Chapter 1: Sacrifice

  The palace stood in ruin, but it had not crumbled. It refused. The weight of centuries had pressed against its stone walls, had hollowed its halls, and stripped the gold from its edges, leaving only the bitter scent of decay and forgotten glory. Still, the foundation held. As did he.

  The Hollow Knight—once Prince Sorin Aetharys—sat on a throne he did not remember taking. Neither comfort nor choice kept him there, only the pull of the palace. The unseen chains that anchored him to its marrow. He did not breathe, not in the way mortals did. The air moved through him, empty, purposeless.

  Deep and vast, a presence stirred beneath his skin, pressing against the edges of his mind. Not words, not thoughts…just hunger. It had been waiting. He had been waiting.

  The night stretched endless beyond the broken windows. It had been night when he first woke in this ruin. It had been night when the last living voice faded. It would be night when the next offering arrived.

  Then it came.

  The sound of approaching feet—more than one set. Heavy, methodical steps. Leather scraping against stone. Still, he did not move, knowing that the palace had ways of deceiving him, conjuring echoes of things long lost. There were many times he had seen figures in the halls. Faces that had smiled at him from within the gloom. But this was different. This was real.

  A whisper of power fluttered in the air, faint but unmistakable, the cold, brisk scent of a Moon-touched mortal. She would be a descendant of the goddess herself, with power in her veins that could sustain his prison for another cycle. It was the reason his body remained whole, the reason the god inside him had not yet broken free. He could not recall the last time a sacrifice had been sent, but he knew this one would be the same. A light he would soon extinguish to calm the force within.

  The figures emerged through the archway. Hooded priests, their robes heavy with dust and damp. And between them—

  The girl.

  Her hands were bound, her face shadowed beneath tangled hair, hair the color of moonlight. But the Hollow Knight could see the defiance in how she stood, even as they forced her forward. She was not trembling even as they pushed her forward onto her knees. She should have been.

  He looked at her rather than the others. Her pure white robes were already sullied from the hard, dusty marble they had forced her onto. Something inside him stirred as if the emptiness that occupied his form came to life in her presence.

  One of the priests stepped ahead, bowing his head low. "This is Calista. She is of the necessary lineage. She is given, as the covenant demands. She is chosen, by the oracles. May her light quiet the abyss." His voice was steady and reverent, but something else was beneath it. Relief. Fear. A desire to be gone from this wretched place as quickly as possible.

  The Hollow Knight did not speak. He only watched. His obsidian eyes were empty, inhuman.

  The priest hesitated, then inclined his head again. "It must be done before dawn. You know this."

  Still, he said nothing. The god inside him stirred, restless. The priests did not wait for his permission. They never did. With hurried steps, they retreated, their robes whispering against the cold stone. The heavy doors groaned shut behind them, sealing the girl inside.

  Silence returned, vast and unbroken. The palace exhaled, settling once more.

  The empty prince remained still for a moment longer, watching the girl in the dim light. Then, finally, he moved. He was a large man, but his steps were quiet, the sounds muted by the filth of the floor. The only sound was the light metallic clinking of his chainmail and the whispery howl of the wind through a broken window.

  Her head turned in his direction. She was blindfolded as well as tied up. Her body was tense and alert, ready to spring into motion at any moment.

  "Do you intend to untie me or simply drain my life force without ceremony? I wonder how this ritual truly unfolds, Hollow Knight." The sacrifice asked, her voice soft but not weak.

  The Vessel paused, taken aback by the girl's boldness. She should have been cowering, begging, pleading for her life. Instead, she spoke to him as if they were equals.

  His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides as he stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. The cracks on his skin seemed to glow brighter in the dim light, casting eerie shadows across the sacrifice’s face. He reached out, one finger tracing the edge of the blindfold.

  "You are...not afraid," he observed, his voice a low rumble. His hand fell away, and he circled her slowly, studying her like a predator might study its prey. What he wanted was there, just beneath her stark white robes, beneath her rich caramel-toned skin. A wildly flickering lifeforce that would make him feel something other than emptiness, even for a moment. He just had to press his mouth to hers, a parody of a kiss, and take it.

