Hollow Born

CHAPTER 1

I’m late. Again.

The market opens just before dawn, as it has every morning since the Council standardized trade hours. My eyes however, prefer to remain closed until after the summer sky is bright and the soot beetles are buzzing. This particular preference tends to get me in trouble with Mr. Chen, who insists that his booth be set up exactly thirty minutes before the sun clears the treetops. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, working for him over the last three years, but you’d be wrong. I’ve been late enough that I can recite his scoldings, word for word. For now, he puts up with me… barely.

The Firstrom Farmer’s Market might be small compared to the malls of the capital, but it’s the heart of our town. Every stall a legacy, every morning routine carved by decades of family tradition and pride. Mr. Chen’s been a piece of that rhythm since before I was born, and I’m lucky he ever let someone like me be a part of it.

This morning, despite the sick feeling that had been coiled in my stomach since yesterday, I managed to wake up on time. Of course, Phoenix and Blaze were already fighting over the bathroom mirror, tossing heat waves back and forth, and yelling about “accidental” fire bursts.

Typical.

So here I am—ten minutes late, sweat already dampening my neck, and Mr. Chen waving a radish at me like it’s an ancient weapon of justice.

“You’re late,” he said, the corners of his mouth dipping so low his mustache trembled. “Again… I never should have hired a Hollow.”

I barely winced at the term anymore. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chen. My brothers were getting ready for graduation, and they took longer than usual.”

He huffed. “Of course, they’re excited. Graduating with their rankings is no small feat. The whole province is proud of them… but that’s no excuse! You—of all people—should’ve been here early.”

I turned toward the produce crates, doing my best to look unbothered and soften my brow, as I stacked bundles of herbs and bright citrus into neat pyramids. I’ve heard it all before…You have more time than any of your peers. You don’t have elemental archives to study. No training to attend. No affinity to master. To most people, my lack of magic makes me a defect among the gifted. Not just elementally challenged, but a burden the teachers didn’t know what to do with and the town tried to avoid. Mr. Chen at least pays me.

Calling Phoenix and Blaze gifted would be an understatement. Twin flames. The pride of the Rossthorn name. Fireborn, like our father, with power that radiates from them. Their ever-darkening complexions, revealing the rising strength of their magic, as much as my near-translucent skin lays bare my lack. Graduating with their rank has opened nearly every path to them. In the eyes of most, they’re already halfway to legend—elites.

Mom spent the morning perfecting the folds of their formal robes and pretending not to cry. Our father was sure to nit-pick every last detail of their speeches… I think he thinks he’s being helpful, not overbearing. And Neven, our little brother, vibrating with excitement from the moment he woke. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t conjure a tornado before it’s over.

Me? I’ll be here. Sweating under the summer sun until the market closes at four, right when graduation starts. I’ll race across town as soon as the clock chimes, but I’ll miss it… again. Just like I missed Neven’s class play in the spring, and Blaze’s first ranked duel, and the solstice gathering when Phoenix made his first fire sculpture.

Things always seem to start where I’m not.

It was well past midday by the time I finally got my break. The sun may have been past its zenith but you’d never know it from the temperature. My stomach was twisting with a mix of hunger and nausea, and the creeping heat only Fire season could bring wasn’t helping.

“Mr. Chen, I’m taking lunch!” I called over my shoulder, plucking an emerald apple from the back crate as I went.

He grunted something that sounded vaguely like permission, and I ducked out of the booth. I began my usual loop around the market, weaving between stalls stacked with glowing glass sun-fruit, ember-etched blades, and enchanted clay figurines that danced on the tabletop as I walked by.

“Hey, Ren! Need a paper?” Skylar called from the Daily Report stand, waving a rolled copy at me like it was a lit torch.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I flipped him a few coins.

He gave me a half-smile, then launched back into his usual sales pitch. I bit into my apple with a crunch and unrolled the paper, hoping it held something better than the week’s earlier reports of a month-long drought in Vespera and the earthquake that had brought down a bridge in Stonecrest.

