The wind in Gravehollow did not howl.
It breathed — like something alive and tired of pretending otherwise.

Auren staggered as his boot sank into the ashen soil. The cloak he’d once worn like a banner now dragged behind him like a burden. The white-silver armor that had once glowed with divine light was dulled, scratched — mortal. His golden blade no longer shimmered; it clinked like iron against the stone path.

He was not used to the weight of flesh.
He did not like it.

His body ached in places he had no names for. His breath caught in his throat, thick like smoke. There was no song in the wind to greet him, no divine chorus to remind him who he was. He felt... small.

And yet the scar above his heart throbbed — a burn of recognition.

Gravehollow.

A village nestled between grave-mounds and mountain teeth, its houses bent like elders kneeling to no one. Lanterns flickered red, casting shadows longer than they should be. The people didn’t look at him. They avoided him — as though instinct screamed what memory could not.

He passed a well where vines curled like sleeping serpents.
The stones whispered.

“Are you Death?” a voice asked.

He turned. A girl — thin, dirty-cheeked, with mismatched eyes that did not blink. One blue, one silver. Her copper-red hair caught the fading light like flame. She held a stick like a sword, pointed not at him, but at the sky.

“No,” he said.

She tilted her head. “You look like you’ve killed him, though.”

He said nothing.

She smiled, all teeth and trouble. “My name’s Lyra. You smell like burnt stars.”

“And you,” he murmured, “are not afraid.”

“I was born in a grave, mister. Not much left to fear.”

Auren knelt, every motion resisted by this cursed, breathing skin he wore. “You see things, don’t you?”

She nodded, slow. “Sometimes I dream of people crying underground.”

She pointed to the hill. “That way.”

Of course. Where else would the Tribunal hide their filth?

She leaned closer, whispering, “If you’re going to break the world, mister, can I come watch?”

Auren looked into those strange eyes. One saw light. One saw truth.

“…You can walk beside me, if your heart dares.”

“The flame forgets the forge,
but the forge remembers the scream.”
                                               — Karmic Echo, First Verse