the crowns hollows

chapter 4

The city woke before Kael did.

That was what his father used to say.

Cities like Veyr never truly slept. They only became quieter.

Before sunrise, the bakers were already lighting their ovens. Dockworkers were dragging crates through the lower streets. Carters shouted at horses. Shopkeepers unbolted shutters. Somewhere in the upper districts, bells marked the beginning of another day.

But in the Hollow, morning arrived differently.

It came through cracks.

A pale line of gray beneath a door.

A weak glow through dirty windows.

The sound of someone coughing through a wall.

The smell of yesterday's cooking smoke.

Kael opened his eyes.

For several seconds, he didn't move.

Something had woken him.

He wasn't sure what.

He listened.

Rain.

A cart.

Someone arguing in the street.

A dog.

His father's breathing.

Mara turning over in her sleep.

Normal.

Kael closed his eyes again.

Then he heard it.

Scrape.

His eyes opened.

He sat up.

The sound came from beneath his bed.

Kael stared at the darkness underneath it.

Nothing moved.

He reached slowly toward the knife beside his pillow.

His fingers closed around the handle.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

Kael waited.

Nothing.

He leaned over.

There was only dust, a broken shoe, and an old wooden button.

He exhaled.

"Great."

He sat back up.

He was getting jumpy.

That was all.

The ruins were getting to him.

The strange footprints.

The missing cup.

His father's story.

The black stone.

He had spent half the night thinking about them.

He needed sleep.

Instead, he had spent hours staring at the ceiling.

Kael rubbed his face.

Then he noticed something on his palm.

A thin black line.

He frowned.

He rubbed it with his thumb.

It didn't come off.

He washed his hands.

Still there.

Kael stared at it.

The mark looked almost like a tiny vein.

He flexed his fingers.

The line disappeared.

He stopped breathing.

Then it returned.

Kael stared for several seconds.

Finally, he pulled his sleeve over his hand.

Whatever it was...

he wasn't telling anyone.

Not yet.

The kitchen smelled like burnt bread.

Mara was standing over the stove.

She looked twelve years old and completely exhausted.

Kael leaned against the doorway.

"You're burning it."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you taking it off?"

"Because you're distracting me."

"I'm standing six feet away."

"You're still distracting."

Kael smiled.

"Good morning."

Mara glanced over her shoulder.

"You're creepy in the morning."

"I'm creepy all the time."

"True."

She scraped the bread onto a plate.

Most of it was black.

Kael picked up a piece.

Mara slapped his hand.

"Don't."

"I've eaten worse."

"You shouldn't have to."

Kael looked at her.

She looked away.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Kael broke the bread in half.

He handed her the larger piece.

Mara frowned.

"You did it again."

"Did what?"

"That."

Kael sat down.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You always give me more."

"You're smaller."

"That's not how food works."

"It is in this house."

Mara stared at him.

Then she quietly ate.

Kael watched her for a moment.

She had grown thinner over the last year.

Everyone had.

Food prices had gone up again.

The flour merchants blamed the war in the north.

The northern kingdoms blamed the weather.

The nobles blamed the merchants.

Everyone blamed someone else.

Meanwhile, people in the Hollow simply ate less.

Kael hated that.

Not because he was hungry.

Hunger was familiar.

What he hated was watching Mara pretend she wasn't.

Their father entered the kitchen.

Garran's hand rested against the wall as he walked.

His face looked pale.

Kael noticed immediately.

"You should stay in bed."

Garran gave him a tired look.

"Good morning to you too."

"You look terrible."

"I've looked terrible for twenty years."

"Today you're doing it better."

Mara laughed.

Garran shook his head.

"Both of you."

He lowered himself into the chair.

Kael put a cup of water beside him.

His father noticed the gesture.

"Thank you."

Kael nodded.

There was something strange about hearing his father say it.

Garran had always been the one fixing things.

Broken doors.

Leaking pipes.

Loose floorboards.

Kael's childhood had been filled with the sound of his father's hammer.

Now Kael was beginning to realize that the man who had always seemed unbreakable was simply very good at hiding the cracks.

Garran took a drink.

"School today?"

Kael shrugged.

"Probably."

Mara looked at him.

"You have lessons."

"I know."

"You've missed three this week."

"Four."

She frowned.

"That's worse."

"I've been working."

"You've been scavenging."

"Working."

"Scavenging."

"Same thing."

"It's absolutely not the same thing."

Garran smiled faintly.

"You two argue like your mother."

The room went quiet.

Kael looked down.

Mara stopped eating.

Their mother had been dead for six years.

Sometimes they talked about her.

Sometimes they didn't.

This was one of the days they didn't.

Garran noticed the silence.

"I'm sorry."

Kael shook his head.

"It's fine."

It wasn't.

But it didn't need to be said.

After breakfast, Kael went to his father's room.

He waited until Garran was asleep.

Then he opened the old chest.

He had promised not to.

Promises mattered.

But Kael had learned another lesson growing up.

Sometimes keeping your family safe required breaking the rules they gave you.

The chest smelled like dust, leather and something faintly metallic.

The black stone was still there.

Kael stared at it.

He didn't touch it.

Instead, he examined everything around it.

The old mining gloves.

The lantern.