“The Nullburn Spread: 89 Dead in the last month.”

The headline ripped through me like a strike of lightning. I stopped in the middle of the pathway, no longer chewing, the sweet juice suddenly tasting sour in my mouth.

No one really knew where it started, or why. Over the last few decades, the Nullburn grew across the continent like a shadow with the setting sun. Subtle at first, easy to ignore, but growing larger with each passing day. As a child, I knew hardly anyone who’d caught it. The last few years were different. We heard talk of hotspots popping up all over. First in other provinces and then in our own. Inch by inch it seeped in on us.

But this… eighty-nine gone in just four weeks? That’s no shadow. That’s smothering darkness.

And always the same pattern: it never touches Fire wielders.

Everyone else… sick… even dying. It was like watching them burn from the inside out. Their magic scorched away ‘til there was nothing left. No spark in their eyes, no light… until they’re emptier than any Hollow and that’s if they lived through it.  I could feel moisture on my palms at the thought. Neven had fallen ill just two weeks ago. Not bad enough for the healers to panic yet, but enough that he missed school and could barely summon a wisp of breeze for the last week. I clutched the paper tighter, staring down at the ink like it might rearrange into better news.

Was it spreading faster? Why here? Why now?

The knot in my chest was so tight, I didn’t notice them until I nearly ran into them.

“Watch your step,” came a voice sharp enough to slice clean through my thoughts, “You may be ghostly, but you’re not actually invisible.”

I stopped short, heart sinking as I looked up and into the unimpressed eyes of Amber. And of course, where Amber was, her ever-faithful hotheads weren’t far behind. Ash stood just to her right, arms crossed and smirking, while Flare leaned slightly behind them, twirling a spark between her fingers like she couldn’t be bothered.

Even out of uniform, you could tell they were fire wielders. It was in the confidence of their stance, the faint ripple of heat that seemed to rise around them. Amber’s brilliant, sunset-orange braid swung over her shoulder like a living flame, daring anyone to challenge her.

“I didn’t realize magicless market girls could read the Daily,” Amber drawled, her eyes flicking to the paper still clutched in my hand. “Any friends on the list of dead today—oh wait, you don’t have any of those.”

My knuckles blanched at my grip on the page, and I suppressed the urge to shove it in her smart mouth. So much death and she’s making jokes?

They saw no issue, never had, even when we were schoolmates. Secure in their firegift to keep them safe.

Flare clicked her tongue in mock pity, pressing a hand to her chest. “Maybe she’s using it for shade. The sun is harsh on that pale face after all.”

“I know it’s not for reading, too many big words for that Hollow head of hers,” Ash smirked.

They all laughed at that and I felt my cheeks flush. Not from embarrassment, I was used to the teasing. But, anger. Frustration. I couldn’t stop my reply.

“Lucky for me I read better than you cast,” I muttered.

Ash started to speak, but Amber stepped between us and the air around her pulsed. I felt it prickle along my skin—a warning. Sharp and deliberate. The scent of scorched cloth and sunbaked earth clung to her like a second skin. Her as she leaned in the faint hiss of magic danced between us. I knew what she would say before the words left her mouth.

“Careful,” she said, voice honeyed with spite, “Would hate to have to send you home a box of ashes. I know your parents are already getting ready to have one kid’s burial.” She tilted her head mockingly. “A double ceremony might be too much for them.”

Her words hit like a physical blow, and I tried to catch my breath. For a heartbeat, the noise of the market dulled, swallowed by the ringing in my head. The apple in my hand dropped to the ground.

I opened my mouth, but no words came. The heat around her pressed against me like a wall, but it wasn’t nearly as crushing as the ache building behind my ribs.

“That’s enough, Amber.”

The voice came from behind her, quiet but firm, carrying an undercurrent that cut through the singed air.

River.

