. "Kid, this isn't your fight—"
But before he could finish, the stone beneath their feet groaned, cracked, and split. A jagged seam tore through the marble floor, and from it came the rattle of chains… hundreds of them, clinking and scraping against unseen stone.
Cold air rushed upward, carrying the stench of rust and something older—something like a grave that had never been opened.
The girl's voice was low. "Too late."
Chains shot upward like striking snakes, coiling around pillars, smashing shelves, shattering jars. Light spilled across the floor like liquid fire, and the whole tower seemed to breathe.
Then the ground buckled, and from the crack rose a towering silhouette—eight feet of iron and bone, draped in a shroud of black links that clinked with every movement. Its face was hidden beneath a mask of welded chains, and in the hollow darkness where eyes should be, two pinpricks of white fire stared at them.
When it spoke, it was like metal dragged across stone.
> "Who holds the lanterns now?"
Sora's throat went dry.
The armored figure stepped forward, unflinching. "You are not welcome here, Morvath."
The Lord of Chains tilted its head. "And yet… here I am."
Chains lashed forward—
—and Sora moved without thinking. His hand shot up, light spilling from his palm, bright enough to cut the shadow for a heartbeat. The Lord staggered, hissing like steam.
Everyone stared at him.
The hooded man muttered under his breath. "...Well. Guess the Council's going to really want him now."
Chains in the Light
The chains struck like vipers, rattling and snapping with unnatural speed. One coiled around a pillar, pulverizing the stone in a single squeeze; another darted straight for Sora's chest.
He didn't think—he reacted.
A blinding pulse erupted from his palm. The light was different this time—hotter, heavier, almost solid. The chain hit the glow mid-air and shattered into rust fragments that dissolved into black smoke.
The Lord of Chains let out a low, metallic growl.
> "A spark… from the void-born? How quaint."
Before Sora could even process the words, three more chains slithered toward him, weaving through the air like hunting serpents. He stumbled back, light flaring from his hands again, but this time the glow flickered, faltered—like a candle in the wind.
The armored figure moved between him and the attack, greatsword flashing as it sliced two chains apart in one motion. Sparks showered the floor.
"Stay behind me!" the knight barked.
The girl with the sickle didn't listen. She spun forward, her weapon hooking one of Morvath's chains, yanking it taut before slicing through with a burst of crimson light. "He's the reason it's here!" she shouted over the din.
Sora's pulse thundered in his ears. His light was wild, unpredictable—every time it flared, the Lord recoiled. But each flare burned him inside, as if it were ripping power straight from his bones.
The hooded man's voice cut through the chaos. "Kid! If you can blast him—do it now!"
Morvath slammed his chains into the floor. The ground ruptured, sending jagged slabs of stone flying. The tower shook so hard the lanterns shattered, spilling trapped lights that zipped through the air like panicked fireflies.
The world narrowed to a tunnel.
Sora's hands shook. His chest burned. The light inside him built until his vision went white—
—and he screamed.
A column of searing brilliance exploded outward, engulfing Morvath in its core. The chained Lord reeled back, the links writhing as if alive, burning and snapping under the onslaught.
But then… something went wrong.
The light spread farther than Sora intended, ripping through walls, cutting across the city below in a radiant arc. In the distance, rooftops crumbled under its force.
The glow faded. Sora collapsed to his knees, gasping.
Morvath staggered, chains hissing, parts of his form melting into black mist.
> "Interesting…" it rasped. "I will remember you, spark-born."
With a final rattle, the Lord sank back into the cracked floor, chains withdrawing like a tide pulling back into the depths.
Silence fell—broken only by the distant sound of crumbling stone.
The knight turned slowly to Sora. "You've just painted a target on your back. Every Lord in the After-World will feel that burst."
The girl's eyes were cold. "And they'll come for him."
The Council's Shadow
The chamber reeked of burnt metal and scorched parchment.
Seven figures sat around a crescent-shaped table carved from black bone, their faces half-hidden under ceremonial masks. Torches guttered in the walls, casting shadows that seemed too slow to move, as if time itself hesitated here.
At the center, a tall, rail-thin man in a gold mask leaned forward. His voice was a whisper, yet it rolled across the chamber like thunder.
> "The light has returned."
A ripple of unease passed through the Council. One figure, cloaked in feathers, scoffed. "It was a spark, nothing more. Likely some Lord's dying curse flaring in the ruins."
The gold-masked man raised a single finger. A shard of memory crystal floated into the air, glowing faintly. Inside its prismed surface replayed a vision—the blinding column of light tearing through the sky, splitting stone and shadow alike. The recording ended with Morvath's form dissolving into smoke.
Even the skeptic fell silent.
Another councilor, their mask shaped like a fox's face, tapped the table with a clawed fingertip. "If it is the spark… it means the prophecy was not a lie. That the After-World's cycle will break."