A bundle of yellowed papers.

A map.

He unfolded the map carefully.

It showed Veyr.

But not the Veyr he knew.

The streets were different.

The eastern district was larger.

Much larger.

And beneath it was another map.

A second city.

Underground.

Kael's eyes widened.

The tunnels weren't random mine shafts.

They formed streets.

Buildings.

Chambers.

A massive circular structure sat beneath the eastern district.

At its center was a symbol.

The same symbol from the silver cup.

Kael's heartbeat quickened.

He traced the map with his finger.

There was handwriting along the edge.

His father's handwriting.

But it was older.

Much older.

Kael recognized the letters.

He didn't recognize the words.

One phrase appeared several times.

DO NOT OPEN THE LOWER GATE.

Below it, another sentence had been written.

IF THE BELL RINGS, LEAVE.

Kael stared at it.

A bell?

There were no bells beneath Veyr.

At least, there shouldn't be.

He folded the map.

Then he noticed something underneath it.

A small photograph.

Not a magical portrait.

A real photograph.

Old.

Faded.

Kael picked it up.

Five men stood outside a mine entrance.

His father was there.

Much younger.

Maybe twenty-three.

Beside him were four other men.

Kael recognized one.

The other four were strangers.

But someone had scratched three of their faces out.

Not faded.

Scratched.

Violently.

Kael turned the photograph over.

There were six words written on the back.

We were not the first ones.

Kael's stomach tightened.

He looked toward the bedroom door.

His father was still asleep.

Kael looked back at the photograph.

A tiny sound came from the chest.

Tap.

Kael froze.

The black stone had moved.

Only slightly.

Maybe a finger's width.

He stared at it.

Then came another sound.

Tap.

The stone moved again.

Kael slowly reached toward it.

His hand stopped inches above the surface.

The black line beneath his sleeve began to burn.

Kael pulled his hand back.

The stone stopped moving.

Silence.

Kael closed the chest.

He didn't breathe until the latch clicked shut.

Outside, Veyr was already alive.

Kael walked through the Hollow with his hands in his pockets.

He tried to think about school.

He failed.

The photograph wouldn't leave his mind.

We were not the first ones.

What did that mean?

First to find the ruins?

First to open the door?

First to disappear?

Or first to survive?

He turned onto Lantern Street.

The upper city rose beyond the Hollow.

White towers pierced the morning sky.

Magical lights floated between them.

A massive stone bridge connected the noble district to the royal quarter.

Kael had only been across that bridge twice.

Both times, he had been working.

He stopped beneath it.

A group of students walked past.

They wore dark uniforms trimmed with silver.

The Royal Academy.

Kael watched them.

They laughed.

One boy lifted his hand.

A tiny flame appeared above his palm.

The others cheered.

Kael looked away.

Magic.

Real magic.

He had never possessed any.

His father didn't.

His mother hadn't.

Their family had no magical bloodline.

In Veyr, that meant something.

It meant Kael would never become a mage.

Never join the Wardens.

Never attend the Academy.

Never become important.

People like him weren't supposed to rise.

They were supposed to work.

Survive.

Grow old.

Disappear.

Kael had accepted that.

Mostly.

But yesterday, something had happened beneath the ruins.

Something that made the hair on his arms rise whenever he thought about it.

Something had stolen his silver cup.

Then returned it.

Something had left a mark on his hand.

Something had been watching him.

And now his father's oldest secret was connected to all of it.

Kael looked toward the eastern district.

The ruins waited beyond the rooftops.

He knew he should stay away.

He knew it.

But another thought had begun forming.

A dangerous one.

If his father had spent twenty years keeping him away from those ruins...

what exactly was he afraid Kael would find?

The academy bell rang.

Kael realized he was late.

Again.

He sighed.

"Wonderful."

He started walking.

He didn't see the figure standing across the street.

An old woman in a dark cloak.

She watched Kael disappear into the crowd.

Then she looked toward the eastern district.

Her expression changed.

Fear.

She whispered a single word.

"Awakened."

Then she walked away.

Kael reached the academy just before the second bell.

The building was enormous.

Older than most of Veyr.

Its walls were covered with statues of famous mages.

Heroes.

Kings.

Wardens.

Legends.

Kael hated the place.

Not because of the lessons.

Because it reminded him of everything he wasn't.

He entered the classroom.

Twenty-seven students turned toward him.

A boy near the back laughed.

"Look who decided to show up."

Kael ignored him.

He took his usual seat.

Second row from the window.

Not too close.

Not too far.

The teacher entered.

Master Halden was an old mage with a scar across his cheek and a habit of staring at students as if he could see through their skulls.

He placed a stack of books on the desk.

"Today we're discussing the origins of magic."

Kael nearly fell asleep.

Then Halden wrote three words on the board.

The Firstborn Covenant

Kael's attention sharpened.

He didn't know why.

The black mark beneath his sleeve suddenly became cold.

Master Halden turned toward the class.

"Most of what you know about magic is wrong."

The room became quiet.

Kael stared at the board.

For some reason...

he felt like he'd heard those words before.

Not in this classroom.

Not in this life.

Somewhere deep inside him, something seemed to stir.

And somewhere beneath the eastern ruins...

something answered.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Three times.

Like a heartbeat.