He stood a few paces away, arms crossed, the strap of his water canteen slung casually over one shoulder. His umber skin glinted in the midday sun, beads of moisture clinging to his collar as if the water responded to him even at rest. Damp, dark curls, clung to sweat slickened skin like he’d just come from training. The cool, stoic expression he held had the same quiet strength as his element.

“Don’t tell me you’re defending a Hollow,” Amber sneered, her voice sharp.

“I’m telling you… to stop,” River said simply. “Mocking Nullburn only makes you look pathetic.”

The air between them seemed to shift, the clash of fire and water held in an uneasy truce. Amber narrowed her eyes but didn’t reply. Ash and Flare shifted uncomfortably behind her, casting glances at one another like the new player in their game wasn’t one they anticipated.

“We were just talking, no need to get your tides in a twist.” The heat radiating from Amber decreased noticeably as she spoke.

“Yeah…” Ash echoed limply.

River finally turned his gaze towards me. “You know they’re just hot heads, Ren…” His features softened just a touch. “…hope your brother gets better soon.”

I nodded, swallowing hard against the sudden tightness in my throat and looked back to meet Amber’s eyes. There was so much I wanted to say—so many things I should have spat at her—but my voice refused to sound. My breath uneven, all I could do was hold her burning gaze in mine.

River continued past, having deflated their bellows. Amber scoffed at him, spun on her heel, and led her blaze-brained flock down the next row of stalls.

I stood there, holding my crumpled paper. The headline still burning in my mind.

It wasn’t right. No one was giving the spread the attention it needed. This was the first news published in months despite more and more people falling ill. How can they just stand by and let things keep getting worse. How many more lives will it take? The Archive Council, the Conclave, even the palace doesn’t seem to care how many die or why. They don’t even know how it spreads, and it’s been decades!

I skimmed the byline and saw the name: Hillary Jessup.

Of course. Only two years out of the AEU and she was already the rising star of the Daily Report. Ever since she broke the story about Councilman Bane’s son purposely inducing drought conditions last year, everyone wanted her pitch on their front page. She’s not known for letting questions go unanswered. Is she still trying to find out more about what’s causing this?

The answer to that would have to wait because, of course, I was about to be late. Again.

I rushed back to the stand just as the clock tower chimed the hour. Mr. Chen glanced towards the sound, then at me, shaking his head. My sheepish grin did little to calm his expression and I slipped back behind the booth counter. The rest of the day passed with uneventful sales. Peaches, squash, flowers. Small talk and coin. All while I watched the clock tick away, as if my pleading eyes might convince it to take pity on me.

Thirty more minutes. Then I could hop on my rickety bike and pedal to the AEU with the desperate hope of catching a glimpse of Blaze and Phoenix crossing the stage, scrolls in hand. I was sure to miss whatever grand flame finale they had planned. I wouldn’t get there quickly… but I would get there.

“You’re still here?” Mr. Chen said, interrupting my fretting.

I blinked confused. “Yeah? It’s only half past three.”

“You’re going to miss graduation if you don’t hurry.” He snorted and gave the crimson firebliss blooms a fluff.

 “Wait, are you saying I can leave early?”

He looked up then, his weathered face cracking into a rare smile. “You think I’d keep you from supporting our boys? Get going.”

 “Mr. Chen!” I shouted, hugging his shoulders before he could pretend he was too gruff for it. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

I grabbed my satchel and ran out in one smooth movement.

“Mind the baskets!” he called as I bolted from the booth, nearly catching one full of purple chillis as I went. “And I expect you here earlier tomorrow!”

“Before sun up!” I shouted over my shoulder, weaving through the thinning crowd toward the bike racks in the center of the market.

I was halfway there, breathless, heart racing, and already calculating shortcuts, when a sleek whir cut through the air behind me. A gust of wind tousled my hair a moment before a voice called out—

“You planning to pedal all the way to the University on that relic?”

