The next morning crept in slow and grey, like the sky itself was reluctant to wake. Raiden stood in the middle of a cracked apartment floor—bare except for an old mattress, a flickering TV he hadn't turned on in weeks, and the lingering stench of blood in the air. Whether real or imagined, he couldn't tell anymore.
He hadn't slept.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he listened.
The voice wasn't whispering now—it was humming, low and rhythmic, like an engine buried in his skull.
"You've opened the door, Raiden," it purred.
Now let me in."
His phone buzzed for the first time in days.
Kaia.
He didn't answer. Couldn't. The name alone felt like a weight tied to a life that no longer fit. He let it ring out, then tossed the phone across the room. It cracked against the wall but didn't break.
He almost wished it had.
A sudden knock echoed from the door.
Three soft raps.
Then silence.
Raiden stiffened, instincts flaring. No one ever visited. No one knew he was even staying here. He approached slowly, fingers twitching—not with fear, but anticipation.
He opened the door.
Empty hallway.
Except for a box.
Old. Wooden. Blackened with age. No note. No markings.
The humming in his head grew louder.
He brought it inside and knelt beside it. His hands hovered, unsure—for once. Something in him recognized this box. Not in a memory way… in a blood-deep way. Like it belonged to him before he was even born.
He opened it.
Inside: a mask.
Stone white. Smooth. Featureless. But as soon as his fingers brushed it, the world tilted. The air sucked itself out of the room. Shadows swirled beneath his skin.
A voice—not the one he'd grown used to, but deeper, older—boomed through his veins.
"You are the vessel. The Woken. The Hollow Flame."
Raiden fell back, gasping. The mask remained still, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.
And then he heard it.
Footsteps. Behind him. Inside the room.
He spun around.
No one.
But the mirror—cracked, dirty, crooked—reflected three silhouettes standing behind him.
All of them had his face.
All of them wore the mask.
He blinked—gone.
The original voice returned, quieter now, almost reverent.
"We are so close."
Later that Day
News broke.
Two bodies found in the industrial district. Brutal. Unrecognizable. The girl had fled the scene and was now under police protection. The city whispered about a monster. A vigilante. A ghost in the shadows.
Raiden walked through the crowd of gawkers like a phantom. Hoodie up, eyes low. No one looked at him twice.
Except one.
A man in a charcoal trench coat. Lean, sharp-featured, standing too still at the edge of the crowd. Watching him.
Their eyes met.
And Raiden felt it.
This one wasn't ordinary. His presence buzzed, like static over flesh. A kind of stillness that only came before chaos.
The man smiled.
Nodded once.
And vanished into the alley behind him.
Raiden followed without hesitation.
Raiden didn't remember falling asleep. But he woke up underground.
The air was cold. Heavy. Tasted like rust and burnt oil. Overhead, exposed pipes snaked across the low concrete ceiling, leaking water that dripped like a heartbeat. He sat up slowly, shirt damp, blood crusted beneath his nails. His head throbbed—not from pain, but from pressure. Like the earth above was trying to bury him alive.
"You're awake," came a voice.
The man from earlier.
Still cloaked in that oily-black trench coat. Eyes gleaming—one silver, the other pure void.
"You've drawn attention," he said. "More than you realize."
Raiden stood, fists clenched, his body humming with dormant violence.
The man nodded. "Good. You're ready."
"For what?" Raiden growled.
The walls around them shifted subtly. Or maybe it was the light. Or maybe the place itself wasn't built to follow normal geometry. Behind the man, a circular door unsealed with a hiss, revealing a stairwell that spiraled into pure darkness.
"Come," the man said. "It's time you see what's beneath the echoes."
They descended deeper.
The air thickened. Symbols etched into the walls glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with Raiden's heartbeat.
"They call this place The Hollow," the man said. "The oldest part of the city. Buried long before concrete ever touched the ground. Built to contain what you now carry."
Raiden's chest tightened.
"You knew about this," he whispered. "What's inside me."
"We've always known."
A sudden memory flashed through Raiden's mind—an altar, blood, chains. And beneath it all… something watching.
The man stopped before a large chamber door. "Inside, you'll find a mirror. But not the kind you're used to. This one doesn't reflect your face—it shows your future. Or one version of it."
Raiden hesitated.
"And if I don't like what I see?"
The man looked back, expression unreadable. "Then change it. Or let it consume you."
The chamber was circular. Vast. Silent.
At the center stood a single pane of black glass—floor to ceiling—pulsing gently like it was alive.
Raiden stepped forward.
His reflection shimmered into view… but it wasn't him.
It was a version of him—eyes hollow, body wrapped in writhing shadows, hands dripping with void. Around the reflection, people screamed, cities burned, and the sky cracked like glass. He stood atop it all, smiling like a god unhinged.
Raiden reached out.
The glass burned cold against his palm.
"You see now," the voice echoed—not from within him, but from the mirror itself. "You are not the first. You are the next."
"Next what?"
"Vessel. Warden. Weapon."
The vision changed.
He saw a circle of hooded figures, chanting in a forgotten tongue. A child screaming. A creature with no face. Pages of a book bound in skin. Then flashes—Kaia's face, twisted in fear. His own hands wrapped around a throat. Chains breaking. A symbol burned into his chest.
He staggered back, gasping.
The trench coat man caught him before he fell. "This power—it doesn't make you evil. It only removes the mask."
Raiden looked at him, wide-eyed. "Why me?"
The man's smile was sad.
"Because you were already broken."
They returned to a hidden chamber—dim monitors, ancient artifacts, ley lines drawn in blood-red ink. Waiting in the gloom were three cloaked figures. Shadows deeper than night clung to their robes.
"We are The Eclipsed," one said. "We don't fight monsters. We use them."
Another stepped forward—feminine voice, sharp as a blade. "We've been watching the bloodlines for centuries. Waiting for the resonance. Waiting for you."
Raiden's fingers twitched.
"And if I say no?"
The lights dimmed.
"Then the thing inside you," she whispered, "will make the choice for you."
Raiden stood on a rooftop, wind lashing his coat as he watched the city breathe beneath him. The moon had returned—but it looked smaller now. Distant. Cold.
He didn't feel alone.
Behind his eyes, the voice stirred once more.
"You saw what you can become."
Raiden nodded.
"Then let's begin."
And in the darkness behind him, something smiled.