I don't know why, but sometimes my mind drags me back to places I thought I had forgotten.

Maybe it was the fear in the air now.

Maybe it was the way the crowd had gone silent, waiting for the sword to decide. Or maybe it was because deep inside, I already knew the truth.

I was seven years old again. Sitting on my parents' bed.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood, and lavender, the windows open just enough to let a weak morning light slip through the curtains.

The walls were painted off-white, peeling slightly at the corners. My father's jacket lay crumpled on the chair near the door, and a half-open book sat on the desk like it had been waiting for me to open it.

But I wasn't looking at any of that. I was holding a book in my small hands, its cover rough beneath my fingers.

On the front of it was a man, or at least something shaped like one.

Pale skin, dark empty eyes, and two sharp horns piercing out of his forehead like they belonged there.

I didn't understand the words inside. They were too big for me then. But the drawing made my stomach twist.

My mother sat beside me, her weight dipping the mattress.

She had long black hair that fell over her shoulder like a curtain, soft skin, and sharp but kind eyes.

The kind of eyes that always seemed to know what I was about to say before I even opened my mouth.

"Mom," I asked, my voice squeky, "why does the man on this book look so different than us?"

She leaned in closer, her hand brushing through my messy hair before she wrapped her arm around me and pulled me against her chest.

Her heartbeat was steady, warmth surrounding me like a shield.

"That's because, Noah," she said softly, her voice gentle but edged with something heavier, "he isn't a man. He isn't human."

I blinked up at her, confused. "Then what is he?"

Her hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. She glanced at the book, her lips pressing into a thin line before she answered.

"He's what we call an enemy," she whispered. "One that our kind has fought against for a very long time.

They may look like us, but you'll know them by their pale, dead-like hands. And…the horns. Horns that grow on their foreheads. Remember this, Noah. If you ever see someone like that, you must stay far away."

I stared at the picture again. The man on the cover didn't look alive.

His skin looked drained, his eyes too hollow, his smile twisted in a way I couldn't understand.

I remember burying my face into her chest, the book slipping from my hands. "Will they ever come here?" I asked, muffled.

Her arms tightened around me. She didn't answer right away. When she finally did, her voice was calm but carried the weight of something I didn't notice then.

"No. Not while we're here to protect you."

Her words sank deep into me, deeper than I realized.

And just like that, the memory shattered.

The smell of sandalwood was gone. The bed, the warmth of her arms, gone.

The present crashed back in with the sound of something heavy being dragged.

I saw him—this unknown man who had stood so calmly on the platform, his hand wrapped around the sword's hilt as if it had always been his.

The hall had gone so still that even breathing felt loud. Every noble, every king, every guest stared in disbelief.

And then, without hesitation, he moved.

The blade flashed through the air, so fast my eyes almost couldn't keep up.

No one even realised that Mr. Lapui's throat was split open, blood spraying across the polished floor.

His body collapsed in a twitching heap, the light in his eyes gone before his knees hit the ground.

Gasps ripped through the crowd. Screams followed right after.

The hood and robe that had been covering the man slipped free as he straightened, falling uselessly to the ground.

I couldn't breathe.

He stood there in plain sight now.

Lean, almost thin, his frame looked like it was carved from bone and shadow. His skin was pale—not just pale, but the kind of pale that looked lifeless, drained of color.

His veins ran faintly beneath the surface, dark lines snaking across his arms. His fingers were long, skeletal almost, with nails just a little too sharp.

But it wasn't his body that froze the entire hall.

It was his head.

Because rising from his skull, black as night and jagged like cracked stone, were two horns.

Horns that curved slightly backward, catching the light with a dull, unnatural sheen.

The air felt like it dropped ten degrees in an instant. My chest tightened. My mother's words from that old memory slammed into me so hard it made me dizzy.

"Pale, dead-like hands…and horns studded on their forehead."

My throat went dry.

He was a Hollow.

The kind my mother told me about. The kind humanity feared.

The kind that wasn't supposed to be here.

The nobles panicked. Some shoved each other, trying to get away from the platform. Others stood frozen in place, their faces pale, their eyes wide like they had just seen death itself step into the room.

Grandpa's face was dark, while King Philip muttered under his breath, "Impossible…A Hollow here…?"

But no one moved closer.

No one dared to.

Because the Hollow didn't flinch. He didn't panic. He didn't even look like he cared that he had just killed Lapui in front of everyone.

He stood there, his head slightly tilted, his pale eyes scanning the hall as though he were simply observing insects.

His mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile—a smile that didn't feel human at all.

The sword he held didn't glow like it was said to when it accepted a master, but it didn't reject him either.

I couldn't move.

My hands trembled against the seat. My heartbeat thrashed in my chest so loud I thought it would break free.

All I could think of was that old day on my parents' bed. My mother's voice. Her warning.

And now the truth was standing here, alive and real, staring us all down.

The Hollow's eyes locked with mine for just a moment.

Cold, empty and knowing.

I froze under that gaze. It was like being pinned to the spot by something that had already decided whether I lived or died.

He raised the sword slowly, tilting it toward the light, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, smooth, and heavy enough to cut through the chaos.

"Humans…"

The hall fell silent again, as if the word itself commanded it.

He let the pause linger, his eyes sweeping across the kings, the nobles, the guards, and finally back to me.

"…have forgotten who truly rules."

The words sliced through me sharper than the blade itself.

The crowd erupted. Some screamed, others prayed, some fainted where they stood.

But me?

I just stared, frozen and terrified.

Because my mother had been right.

And because now, sitting in this hall, I knew one thing for sure—

The Hollows weren't just stories.

They were here.

And this one…had just been revealed.

***