Hollow Monarch - Riftborn

1. Awakening in the Unknown

Kael awoke to the taste of blood.

It pooled in his mouth, thick and metallic, clinging to his tongue like rusted iron. His body ached—muscles bruised, ribs flaring with every shallow breath. A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through his skull, making his thoughts sluggish.

His fingers twitched against the ground. The texture was wrong. Not stone, not earth, but something unnaturally smooth and dry—like the surface of polished bone.

A bitter chill crawled over his skin, seeping into his bones.

Slowly, Kael forced his heavy eyelids open.

The sky above was shattered.

Dark clouds churned and twisted unnaturally, moving against some invisible force. The moon was broken—jagged shards of it drifting aimlessly, each fragment glowing with a pale, eerie light. The air itself felt heavier, thick with the scent of rust and decay.

A feeling of unease gripped him.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

But… where was here?

His memories were a fragmented mess—like broken glass scattered in his mind, pieces missing where they should have been whole. He could recall fleeting images—an echo of laughter, a haunting scream, faces without names. Yet nothing solid, nothing that explained this place.

A sound—ragged breathing.

Kael tensed, his muscles tightening despite the pain. His gaze flicked toward the source.

A boy lay slumped against a pile of rubble nearby. His leg was pinned beneath a collapsed pillar, twisted at a sickening angle. He was young—barely sixteen, his pale face drenched in sweat, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps.

Yet, he wasn't looking at Kael.

His wide, terror-filled eyes were fixed on something behind him.

A creeping chill slithered down Kael's spine.

He turned—slowly.

---

II. The Horror Reveals Itself

The shadows in the ruins shifted.

A presence loomed at the edge of the broken structures, half-concealed by the thick, swirling mist.

At first, it resembled a man.

Tall. Draped in ragged cloth.

But as Kael's vision adjusted, the illusion fractured.

Its form was unstable—rippling, warping, as though it couldn't fully take shape. Its face… wasn't a face.

It was many.

A grotesque patchwork of shifting features, stitched together in a constantly rearranging mosaic. Too many eyes blinked across its shifting flesh, moving in chaotic patterns. Too many mouths twisted and twitched, some opening in silent screams, others muttering soundless words.

A heavy, suffocating pressure filled the air.

Kael's breath hitched.

His instincts screamed at him to run.

But his body—weak, wounded—refused to obey.

And then—

The whisper came.

"One must die. The Rift must feed."

The words did not echo in the air.

They slithered inside his skull.

Kael flinched, his fingers twitching.

"One must die."

A command. A demand.

His gaze flicked to the boy.

That was it, wasn't it?

Only one of them needed to die.

Not both.

Just one.

The boy trembled. His lips parted, forming soundless words before a hoarse whisper escaped.

"P-Please…"

Kael's eyes drifted downward.

To the jagged metal pipe protruding from the rubble.

A weapon.

A slow, creeping certainty settled in Kael's chest.

If I don't act, we'll both die.

"Choose."

The whisper pressed deeper, an invisible weight settling on Kael's mind. The thing in the mist watched, waiting.

Kael's breath steadied.

And then—

He moved.

---

III. The First Kill

The world slowed.

Kael lunged.

The boy's eyes widened in shock. His lips parted, but the words never came.

Kael's fingers closed around the jagged metal pipe, yanking it free from the rubble. His ribs screamed in protest, pain flaring through his body like fire. But he didn't stop.

Survival came first.

The metal shard plunged into the boy's throat.

A wet, sickening squelch.

Blood sprayed across Kael's hands—hot, thick. The boy made a choked, gurgling sound, fingers twitching, grasping at nothing.

His gaze met Kael's.

Horror.

Betrayal.

Disbelief.

Then—nothing.

The boy's body slumped.

Kael exhaled, his hands shaking. The metal shard slipped from his grip, clattering against the rubble with a dull, bloodied ring.

Silence.

And then—

The whisper returned.

"You are chosen."

Pain.

It erupted through Kael's body, searing through his veins like molten fire.

He gasped, clutching at his chest as an unbearable pressure filled him—as if something had burrowed into his soul.

His vision fractured. The world around him bent and twisted, shapes stretching into impossible angles. A whisper—a chorus of voices, countless and overlapping—spilled into his mind.

Not words. Not thoughts. Something else.

Kael collapsed to his knees.

He could feel something inside him now. A presence. A mark.

The Rift Sigil.

It burned.

His skin felt wrong, his very being unraveling at the edges. His thoughts blurred, flickering between his own and that of a collective consciousness pressing in from the shadows. Images flashed before him—horrors beyond comprehension, battles unfought, lives extinguished.

And in the distance—far beyond the mists—realities collided and twisted together.

And there it was—the laughter of the thing, rich with malice.

It echoed in his mind, a sound that clawed at his sanity. Kael squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shield himself from the onslaught. Yet when he opened them again, he was met with the sight of the boy's lifeless body, blood pooling around him, the vibrant red stark against the cold, gray debris.

The reality of what he'd done crashed in with overwhelming force, consuming him.

"Why? Why did it have to be like this?" he gasped, his voice trembling as if even the air itself mourned the boy's death.

But no answer came. The only responses were the whispers, each promise of power tangled with a curse of darkness.

"You are chosen to feed the Rift. You are an agent of change."

Kael's heart raced, caught between the wave of guilt and the rush of something dark and exhilarating.

The power coursing through him was intoxicating yet hollow, as if it offered everything but a shred of morality.

He had survived.

But at what cost?

As the mist coiled around him, he knew one thing with terrifying certainty—

This was only the beginning.