Chapter 210: The oath
The pulse didn’t fade. It rolled through the Hollow again, slower this time, heavier—like the whole place was acknowledging him. The silk beneath Allen’s boots flexed with the rhythm, a living carpet that seemed to bend in greeting. The brood above kept still, their many eyes glimmering faintly in the darkness, but he could feel them watching—not just the ones here, but something further, deeper.
The others felt it too. Fina’s hand shifted toward her sword hilt, but she didn’t draw it. Rinni’s knuckles whitened around her spear, though her smirk hadn’t faded. Nyxilith’s spider legs twitched in sync with the pulse, while Xilthera stood perfectly still, gaze fixed on the dark tunnel ahead.
Then, like threads loosening after a knot, the silk around them began to part on its own. Strands unwound in silence, curling back into the walls to reveal a long corridor. The air was different here—warmer, charged, as if they were walking straight into the heart of something vast and aware.
Allen took the lead without hesitation, the hum in his hands guiding him forward. Every step pressed deeper into the web’s current, until the vibrations weren’t just under his boots but in his bones.
They walked for minutes that felt like hours. The corridor sloped downward, the walls narrowing until the silk almost brushed their shoulders. Patterns began to appear in the strands—woven sigils, spirals, knots so intricate they made his eyes ache to look at them. They weren’t random. They were records.
Nyxilith noticed too. "These are Old Pattern marks. Some of these... aren’t supposed to exist anymore."
Xilthera’s voice was low, wary. "The Hollow keeps its own history. Those who understand it... rule."
Allen kept moving. "Then I’ll understand all of it."
The corridor opened without warning into a massive chamber, so wide that the edges faded into darkness. The ceiling was lost in shadow, but high above, faint clusters of brood clung to inverted towers of silk, their bodies glimmering faintly like constellations.
In the center of the chamber was a structure—a throne, if it could be called that. It wasn’t built of stone or wood, but woven silk so densely layered it had the weight of bone. Strands radiated from it like the center of a web, disappearing into the darkness in every direction.
The hum in Allen’s hands surged, almost dizzying now. The web wanted him there.
As he approached, the brood above began to shift, their claws clicking softly against the silk. None descended, but their bodies swayed in unison, as though bowing to something only they could see.