The Hollow PrinceUpdated at Apr 4, 2025, 05:51
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.