The Smirk of the Unseen（不可见の微笑） (Bù kě jiàn no hohoemi) Hollowspire was a city that had forgotten itself.
The echoes of past civilizations clung to the broken spires, whispering 残響 (zāngxiǎng) of things that never were. Arůe walked its abandoned streets, his steps light, almost careless.
He never seemed to notice the 影子 (yǐngzi, shadows) curling at his feet, nor the silent, hungry eyes watching from ruined buildings.
Perhaps he did, but the smirk on his face suggested he didn't care. "また,迷子か?" (Mata, maigo ka?) "Lost again?"
A voice, distant, hesitant. A woman stood at the mouth of an alley, half-hidden by the debris of the world's slow collapse.
Her blade glimmered in the faint light, its edge worn but still ready. Arůe tilted his head. "Depends. You looking for something?" She didn't answer right away. Instead, her eyes flicked toward the space behind him, where the world itself seemed to distort. "你…" (Nǐ… You…)
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Behind Arůe, the 影鬼 (Yǐng guǐ, shadow ghosts) stirred, their forms flickering between solidity and nothingness. One of them lunged—silent, swift, inevitable. Arůe didn't move. Or rather, he moved, but not in a way that made sense.
One second he stood there, the next he was five feet to the left, examining a loose stone in the ground. "那是什么?" (Nà shì shénme? What was that?) the woman breathed.
Arůe flicked the pebble away. "重力." (Zhònglì. Gravity.) His smirk deepened. The 影鬼 hesitated, its formless body shifting, uncertain. Arůe sighed. "Alright, fine."
He reached into his coat, pulling forth a weapon that should not exist. The 虚空の弓 (Xūkōng no Yumi, Hollow Remembrance) hummed in his hands, its frame woven from 灰烬 (huī jìn, ash) and 星光 (xīngguāng, starlight).
The bowstring, ephemeral and luminous, vibrated with a sound like the last notes of a dying song. "Ready?" His voice was light, almost teasing. The woman took a step back. "You're insane." Arůe smirked. "Maybe."
He let the arrow fly.