The forest was quiet, it wasn’t the quiet Kalen knew. It was deeper, more solid. It was as if the world had forgotten to breath, or was collectively holding its breath waiting for him to do something, to go somewhere.

  He stood at the edge of the forest, just before the first tree, barefoot. The cold grass pressing against the bottoms of his feet. The air was warm, but still. Moonlight poured, silver threads that found every break in the trees and meeting a shape ahead.

  The deer.

  Its antlers still broken, now shimmering faintly—like glass catching candle light. It stood there watching him again, those same quiet, knowing eyes. Then it walked into the trees. No sound, no fear, only purpose—to lead him somewhere.

  Kalen followed.

  They walked through the forest, it was utterly quiet. As if there was no medium for sound. Not his steps or the steps of the deer made a sound. They passed trees, warped, dead, wrong. A light ahead pulsing faintly.

  Arriving at the crest of a hill Kalen was able to look down to where they were walking. He saw a crater, shaped far too perfectly, the rim was surrounded with trees towering at the height of at least twenty people. These were trees that would block the view of anyone—everyone.

  A path lead to the bottom and center. On both sides of this path lay pillars. Each pillar had a blue flame, cold, pulsing in order with the rest, leading—calling Kalen down.

  The deer continued to walk and so did Kalen. As they passed pillars Kalen looked at each one, each with characters carved into the sides. Characters of an old language, one long forgotten by time. The pillars looked old, too old. Many of the obviously once pristine edges were cracked and rounded by time.

  He stopped reaching out to the characters. He ran his fingers over the once fine carvings. The symbols were familiar, as if he’d always known them or knew the feelings they conveyed. They felt dangerous, like a warning, begging him not to continue, but he couldn’t stop. He kept walking following the deer.

  A little further down there was some structure. It was something like an entrance to something underground. Suddenly a bright blue light flashed more intense. It drew him closer. The deer stopped, but Kalen continued. Closer and closer. He walked to the entrance, it was larger up close. Wide enough for five men and as tall as two. There were symbols on the pillars by each wall.

  Kalen walked up to them. He reached out once again. Running the tips of his fingers through the depths of the characters. It felt like they were trying to tell him something, what this place was. He couldn’t quite place it, a tomb, a prison?

  The light from the entrance flashed, a blue so intense he couldn’t look. It hurt, he covered his eyes, turned away. He opened them, he looked around, but didn’t see the surroundings of the forest. It was just his bed, just his room, just his house.

  After looking around, he got back in bed. Telling himself “it was just a dream,” then taking a deep breath. He lay still in bed, trying to think of anything, but what he saw. Closing his eyes he laid there, but as much as he longed just to sleep—he longed for answers more.

  He got up, uncovered the soul lantern he kept near his bed, its light that same unwavering soft yellow. With his room illuminated, he made his bed, grabbed a set a clothes from his limited wardrobe, and got dressed. He took his lantern and opened his front door. The moon illuminated all in a strangely bright light, with an odd silver tinge. Looking around there wasn’t a sound in the village. He set his lantern down as there was no need for it.

  He closed his door and walked. In minutes Kalen found himself standing in the same space he had in the dream, next to the first tree of the forest. He expected the deer to come out and beckon him inwards. He stood there for ten heartbeats, then thirty. What seemed like minutes passed, but no deer.

  He continued without his guide. He walked following the path the deer had lead him down in the dream. Everything was the same. The trees, the terrain, the path. Exactly as they had been in the dream, the only difference being the sound of his foot steps. There was no rustling, no wind, no movement. Like the world had paused, waiting for him to fill his role.

  He walked to the crest of that same hill, but just before he arrived there was a pulse of light, just over the hill—just as the dream. He walked over the crest, he saw the same path. Pillars lining both sides, each with a cold blue flame. He walked down the hill following the path.

  When he was able to clearly see the structure once more, he saw the deer. It waited where he had left it in the dream, no not dream—how could it have been a dream, Kalen thought. The deer unmoving watched him as he went closer to the structure. He arrived at the ancient structure. He ran his fingers along the detailed carvings. Such intricate details, how could anyone make these, he thought.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Feeling the characters they triggered emotions, nervousness, fear, excitement like his body was preparing his flight or fight response. He still had the feeling that they meant something like prison or tomb. Like it held something no one should go near, something that merely looking at it would corrupt you. Yet the pull was too strong, he had to go inside.

  He walked in, the walls covered in more characters and ornate carvings. These carvings glowed pulsing blue, seeming to be scripts, ancient ones. He looked at them, wondering what they did. He followed them the ornate blue lines going down stairs deeper into the structure, The Resting Place. The Resting Place? How did he know that? He only had questions, something told him—something deep inside—that the answers were just down the stairs.

  Step after step, he went lower. With each step taken the feelings of utter rage, dread, emptiness, hunger, and the peaceful resignation to ones fate grew stronger. He could see it, the bottom. As he reached the last step the emotions were suffocating, a pressure settling on him. He couldn’t stand, he fell to his knees. He couldn’t breath, he struggled gasping—trying his best to suck in any air. The pressure let up, he could breath, he could stand.

