A few hours ago.

The gray fog pressed in from all sides, soundless and still. Vencian stood between fragments of shattered ground that hovered weightless in the void.

His head pulsed from the memory that refused to fade. The same whisper kept circling in his thoughts—the taste of genesis in your veins.

He turned when Quenya's voice cut through the haze.

"Take your hands off Lucian."

Her tone carried something sharp enough to split the air.

The figure holding him staggered back. The light seeping from its cracks flared once before dimming.

The weight pressing on Vencian's chest lifted. He gasped, dragging air into his lungs like he had forgotten how to breathe.

A heat pulsed from the pact mark at his wrist. It crawled up his arm, burning through the haze of confusion that had been clogging his mind.

The foreign emotions choking him—fear, submission, guilt—peeled away one by one.

Quenya floated ahead of him, light bleeding from her small form in steady waves. "This one is no god," she said, louder now. "He's a broken shell. A consciousness. A concept pretending to live."

The pieces clicked together in Vencian's skull like a lock turning. Erythareon. The name from Reine's story hung in his mind, cold and clear. The demigod who had demanded daughters. The one who'd drunk their lives until the village fed him again and again.

He stared at the cracked figure, at the hollow chest where divinity should have burned. This was what remained when worship ran dry.

Erythareon froze mid-step. The sound that came from it was a low rattle, as if gravel scraped against metal. Its head tilted slightly.

"No one should have entered this place," it said. "None without my will."

Dust spilled from its mouth as it spoke, voice grinding through its own decay.

Then its hollow eyes fixed on Quenya. A tremor passed through its cracked frame.

"An Espara…?"

Vencian blinked, uncertain if he had heard correctly. He pushed himself upright, his legs trembling.

"What do you mean by that?"

The Hollow Eater seemed almost startled by the question. Its skull twitched toward him. "You do not know?"

Vencian met its empty gaze, searching for a trace of intent behind the flickering light. His silence stretched, broken only by his shallow breathing.

"Are you in pact with her?" the Hollow Eater asked.

Vencian did not answer. His lips moved, but the words caught. The silence and the small twitch at the corner of his mouth told the truth anyway.

The Hollow Eater's head tilted back. Then came the sound of laughter—dry, cracked, echoing across the empty world. The laugh built until it drowned out the fog's stillness. Vencian's chest tightened.

When the sound died, the being's voice dropped to a rasp. "You truly are the Fallen of the Fateful."

It raised its arm. The fog pulled inward like breath drawn through a wound. A recurved blade, dull silver and a foot long, formed in its grip. The runes on its skin flared again.

Vencian's pulse jumped. The thing was already dying, already broken, and he still couldn't see a way to hurt it. How do you kill what's already dead? What kind of blade cuts through a god's corpse?

His hand lifted anyway, summoning the twinblade that had saved him before. The air shifted to black and white.

Color drained from everything—the fog, his skin, Quenya's glow. The twinblade materialized in his grasp, cold and real.

But the Hollow Eater did not attack.

Instead, it lifted its free hand, fingers spread, palm facing outward. Vencian froze. The air folded inward between its fingers. A faint symbol pulsed there, dense and bright like molten glass.

He raised his arm to block, unsure why. The energy released from the creature's palm, thin as a thread. It touched his hand with a small crack, then vanished. No explosion. No burn.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Then pain rushed from his palm outward. Thin black lines raced up his wrist like lightning under skin. He fell backward, clutching his arm. The twinblade clattered to the ground.

"Vencian!" Quenya darted toward him, her glow flickering in panic. Her light brushed against his skin, slowing the spreading veins but not stopping them.

The Hollow Eater watched, its cracked jaw curving faintly upward. "Now," it said, "it's done."

A cold pressure swelled inside Vencian's head. It felt like something digging through his thoughts. His vision warped. What did he put in me?

Quenya's voice trembled. "What did you do to him?"

The Hollow Eater didn't answer. It looked down at its own hand. The light leaking from its cracks brightened, then burst in fragments. Ash and glow replaced flesh. The being seemed to stare through the crumbling remains.

Its laughter turned soft. "Quite a quagmire you've crawled into," it murmured, words spilling like sand. "Keep crawling. Keep trying. They'll come for it too."

Vencian's vision swam. He forced himself to focus on the sound. "Come for what?" His voice was hoarse.

The Hollow Eater didn't react.

"Who will come?"

That stopped the laughter. The creature lifted its gaze. Something in its ruined face changed—an echo of recognition, or fear.

It shifted the recurved blade into a backhand grip. The weapon gleamed faintly through the fog.

Vencian's muscles locked. His chest heaved from the pain running through his arm. Move. Get up. Do something.

The Hollow Eater smiled wider. "Your god."

It drove the blade through its own skull.