  "You are...different," he murmured. "The others...they always wept. They claimed to be prepared to make the sacrifice, but in the end, they always begged. Will you beg too, little moon?”

  He paused in front of her, his dark eyes searching her face. "I do not know how this works," he admitted, his voice flat and detached. "I only know that you are here. And I am...hungry."

  He raised a hand, his cracked palm upturned. "I could take your life force now. I could drain you dry, as you say. It would be...easy."

  His thumb brushed over the cracks on his wrist, a habit he had acquired over centuries of emptiness. "But you are not like the others. And I find myself...curious."

  He stepped closer, invading her personal space. "So, I will make a bargain with you, little moon. Answer my questions. Sate my curiosity. See if you could feed my hunger and fill my emptiness in other ways. And perhaps...I will not drain you dry." His voice dropped to a low, threatening murmur. "But if you lie to me. If you deceive me..." His hand tightened into a fist, the cracks glowing brighter. "...then you will suffer in ways you cannot imagine."

  He tilted his head, studying her intensity. "Do we have an accord, Calista? Or will you make me...persuade you?" A hint of a smirk played at the corners of his mouth, an expression that had not been seen in the castle for centuries.

  She frowned at him, staying quiet as he talked, her bound hands clenched tightly in front of her. But he saw the pulse of her lifeforce. Her soul reacted to the idea of a deal.

  Her voice was pleasant when she finally spoke, a far cry from the panicked shrieks he had been listening to for an eternity. "You will not drain me dry..yet," she amended for him. Still, she held out her hands for him to untie the painful silver ropes that bound them.

  Her pulse leaped under his touch as he started to work on the ropes binding her fragile-looking hands. Her fingers were long and slim, the tips stained with something dark - possibly ink. His head cocked to the side, his curiosity growing with his hunger.

  "Are you ever sorry to do it?" She asked.

  The Hollow Knight paused, considering her question. Sorry. It was a concept he had not contemplated in centuries. Feelings and regrets were luxuries he could not afford. Not anymore. A vessel does not necessarily have to be empty, nor can it be full. There was not enough room for a prince and an imprisoned god in this form.

  He reached out, his fingers brushing against the rough silver ropes that bound her wrists. They were cold despite the heat of his skin. He licked his lips at the familiar siren song of her lifeforce. The scent was thick at her wrists; his eyes moved up - and on her pretty neck. He looked down, and more fragrant still between her legs.

  "Sorry?" he echoed, his voice distant. His fingers tightened around the ropes, not enough to harm the sacrifice but enough for her to feel the strength in them. "No. I am not sorry." A flicker of fear and her scent changed, becoming less appetizing. He frowned.

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  He began to untie the ropes, his movements precise and methodical. "I do what I must to survive and contain the beast that dwells within me."

  The ropes fell away, hitting the stone floor with a dull thump and raising a cloud of dust. The Hollow Knight watched as the blood flow returned to her hands, how her fingers flexed and curled. "I am a prisoner, as much as you are. Prisoner of my fate. Prisoner of this curse. But I will not deny that I long for the few moments of pleasure that draining a life gives me. Don’t frown like that little moon; it’s all I have."

  He stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “You are frightened, but still, you do not beg for mercy." A hint of something almost like curiosity entered his voice. "Tell me, Calista, why is that?"

  He waited, watching her intently. Hoping for her reaction. Waiting for... something. Anything. Some glimmer of the humanity he hungered for.

  She used her liberated hands to pull down her blindfold, revealing lively silver eyes that seemed to shift color slightly in the moonbeam she sat in. She gasped when she looked at the Vessel. It was not a gasp of fear; he knew that because most sacrifices reacted similarly when they first saw him.

  It was not because he was monstrous but because he was beautiful.