  He looked around, it was a cavern. No, it was too perfectly shaped to be a cavern, it was just the size of one. Scripts covered every inch of wall, ceiling, and floor—with the sole exception of a path to the center of the room, to a cage. It was spacious with a bed and desk. The bars looked to be made of something silver. He walked towards the cage.

  As he got closer he could see a being. Kalen was easily one of the tallest in the village standing a half head taller than most with few exceptions. This being stood rising to its full hight, it was a full head taller than Kalen. It was black, tall, thin, dying. Kalen didn’t know how he knew that last part, but he did—he could feel it.

  “What are you? Who are you?” Kalen asked, looking for any explanation.

  “I’m…” He—it trailed off trying to find words. “A ghost of a long-dead past,” the being said, voice rough like cracking stone. “Buried and forgotten. Or… made to be.” Kalen didn’t know what it meant, but it felt wrong—like the very air was heavy burdened by memories. It asked Kalen “Who are you?”

  The question struck him deep in his absent soul, deeper than it should have. Who was he? A boy with no spark? No power? “My name is Kalen,” he said, steadier than he expected.

  The being studied him—not just his face, but his soul.

  “How did you get here? What did you do?” Kalen asked, searching for answers.

  “I was like them. The others. The ones who burned so brightly the world called them Eternal.” He looked around at his cage anger rising and dissipating. “Fire consumed, I consumed more.”

  “And they feared that, feared me—what I stood for.”

  “Disruption.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the being said quietly. “But maybe this marks something, a change…”

  “Perhaps it is a change in fate.”

  The being paused looking off into the distance. Like he could see the very paths of fate, flowing like rivers that endlessly met and diverged. Next he stared at the boy, stared at his soul.

  “You’re like me, I can see it. Your soul is barely lit.”

  “I never got my spark,” Kalen said.

  “I guess that’s a secret they kept. Well let me tell you, everything living has a flame even if it’s small. Did you not wonder what these scripts and formations did?”

  “They take any and all veyra from the air, from the surroundings, so I can’t have any. They’re killing me that way.”

  “Notice how nothing out there is living. Anything that stays in range long enough has their flame drained until it’s extinguished, true soul death.”

  The being held up his hand a faint blue glow shimmering in the palm of his hand—weak, flickering, but real. “You see? Even trapped like this… the flame remain. Starved, but not gone.” He stepped towards the wall of his cage.

  “Yours burns the same way. Dim. Barely there, but it’s enough.”

  Kalen feels something rush through him. Something called him to that power. Inside him something burned, a desire for that power.

  “I can see that look in your eyes. I looked the same way. Let me give you a gift, no not a gift. Don’t let me deceive you, in no way this is a gift—it can only be described as a…”

  “Curse.”

  “You’ll be hated, persecuted, feared. I could light your flame ablaze. You would eventually burn brighter then them all. Even the Eternals.”

  “I can’t break these bars, but maybe through fate they will be.”

  Kalen looked towards the being. He took a slow step forward, then another, and another until he was walking. He wanted that power, he’d do anything for that power. All the festivals, all the times Rowen messed with him, his parents’ death they all flashed through his mind.

  Kalen, his resolve hardened reached the cage. “I’ll take it, no matter the cost.”

  The being flashed a small sad smile, he looked… reminiscent or maybe sorrowful. Kalen couldn’t read the being’s face.

  As the being reached his hand to the opening in the bar a thin panel of light appeared. He pressed his hand against it and Kalen did the same.

  “Do better than I did. Succeed Kalen, this place will only bury you alive. Leave it. Head north.”

  “I’ll see you in death.” The being smiled.

  The world tilted. Light flared—hot, blinding light. His vision pulsed, tunneling to smaller and smaller points. Just before passing out and going into that sweet goodnight the being warned him “They’ll see you in fate, leave this place when you wake up.” Then Kalen passed out falling to the floor.

  The being watched, before falling to his knees.

  “I’m sorry for my cowardice Kalen. You’ll be better than me you’ll succeed, I saw a glimpse of you in fate.”

  “To you eight—I know you feel the ripple, the change in fate. I couldn’t win against you, I was weak.”

  “He will win.”

  “Death finally caught up to me and I promise, you are all heading for his cold embrace.” Following his words he began to cough. With each heartbeat, the cough worsened. He collapsed lying on his back. He looked inwards at his own soul flame, almost extinguished—true soul death.

  The being reached into himself. Into the last flickering remnants of his soul flame.

  “Just one thing more…” he whispered.

  From within, he drew a single spark of light—compressed memory, weight, pain, and

  wisdom. A shard of himself, a fragment. With shaking hands he placed the soul gem close to the bars where Kalen would be able to reach it.

  “A legacy, a truth, my truth.”

  “The truth of The Hollow Flame.”

  A final breath let out. Then it all stopped, the coughing, the pain, the insatiable hunger. It was over, the struggle that was his life.