The world convulsed. The impact made no sound, only a ripple that tore outward. The cracks across its body spread like glass under strain. Light flooded out, swallowing the gray around them.

Below, on the fractured ground, the chalice shattered. The metal split in silence, pieces scattering into the fog.

Heat exploded in Vencian's palm. He looked down. The black veins were spreading faster now, racing up his wrist and forearm. They carved themselves into his skin, forming the symbol—two rows of interlocked triangle teeth, the upper row offset above the lower.

His hand moved without his permission. Fingers curling, arm lifting. He tried to stop it. Move, damn you. Stop. But his muscles belonged to something else.

"Lucian!" Quenya's voice came through the distortion.

He reached toward her with his other hand but the ground fractured beneath him. He fell backward as the fog split open into shards of red light and static.

The last thing he saw was the Hollow Eater's hollow frame still standing, blade jutting upward through its head, a faint smile frozen on its ruined face.

Then everything imploded.

— — —

The present.

Vencian sat on the damp grass of the graveyard, his back against a stone that leaned slightly to one side. His hand rested on his knee, palm turned upward. The black veins had faded, but the skin still felt different.

A symbol of two rows of interlocked triangle teeth, the upper row offset above the lower embedded on it.

A few yards away, two men were digging a grave. The sound of the shovel breaking soil filled the air. Between the half-filled mounds.

He kept his eyes on it until Quenya's voice drew him back.

"So," she said, hovering near his shoulder, "we've got another mystery."

He gave a short nod. "Seems like it."

She crossed her arms, the glow around her faint and blue. "Do you think it's worth it? This was dangerous enough. The next one could be worse."

Vencian exhaled, lowering his gaze to his palm again. "What other choice do we have?" he said. "Every day I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself. I don't even know if what I remember is true anymore." He paused. "If I stop now, I'll end up living someone else's life. That's not living."

He looked at her. "Don't you want to know more about yourself too?"

Her head tilted slightly. "If it means your life's at risk, I'd rather not."

He stayed quiet.

"You've already been through enough," she said. "In both lives. If you still want to keep going, then I'll come with you. But I won't pretend I'm fine with it."

Vencian felt something tighten in his chest. She's scared. Maybe she should be.

He gave a small nod. "That's good enough for me."

Before she could respond, one of the workers called out. "It's ready."

The shovels stopped. The men stepped aside, breathing heavily.

The priest from the True Light Church came forward with his book pressed to his chest. His robe was gray from the road dust. Roselys stood beside him, head lowered.

The coffin was small. It looked wrong against the dark soil.

Vencian stood when they began the rites. His knees ached from sitting too long.

He looked toward the river in the distance. Neine's body will never be found. He'd seen in the memories what the villagers used to do with the bodies—each sacrifice's remains were sealed under a boulder and thrown into the current. The current buried their guilt for them.

He turned back as the priest's words ended. The men lowered the coffin into the ground with careful ropes. The ropes slipped free. The first shovelful of soil hit the lid with a dull thud.

Quenya stayed silent beside him. Roselys didn't move.

When it was done, the grave looked like any other in the row—fresh soil, uneven edges, a symbol etched into a stone.

Vencian stared at it, his thoughts steady and cold. The curse is broken. Everyone who could feed it is gone.

He thought of Erythareon's hollow chest. Of Reine's small hand going still in his grasp. Maybe that's what salvation looks like here. There are no more daughters left to give.

Roselys looked at him but said nothing. The priest turned to leave. The workers followed, wiping their hands.

Only the wind moved between the stones.

Vencian's eyes stayed on the mound until the last of the dirt settled. If this is the end of the curse, then maybe it's the start of something else.

He reached into his pocket and took out the tiara. The metal had dulled with soot. For a moment, he thought about keeping it. Then he crouched, tossed it into the open grave, and straightened again.

The graveyard held its silence.

It was the end of the Festival of Solace, but the only solace he could find was that silence asked for nothing in return

— — —

End of Volume 1: Before God Finds Me

— — —

Well, with this, we're done with Volume 1. I know the writing and plot pacing were a bit amateurish, but I still hope you enjoyed the read.

Before diving into Volume 2, I'll be taking a short break — maybe a day or two (unless I accidentally fall into a rabbit hole of binge-reading multiple books). I need to recharge, gather new ideas, prepare for an interview, and maybe read something that reminds me how fillers are supposed to work. Because clearly, I don't. 💀

Huge thanks to the handful of legends (who am I kidding, it's like two people) who've been sending power stones and encouragement regularly. You guys might just be the reason this "flop" of a book keeps updating daily.

I'll see you soon in Volume 2. Expect more politics, investigations, action, and, well… a little bit of death sprinkled in.

Until then, stay hydrated and get more sleep than I do.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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