I skidded to a halt, turning toward the voice. Zephyr leaned casually against a wind-glider, sleek and matte silver, its curved frame humming faintly. The sigils etched along the side shimmered with pulsing light, reacting to him. His shoulder-length, nutmeg hair never quite settled, constantly stirred by the air that moved with him. He was in the class below the twins at the AEU, and over the past year, he had become like a bonus brother. I often wondered if it was because he was an air wielder that his eyes mirrored the sky so perfectly or if I just noticed more when he was dressed in his house colors. He looked fully at ease, one boot propped against the base, one corner of his mouth amused at my surprised face.

“You knocking my transportation methods?”

His grin widened. “Only because I’d hate to see you miss the show. Come on, we can get you there in ten. Tops.” He patted the side of his glider.

I hesitated. I’ve never ridden an air-glider before.

He straightened, tossing his silver-gray scarf over one shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re scared? I’d hate to let my parents’ latest bribe go to waste.”

I chuckled despite the flips my stomach was doing. Zeph’s parents both worked in the Royal Guard and were highly ranked at that. They traveled constantly, leaving him home alone most of the time since he was an only child. They seemed to try to make up for it by giving him lots of shiny new toys.

Still... Blaze. Phoenix. Being on time for once was within my grasp.

“Alright, but if you crash us into a tree—”

“Please,” Zephyr said, grabbing the extra helmet and holding it out for me. “Trees bend for me.”

He offered a hand, and I took it, climbing onto the glider behind him. I slipped on the helmet and the moment my hands settled on his sides, I felt the hum of air through the machine, restless, wild, and fast.

“Hold tight,” he said, a thrill in his voice.

The world lurched.

My stomach dropped so hard I thought it might stay behind as the glider shot forward, skimming over the road before lifting cleanly into the air. A startled laugh burst out of me, carried away by the wind almost as quickly as it escaped.

The town fell away beneath us.

Roofs became neat rows of colored shingles, people shrank into moving specks, and the streets I'd walked my whole life twisted into ribbons weaving between gardens and market squares. Cool air whipped at my clothes, tugging loose strands of my hair free beneath the helmet.

I tightened my grip around Zeph's waist.

"Still alive?" he called over his shoulder.

"Barely!"

He laughed, and the glider banked gently to the left.

My breath caught.

Instead of the sickening drop I'd expected, it felt... effortless. The machine leaned into the airflow as though the wind itself had wrapped invisible hands around us, carrying us higher before easing us back into a smooth glide. The rushing air roared in my ears, yet beneath it I could almost feel its rhythm—currents folding over one another, lifting us, guiding us.

For one impossible moment, I forgot I was Hollow.

I wasn't watching people fly.

I was flying.

A grin spread across my face before I could stop it and I laughed again.

"I knew you'd like it!" Zeph shouted.

By the time we reached the outer ring of the University, the entire first-level parking was overflowing. Gliders, ground cruisers, and hydrocars were crammed into every available space. The air was thick with elemental residue. Faint trails of heat, mist, and dust lingering like aftershocks. I could feel the anticipation that buzzed around the towering stone arches of the school entrance, as families streamed in, dressed in their finest.

Zephyr guided the glider to the main entrance, easing it to a stop just outside the marble steps with a smoother landing than I’d expected. I finally released my grip on his jacket and hopped off. The ride had been exhilarating, but my hands were stiff from holding on to him so tightly.

“Ten minutes to spare.” he said, scanning the crowded entryway. “You head in, I’ll find a spot and catch up.”

“I can wait if you—”

“Ren.” He said with half a smile as he smoothed down my helmet hair. “It’s your brothers' big moment. Go!”

“Thanks, Zeph!” The soles of my boots crunched against gravel as I hurried toward the doors and called over my shoulder, “Don’t take too long!”

 “I’ll be there before the first scroll hit the podium!” He called back over the whir of the glider.

The echo of my boots up the steps got lost in the murmur of the crowd. My heart thundered as I passed beneath the towering entry, each element carved into the marble. Fire, Water, Earth, Air. Their glow pulsed faintly beneath the afternoon shadows.