  Apart from his skin's unnatural, smooth hardness and the cracks that sometimes appeared when the god felt volatile, his body had not changed since the day he became a vessel. Calista looked not at the being called the Hollow Knight but a handsome warrior prince in his prime.

  His deep black eyes were no doubt dull and devoid of the personality that had made them so lively, and his hair long black hair flowed free, a far cry from the polished style of the prince once called Sorin. His black chainmail looked like it had seen better days, that was true, but still, the women who looked upon him were often momentarily speechless.

  "You...you look like a man," she exclaimed, and he felt something almost like laughter in the back of his throat.

  “What do they tell you moon maidens about me, I wonder? Your reactions are always so…interesting.”

  They both stared at each other for a few moments, and he gave her the time to appraise him as he had taken to appraise her. Her brow furrowed as she took in his appearance in an almost clinical manner, her lips moving soundlessly as if she were taking mental notes.

  He cleared his throat, and she snapped out of her daze, her cheeks turning an appetizing shade of pink. "Ah yes, you wanted to know why I seem different. Well, to put it simply…that’s because I am different. I was never raised to be your sacrifice. That was my twin sister Eliza. But something must have gone wrong.”

  The Hollow Knight's brows furrowed at her words, confusion flickering in his obsidian eyes. Something had gone wrong? He did not understand. The priests had brought her, hadn't they? They had declared her chosen, her lineage suitable for the sacrifice.

  He stepped closer, invading her space once more. His gaze raked over her face, searching for deceit. But there was none. All he found was a genuine confusion that mirrored his own.

  "Wrong?" he echoed, his voice a low rumble. "There is no wrong. Only the covenant. Only the sacrifice that must be made."

  She shook her head, and he recognized her disagreement from the stern press of her mouth and the dimple that appeared between silver eyebrows.

  He reached out, cupping her chin in his hand. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. But there was a tension beneath it - coiled strength waiting to be unleashed. He leaned in to breathe the scent of her power flowing just before him.

  "You say you were not raised for this. But you are here now." His thumb brushed over her lower lip, a gesture that might have been a caress in a different life. "You were chosen, and so you must be the light that quiets the darkness. So, it goes."

  His breath ghosted over her skin. "Tell me, little moon, if you were not chosen...then why are you here? Why has the moon goddess brought you to me?"

  "Believe it or not, I am as confused as you are. And as much as I love a good riddle, this one seems to have no clear solution.”

  Her annoyance is precious. The Hollow Knight shifted at the strange thought infiltrating the quiet of his mind. Precious?

  “My sister Eliza was raised as the next sacrifice. It is an honorable position; she lived like a princess among my people. I was a priestess and a prominent researcher of the ancient deities,” she stood a bit straighter as if the pride of her profession gave her a boost of energy.

  “I said goodbye to my sister yesterday when it was time for her purification ritual. So, imagine my surprise when the priests came to my room and told me that the Oracle had rejected my sister. She claimed our star charts had been misread, and I was the one that would be needed all along," she stood up, wincing slightly at the change of position after kneeling for so long.

  The Hollow Knight listened to her words, his expression unreadable. A flicker of something—perhaps confusion or a distant echo of curiosity—passed through his obsidian eyes. The stars had been misinterpreted. And now, she stood before him, a priestess in a tainted robe, with the weight of a twisted fate upon her shoulders. Her lack of preparation explained her lack of deference, but it didn’t explain how her scent was tantalizing to him. How it uncomfortably brought back hints of the man he had once been.

  She had risen, and with her movement, the air seemed to shift around them. The dust motes swirled, catching the faint light filtering through shattered windows as if stirred by the revelation. He watched as she shook out her robe, and the once-pristine white fabric billowed and settled, now covered with smears of dark dirt as if reflecting the decrepit palace walls that encased them.

  If the gods had been wrong, then what did that mean? What did it signify that she stood here instead of her sister?

  “Human error? Or was it the stars that chose differently?” He mused aloud, kneeling to help her clear some of the dust from her clothes, a courtly gesture that seemed to take her aback.