From the shadows behind the table, a voice spoke. Not from a mask, but from the darkness itself.
> "He is untrained. That makes him dangerous to all of us."
The gold-masked man's tone was final. "Find him. Test him. If he is the spark, we will decide whether to forge him into a weapon—"
"—or snuff him out before the Lords rally to his side," the fox-faced one finished.
The torches dimmed as a low, vibrating hum filled the room. A seal, invisible until now, pulsed in the air—an ancient pact binding their words.
When the hum faded, the Council chamber was empty. Only the crystal remained, still glowing faintly with the image of Sora's light.
---
Meanwhile, far below in the battered city, Sora sat slumped against a wall in a healer's alcove. The knight—who finally introduced herself as Kaelen—was bandaging her arm while the sickle-wielding girl, Ryn, paced like a caged predator.
"You don't get it," Ryn said sharply. "That light wasn't just a weapon—it was a flare. Every Lord, every Council hound, every scavenger in the After-World will smell your soul now."
Sora's throat felt dry. "So what do I do?"
Kaelen tightened the bandage and looked him dead in the eye. "You learn fast… or you die faster."
Outside, a bell tolled in the distance—low, mournful. It was not a warning bell. It was a summoning.
Someone powerful was already coming for him.
The Emissary
The bell's toll rolled through the streets like the call of a deep ocean creature. Each peal made the air feel heavier, as if gravity itself pressed down harder.
Sora, Kaelen, and Ryn stepped out of the healer's alcove into the fractured square. Survivors and guards stood frozen—not from fear, but from something closer to awe. All eyes faced the city's northern gate.
The gate's stone doors, taller than any building around them, shuddered before opening.
Through the haze stepped a figure clad in pale armor that looked almost liquid, shifting like moonlight on water. Their helm was faceless save for a slit of white light where eyes should be. Behind them trailed six black chains, each ending in a floating sigil that spun slowly in the air.
The chains hummed, and the ground trembled.
Ryn's breath hitched. "That's a Chainkeeper…"
Kaelen's hand moved to her sword. "Not just any Chainkeeper. That's Veyra."
The name rippled through the crowd like a cold wind.
The figure stopped in the center of the square. Their voice rang clear—not loud, but each word carried to every ear, as though whispered directly into the mind.
> "The Council calls for the one who unleashed the light. Step forward."
Sora felt every eye in the square shift toward him. His stomach turned to ice.
Ryn leaned toward him, whispering without moving her lips. "Don't. If you go, they'll brand you. Mark your soul with the Council's chain. You'll never breathe without their permission."
Kaelen's grip on his shoulder was iron. "If you don't go, they'll kill half this city just to drag you out."
Veyra tilted their head slightly, the light in their helm narrowing.
> "Do not make me call again."
The six chains slithered forward, hovering just above the ground. Wherever they passed, cracks spread in the stone.
Sora's chest tightened. He could feel something—someone—inside those chains, each one humming with a different heartbeat.
They were alive.
---
The Chain Breaker]
The air thickened, each breath tasting like iron.
The chains slithered closer, their black steel dripping shadows that hissed when they touched the stone.
Sora's legs wanted to move—either forward into surrender or backward into safety—but his feet felt welded to the ground.
Ryn's whisper was sharp, urgent. "Do not touch those chains. They feed on the first memory you ever loved. Once they have that, you're theirs forever."
The nearest chain rose to chest height, its sigil rotating faster, light sparking along its edges. The heartbeat inside it pounded against Sora's mind. He didn't know how, but he could feel the person trapped inside—struggling, screaming silently.
Kaelen's sword rang as it left its sheath, but Veyra didn't even turn to her.
> "One more step, and your captain will find her own mind inside my chains."
The crowd was dead silent, holding its breath.
Sora clenched his fists. He remembered the alley, the girl with green eyes dying under the fangs of that beast, and the way the light had poured out of him. That same heat now pooled in his chest, surging down his arms.
"Get away from me," he said, his voice low, but it carried.
The chain lunged.
Instinct took over. Sora's hand shot out—not to block, but to grasp the chain. Pain exploded up his arm like lightning, but instead of pulling his soul away, the chain cracked.
A scream, raw and inhuman, ripped through the square—not from Veyra, but from the sigil itself. The metal split, releasing a burst of white fire. Something—someone—fell out of the shattering link: a young man, coughing, eyes wide in disbelief.
Veyra staggered back, the light in their helm flickering.
> "Impossible…"
Sora let go of the broken chain, his palm smoking. "Looks like your leash doesn't fit me."
The crowd erupted—not in cheers, but in terrified murmurs. Breaking a Council chain was the kind of act that shifted the After-World's balance entirely.
Veyra straightened, their voice colder now.
> "Then you are not summoned… you are hunted."
The bell began to toll again, faster this time, as the northern gate groaned open wider.