The Hollow smelled of blood.
It soaked the dirt.
It clung to the cracked walls.
It filled the survivors' lungs with every shallow, painful breath.
Fred sat with his back against the cold stone, dagger still in hand even though his fingers were cramping from exhaustion.
Theo lay curled beside him, silent, trembling.
The others — the few who had survived the bloodbath — huddled in the far corners, watching each other with hollow, broken eyes.
No one spoke.
Words didn't matter anymore.
Only the deafening silence of guilt, fear, and betrayal.
Above them, in the shadows of the iron balconies, the Overseers watched.
Always watching.
Waiting.
Fred's jaw clenched.
Every second that passed made the rage in his chest burn hotter.
He wasn't just angry at the Hollow.
He was angry at himself.
For surviving when others hadn't.
For not saving the girl.
For still breathing while so many better souls were bleeding out in the dirt.
> Is this who I am now?
A survivor.
A coward.
A killer.
Fred didn't know anymore.
---
The next morning — or maybe it was the same night; time bled together in the Hollow — Kael returned.
He paced before the battered survivors like a wolf among sheep.
Behind him, new overseers dragged in two large cages.
Inside them?
New faces.
New prisoners.
Fresh meat.
Fred's stomach twisted.
They were young — too young.
Some barely teenagers, eyes wide with terror.
One boy couldn't have been older than twelve.
Kael turned to the survivors.
> "Congratulations," he said mockingly.
> "You've earned the privilege of training the next generation."
He grinned.
> "Teach them. Break them. Or be replaced."
Fred's heart dropped.
The Hollow didn't just kill.
It recruited.
It grew like a disease.
And now, they were part of the infection.
> I won't become like them, Fred swore silently.
> I won't.
But when the boy with the too-big eyes stumbled and fell, and Kael's whip cracked across the boy's back, Fred knew:
The Hollow would make him choose.
Every. Single. Day.
Between survival and humanity.
---
That night, Fred couldn't sleep.
Theo tossed and turned, mumbling broken nonsense in his dreams.
The new recruits whimpered in their cages.
And somewhere, deep in the dark, Fred heard it.
A whisper.
Faint.
Urgent.
> "You want out," the voice said.
Fred froze.
Was he hallucinating?
Was this how madness began?
> "You want out," the voice repeated.
> "I can help."
Fred sat up slowly, scanning the darkness.
He saw nothing.
Just the thick blackness of the Hollow pressing in on all sides.
> "Who are you?" he whispered.
No answer.
Just the faintest brush of movement — a shift of air — as if someone were there, just out of sight.
Watching.
Waiting.
Fred's heart pounded.
This could be a trap.
Another test.
Or worse.
But if it wasn't...
If it was real...
Could he risk ignoring it?
Could he afford not to?
He lay back down, feigning sleep, ears straining for any other sign.
The whisper came once more, softer than breath.
> "Tomorrow. Watch the third overseer."
> "He carries the key."
And then — silence.
As if it had never been.
Fred stared into the black ceiling until his eyes burned.
Had he imagined it?
Or had the Hollow just offered him a sliver of hope?
And if so — at what price?
---
The next day came like a hammer.
Kael forced the survivors to train the new recruits — if you could call it training.
It was more like conditioning.
Punishment.
Break them down.
Make them Hollow.
Fred hated every second of it.
He hated how the boy with the too-big eyes flinched at every movement.
He hated how the girl with the broken wrist cried silently when they forced her to spar.
He hated how the Overseers laughed.
And most of all, he hated himself for obeying.
But he had no choice.
Disobedience meant death.
Not just for him.
But for Theo.
For the recruits.
He had to play along.
At least for now.
> Tomorrow, Fred thought.
> Watch the third overseer.
It was a thin thread.
A desperate gamble.
But it was all he had.
And in the Hollow, sometimes a gamble was the only way to survive.
---
That night, Fred found Theo sitting alone, staring blankly at the cracked wall.
He looked smaller somehow.
As if part of him had been scraped away.
Fred sat beside him in silence.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Theo whispered:
> "Do you think... there's a way out?"
His voice was so fragile it barely seemed real.
Fred looked at him.
At the bruises on his arms.
At the hollow look in his eyes.
And for the first time, he didn't lie.
> "I don't know," Fred said softly.
> "But I'm going to find it."
Theo nodded once.
And in that small, broken nod, Fred found a reason to keep fighting.
Not just for himself.
But for all of them.
Even if it killed him.
Especially if it killed him.
---