The Hollow's twilight fell like a velvet curtain,
deep aubergine bleeding into silver along the horizon.
Beneath the Spiral Tree's distant glow,
Kaien and his companions threaded a narrow gorge—its walls draped in festooned vines that whispered of ancient secrets.
The air smelled of damp earth and distant storm, each breath a promise of rain.
Lanterns carved from bloomsteel cast soft pools of rose‑hued light,
but beyond their glow, darkness seethed with unseen menace.
No sooner had they turned the gorge's final bend than a whirlwind of black feathers and steel erupted overhead.
Twin raiders, cloaked in raven‑feathered leather, dove from the cliff's lip,
their curved sabers flashing like lightning.
One plunged straight toward Kaien, blade hissing through the still air.
He met the strike with a thunderous clang, sword ringing as steel bit steel.
Sparks blossomed between their edges, scattering like dying stars.
Kaien twisted on the ball of his foot, parrying downward with a sharp sching,
the attacker's momentum carrying him off‑balance.
With a deft riposte, Kaien's curved blade carved a line of fire across the assailant's breastplate—no fatal blow, but enough to draw a gasp.
The raider staggered, clutching the wound, eyes wide with shock.
At his side, Lyra sprang forward, bloomsteel whirling in a graceful arc.
She swept her blade low in a fluid slash, the flat grazing the second raider's thigh with a rasping scrape.
Leather tore; a cry cut through the twilight.
The raider pitched forward, tumbling into the vine‑hung gorge below with a startled shout that echoed against the stone.
No rest followed their victory.
From the collapsing darkness at their backs emerged a lone figure—tall, sinewy,
skin the color of moonless night, eyes glinting like obsidian mirrors.
In each hand it bore a slender blade that shimmered with unspoken malice.
Kaien squared his shoulders, hilt raised in salute.
The Shadowborn advanced, steps silent as falling ash.
They clashed at the gorge's mouth: a dance of mirrored shadows,
blades sparking in counterpoint.
The Hollow's hush shattered: schlick of steel slicing air, thunk as Kaien's shield‑forged gauntlet deflected a flickering thrust, crack when the Shadowborn's blade glanced off the rocky wall, sending shards of stone into the lantern's glow.
Lyra leapt to Kaien's flank, blade weaving a ward‑glyph mid‑stride.
A spiral of bloomsteel light flared, searing the Shadowborn's armor with a hiss.
The creature recoiled, mouth twisting in a silent snarl, and lunged—blades sweeping in twin arcs. Kaien's sword rang against one, the force jarring his arm; Lyra's upward slash sheared through the other, metal cutting like hungry flame.
The Shadowborn staggered, a slow tide of darkness pooling beneath its armor.
Rin and Aira seized the moment.
Rin's wand traced a coil in the air, and from it burst a spiral of emerald motes that swarmed the foe's feet, binding its ankles in chitin‑hard light.
Aira dashed forward, dagger in hand, and with ruthless precision struck at every gap in the creature's defense: a stab beneath the breastplate, a slash across the shoulder, each blow urging the Shadowborn backward toward the gorge's lip.
With a final cry, it toppled over the edge, vanishing into vine and shadow.
The gorge fell silent save for their ragged breaths.
Kaien lowered his sword, its edge gleaming with reflected lantern‑light.
"Strength is tempered by mercy," he said, voice low but unwavering.
He knelt to examine the younger raider left wounded at the path's entrance—face pale,
blood seeping through torn leather.
The youth's gaze flickered hope and fear in equal measure.
Lyra eased beside him, drawing bloomsteel in a gentle whoosh.
She pressed her blade's flat against the cut, iron humming warmth into the wound.
The crimson seam closed like petals at daybreak, leaving only a faint pink line.
Kaien helped the youth to his feet, pressing a steadying hand to his shoulder.
"Go now," he instructed softly.
"Carry word of what you have seen: that the Hollow's guardians stand both fierce and forgiving."
The youth nodded, eyes wide with newfound awe, and retreated into the trailing darkness.
Their lanterns carried them back through the gorge as storm clouds loomed overhead,
breaths of wind stirring the vines to song.
Each footstep rang hollow with purpose born of steel and silence.
Ahead, the first pale streaks of dawn brushed the sky, promises of light against coming storms.
Kaien paused beneath a moss‑draped archway, raising his gaze to the incoming clouds.
"Let this night remind us that every blade we draw writes our vow," he murmured.
Lyra's hand found his, bloomsteel humming in response.
Together, they stepped into the new day—blades sheathed, hearts sharpened,
and the Hollow's memory blazing brighter than any shadow they might face.