I continued weaving my way past everyone. At least I’m not the only one cutting it close. The thought gave me the smallest drop of relief. When I finally reached the Ceremonial Hall, the sheer size of it nearly stole my breath. The ceiling arched high above, drifting rune-lights shimmering in time with the crowd’s movement. Hundreds of people filled the stone amphitheater, all craning to catch a glimpse of the graduates lining up behind the velvet-draped stage. Each element’s banner rippled from the rafters. Sparkling crimson, shimmering teal, phthalo green, and metallic silver.

I scanned the crowd frantically, my eyes darting from face to face, hair catching in the corners of my mouth as I turned. There were too many people, too much noise. Babies crying, chairs shifting, the low rumble of voices like an approaching wave. All of it filled my mind, cluttered and loud.

Where are they? My pulse stuttered as the packed in bodies overwhelmed my senses. Vaguely, in some background part of my mind I noticed I was chewing on my lip. Something my mother would scold me for if she saw.

Finally—I spotted them.

A flash of my mother’s green dress, the familiar tilt of my father’s shoulders as he leaned in to say something to Neven. They were seated halfway back, just right of the stage, tucked between a family dressed in the deep reds of the Flamehouse and another proudly waving a red flag.

Relief punched through me as I darted between chairs, thinly dodging an outstretched cane, an escaped toddler tugging at her parent’s cloak, and a couple clearly locked in a heated argument. I whispered apologies and slipped through gaps until I was close enough to hear Neven murmuring excitedly.

“Ren!” Mom spotted me first, rising halfway from her seat with surprise and warmth in her eyes. My father looked to me next and gave a slight nod. I made it to the edge of their row, breathless but grinning, just as the opening tones of the Ceremony Bell rang out across the hall.

As I slipped into the narrow seat between my mother and Neven, the clamor of the audience began to hush, replaced by the quiet thrum of my own heartbeat and my little brother’s barely contained exuberance.

“I saved you a seat, Ren!” Neven beamed, scooting to give me more room. His voice was just above a whisper but filled with pride. “Dad said you probably wouldn’t make it in time, but I knew you would.”

I leaned in, bumping my shoulder lightly against his. “Good looking out, little brother. Always got my back.”

He grinned, eyes shining. I couldn’t help noticing how the shadows beneath them seemed deeper than yesterday. Faint, dusky smudges stood out against the fair gold undertone of his skin. The shallowness in his cheeks seeming more pronounced. He’d always been the most expressive of us, his emotions practically a visible aura around him, but right now, beneath the excitement, I saw something else. Fatigue. Strain. A tightness behind his smile that didn’t belong on a ten-year-old.

A pang cut through my chest, threatening to steal all joy from this moment.

My mother placed a gentle hand over mine, as if sensing the shift in my mood. “Thank the stars you made it,” she said softly.

“Mr. Chen surprised me,” I said, managing a small smile. “Said he couldn’t keep me from supporting our boys.”

“We’ll have to send him a thank you.” she replied, tears brimming her eyes. My mother never let kindness go unanswered.

At the mention of the twins, Neven perked back up. “They’re supposed to call Blaze first since he’s Class I. Phoenix pretends he’s mad about it, but he’s totally not. He’s just being pouty.”

I laughed quietly, glad for the distraction. “Sounds about right.”

“You’re staying for the whole thing, right?”

I met his gaze and nudged his knee with mine. “Wild Valkeery couldn’t drag me away.”

He smiled at that, but I didn’t miss the way he leaned into me a little, like he didn’t quite believe it. The ceremonial bell tolled again, signaling the opening of the procession. As the first names were called and the crowd erupted to applause, Neven laced his fingers with mine on the armrest. His small grip was surprisingly strong and warm. I clung to that strength with every ounce of hope in me.

