The grand hall of the Imperial Palace loomed before Arian like a beast waiting to devour him. Polished obsidian floors reflected the cold light from crystal chandeliers, and towering marble pillars stretched endlessly upward, disappearing into shadow. The banners of House Dravon—black dragons coiled around a crimson sun—hung heavy and still, as if even the air feared to move.
Each step Arian took echoed, loud and deliberate.
Eyes followed him.
Nobles in silk and velvet clustered like wolves, draped in jewels but baring teeth in whispered laughter. Generals in battle-worn armor loomed in the corners, silent and cold as statues. Servants slipped through the cracks like shadows, avoiding notice.
But it wasn't their stares that unnerved him.
It was the silence behind them.
A quiet hum beneath the laughter, a tension strung taut through the room.
They know something.
At the far end of the hall, the Ironwood Throne sat empty, its black frame clawing upward like twisted roots. But it was the figure seated just below it who drew Arian's gaze.
Prince Kael.
His eldest brother.
Kael Dravon, Warden of the East, sat on the lower dais with a posture carved from stone. His armor gleamed with polished steel and crimson enamel, the imperial crest etched deep into his chestplate. A warrior through and through.
Beside him lounged Prince Lucien, the second son. Where Kael was steel, Lucien was silk. Draped in dark emerald robes, a silver serpent curled around his wrist, lazily flicking its tongue. His smile was thin, his eyes sharper still.
"Brother," Lucien's voice slithered through the air, smooth and cold. "We feared you'd taken ill. Yet here you stand, alive and… well?"
Arian forced a measured breath. This is a game. Play it well.
"My apologies for the delay. The gods saw fit to grant me clarity in sleep," he said smoothly, letting his gaze drift across the room. "And I awaken with a clearer mind than ever before."
Lucien's smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed a fraction. Kael said nothing.
The Emperor was absent. Strange.
Before he could question it, a voice boomed.
"Approach."
A man stepped forward from the shadows. Lord Commander Varic, head of the Imperial Guard. His scarred face was as unreadable as stone, but there was a hardness in his gaze that set Arian's nerves alight.
"There was an… incident last night," Varic began, eyes sweeping the hall. "An intruder within the palace walls."
A ripple of unease passed through the nobles.
"Impossible," someone muttered.
Varic ignored them. "A servant was found dead. Poisoned. And a royal chamber was breached."
Arian's blood cooled.
Mine?
Lucien's smile thinned. "Surely you're not suggesting one of us was the target, Commander?"
Varic's expression darkened.
"No. The intruder entered Prince Arian's quarters."
The hall erupted in murmurs.
Arian remained still, forcing his heartbeat to steady.
Lucien tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. "How curious. Why would anyone waste their efforts on dear Arian?"
A sharp glance from Kael silenced further mockery.
Varic continued, "The assassin left behind no trace, save for the servant's body. But this was no ordinary trespasser." He paused. "They carved a symbol into the wall."
A parchment was unfurled, revealing a crude mark—two circles overlapping, bisected by a jagged line.
Arian stared at it. It was unfamiliar, yet it stirred something deep, like an echo in a dark chamber.
"The Mark of the Hollow," Kael said, voice low.
A silence heavier than stone filled the hall.
Arian's mind raced. The Hollow? The name was foreign to him, but the murmurs around the hall hinted otherwise.
Lucien spoke first. "A children's tale. Ghosts in shadows. Surely this is beneath our concern."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "No. If the Hollow moves within these walls, it is a threat to us all."
"Then the question remains," Lucien's gaze flicked to Arian. "Why the forgotten prince?"
Arian met his stare, unflinching. "Perhaps they thought me an easy target. They were wrong."
Lucien smirked, but Kael studied him carefully.
Varic stepped forward. "We will double the guards and seal the inner halls. No one moves without clearance."
The nobles began to disperse, their whispers filling the air like smoke.
Kael rose, heavy boots echoing as he descended the dais. He stopped before Arian, eyes hard.
"Be careful, brother. Not all enemies wear their blades openly."
Arian inclined his head. "I intend to be."
Lucien only chuckled, turning away.
But something gnawed at Arian.
The Hollow. The symbol. The attempt on his life.
Why now?
He turned on his heel, leaving the hall behind.
The corridors of the palace were colder than before. Shadows clung to the walls, and every flicker of torchlight seemed to stretch them farther.
Arian's thoughts spiraled.
Was it truly an assassin? Or something more?
His body moved on instinct, navigating the palace with ease, yet his mind was elsewhere.
Until he noticed it.
A flicker at the edge of his vision.
A shadow that did not move with the light.
He stopped.
The hall was empty. Silent.
But the air had shifted.
Slowly, he turned.
There, at the end of the corridor, stood a figure. Cloaked in black, face hidden beneath a hood.
It did not move.
Arian's breath caught.
"Who are you?" he called, voice steady.
No answer.
Then—
A hand, pale as bone, lifted slowly.
And pointed directly at him.
The mark carved into his door.
Arian's heart pounded.
The figure did not move, did not speak.
But in the next blink, it was gone.
The corridor was empty once more.
But the chill in the air remained.
And so did the feeling that this was only the beginning.