  His gaze found hers again as he stood, and he noted how her eyes gleamed and changed color in the moonlight that filtered in. She had the typical beauty of the moon-touched, a souvenir from her heavenly ancestor, the goddess of the moon.

  "We have until dawn to complete the ritual, isn’t that right? Unless we can figure something out?" She looked around the empty throne room, all black marble and broken windows. "I do not believe that we will find any hints here. None of my studies have indicated why you were chosen as a vessel or why a god was imprisoned. The theory says even cruel gods have a necessary position in our world,” She mused more to herself than to him. “By the by, why is this place so bare? This castle was once the height of the civilized world."

  The Hollow Knight followed her gaze, his eyes scanning the barren expanse of the throne room. The black marble floors were cold and lifeless beneath his feet, reflecting the dull sheen of the cracked and faded tapestries that hung from the walls. The windows were shattered, the moonlight filtering through the jagged remnants, casting an eerie glow upon the dusty space.

  He turned back to her. "Bare?" he echoed, his voice a low rumble. "This place is a tomb. A mausoleum for the dead." He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over her. "The palace reflects my state. It is...a mirror of my soul."

  He reached out, tracing the edge of a faded tapestry—the embroidered threads crumbled beneath his fingertips, as dry and brittle as an old bone. "Once, this place teemed with life. With laughter. With the sounds of a kingdom thriving."

  A flicker of something—perhaps regret or a distant memory—passed through his eyes. "But that was before...before I was betrayed. Before I became this." He gestured to the cracks that marred his skin, to the eerie glow that emanated from within.

  He turned to her once more, his gaze intense and searching. "So you see, little moon, the bareness of this place is a testament to the emptiness that dwells within me. The void that can never be filled." He stepped closer until he was invading her space once more. “But..once I devour you, I’ll feel completeness..even if it is fleeting.” It wasn’t a threat, not exactly, just a truth to share. “You will be part of me, in a way. Does it not intrigue you?”

  “I do not want to be part of you, no offense meant. I had a full life, and I intend to keep living it. There are too many curiosities to unravel for me to give up now.” She didn’t back down. “Come now, there must be some part of you that wants to know. That wants to see if this all could end.”

  “Until dawn," he looked at the moon's position in the sky as a hint of something almost like anticipation entered his voice. "Then we have until dawn to unravel the truth. If there is a truth to be known.”

  She paused for a moment as if hesitating to speak. "I'm sorry for calling this place bare...I didn't realize how it was connected to you. Although, according to legend, you are unable to leave it. It’s as you said earlier. For whatever reason, you are a prisoner in this place. But…a physical space as a reflection of the soul? That is remarkable. Does that mean it changes?”

  He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Less now than it used it.”

  She tapped her fingers together, thinking, “Is there somewhere in this castle we can go? Somewhere that still has a hint of what this place was before?"

  The Hollow Knight stood still for a long moment, her question hanging between them. Somewhere that still held a hint of the past? The thought was...unnerving. He had not allowed himself to dwell on such things in centuries. The palace was a tomb, and he was its prisoner. There was no escaping that fact.

  And yet, her words stirred something within him. A flicker of memory. A phantom of the man he had once been: Sorin Aetharys, the beloved prince, the war hero, the king's son. The thought of him felt like a distant dream, a story told to children to make them behave.

  He turned away from her, striding towards the shattered windows. Beyond the jagged glass, the night stretched endlessly, the moon casting its pale glow upon the crumbling towers and collapsed walls of the once-great citadel. The ruins of a kingdom long lost.

  "There is one place," he said at last, his voice distant and thoughtful. "A room. It was...mine. Before."

  He glanced back at her, his obsidian eyes glinting in the moonlight. "It has been untouched. Forgotten. As I was when I first awoke in this place." A hint of something—sadness, perhaps, or just the weight of centuries of sorrow—lingered in his gaze. "It may hold...something of the past. Of the man I once was."