The ceremony was a tapestry of light and sound, each graduate’s name a brushstroke of triumph across the hall. One hundred and two wielders crossed the stage, their ranks announced in crackling flares of elemental pride. Applause swelled and receded like waves for each one. When “Blaze Rossthorn, Class I Flame Wielder” echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling, his peers exploded with thunderous cheering, stomping their feet and clapping. He strode forward, robes rippling with gold-stitched runes. He extended his arms, bouncing them slightly to quiet the crowd.

“My fellow wielders,” he began. “We are taught from the moment our magic first sparks that power is not freedom. It is not a reward. It is a responsibility. Fire is called the strongest element by some, yet our strength isn’t in how fiercely we burn, but how much control it takes not to. I stand here because I worked as hard as I could to bend it to my will. We trained together. Fire, water, earth, air. Different pieces of our world, same expectations. Same pressure for survival. If these past weeks have taught me anything, it's that greatness isn't measured solely by the victories we claim, but by the courage to rise when every step feels harder than the last.”

Blaze's eyes swept across the graduates before catching for the briefest moment.

I followed his gaze.

Neven.

My little brother held his stare without blinking. Then, almost imperceptibly, he straightened in his chair. The tired slump I'd grown used to eased from his shoulders, replaced by a small smile that lingered as Blaze looked back to the crowd

“Now, as we leave these halls,” he continued, “led by the winds of change that find us all, we move from training into service. Whatever role we are given, may we remember that dedication gives power its purpose, and duty gives it meaning. Stand steady. Serve well. And let your strength be measured by how well you protect—not how hot you burn.”

Of course, Blaze couldn’t leave it that. His finale? An Infiri-pure flame of blue and green fire, spiraling skyward then soaring over the crowd and dissolving into streams of colored smoke for each element. Everyone gasped at the sight and then erupted into a standing ovation.

The force of the collective awe washed over me. His speech showed a glimpse of him I rarely got to see. Usually, Blaze is a more fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy. I couldn’t help but admire his serious side.

Phoenix followed, a masterclass in controlled intensity. The cheers of his Class II ranking were nearly as intense as Blaze’s. As he stepped forward, he presented words woven from fire that danced mid-air, "Discipline Ignites Opportunity", before dissolving into a shower of harmless, glittering sparks. Poetic, precise, and utterly Phoenix. My throat burned and palms stung with my cheers, but the ache was sweet. 

Outside, the courtyard atmosphere could only be described as euphoric. Golden light, thick with lingering energy and firefly-like sparks from enchanted lanterns, bathed families reuniting. We clustered near an arcanum pillar, the cool stone a counterpoint to the excited heat emanating from around us. Mom’s eyes shimmered, scanning the graduates pouring through the archway, her hand fluttering near her heart. My father stood unflinching, arms crossed, but the joy softening his stern features spoke volumes. Beside me, Neven hummed like a plucked harp string, bouncing on his toes.

“Where are they?” he breathed, craning his neck.

“Blaze is probably signing autographs.” I winked at him. “Thinks he’s a sun-god now.”

Neven giggled.

“There you are.” Zephyr materialized beside us, bringing a welcome breeze in his wake. “Mrs. Rossthorn, radiant as always.” He gave a small bow.

My mother laughed softly. “Always the charmer.”

He tipped an imaginary hat before giving my father a respectful nod. “Sir. Tremendous day.”

My father returned a single nod. “Zephyr.”

Zephyr's grin widened as he reached over to ruffle Neven's curls. “Captain Cyclone! What'd you think of Blaze's speech?”

Neven's smile widened. “It was my favorite.”

Zephyr laughed. “High praise.”

“He's going to make a really good Guard.” His hand found mine again, squeezing gently.

“Undoubtedly,” Zephyr said, bumping fists with him before turning to me, his presence a steady anchor in the swirling crowd. He folded his arms as we watched the archway.

“Told you we’d make it.”

“You saved the day, Zeph. Seriously.”

His grin widened into a genuine smile. “Anytime.”