Chapter 118 The Hollow Heart and the Cracks Beneath
Milo hasn’t spoken in three days.
Not really. Not like himself. He answers questions with one-word replies, stares at walls like they’re whispering secrets, and walks like he’s afraid the ground might reject him.
Aine says he’s still fighting the Void.
I say he’s losing. Himself in every which way. Did we even bring Milo home, or is he still stuck in the void?
We’re in the Flameborn quarters, surrounded by half-burned maps, broken armour, and a stack of passive-aggressive letters from the King of Aeloria. The latest one arrived this morning, delivered by a steward who looked like he’d rather be eaten by a Void construct than speak to us.
Thessa read it aloud while sipping tea that smelled like vengeance.
“To the Flameborn Initiative, whose continued existence both perplexes and inconveniences me,” she began, voice dripping with disdain.
“It has come to my attention that the eastern border now glows in the dark and recites limericks about betrayal. While I appreciate your commitment to avant-garde magical landscaping, I must remind you that Aeloria is a kingdom, not a performance art piece.”
Kael groaned. “He’s still mad about the throne, isn’t he?”
Lira didn’t look up from her spellbook. “The throne called him emotionally constipated in front of a diplomat. I’d be mad too.”
Zeke raised a hand. “I’m still mad the throne didn’t insult me. I feel left out. I mean, I was even eating cookies while the king gave a speech, and still, the throne left me alone. What does that mean?”
Yuel sighed. “You’re not emotionally relevant enough.”
“Well, excuse me,” Zeke says in a high-pitched voice full of annoyance.
Ellira sketched a rune on the wall. “The ley lines are stabilizing, but slowly. We need to reinforce the eastern perimeter before it starts rhyming in hexameter.”
Aine sat beside Milo, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just stared at the flickering flame in the center of the room like it owed him answers.
“He’s still in there,” she said softly.
I nodded.
But I wasn’t sure.
Everything about Milo was making me doubt every decision I have ever made.
“Is he Milo?” I whisper. I promised myself that I wouldn’t ask, but he just seems way too different.
Aine doesn’t respond; she just looks at me with her head tipped to the side.
That night, I found him in the courtyard.
He was standing beneath another statue of Lady Virellian, which now had Void scars running down its marble face. The sky above was clear, but the air felt heavy—like the world was holding its breath.
I approached slowly. It was like I was sneaking up on a predator that, at any moment, as soon as he notices me, he would attack, and I would be nothing but a meat sack for it.
Moving forward, I almost held my breath as I took slow, deliberate steps towards Milo.
“Milo, at least this statue reflects her true nature,” I said.
He didn’t turn.
“I know you’re still fighting.”
He blinked. “I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You’re Milo.”
He looked at me then.
And for a moment, I saw him.
The boy who used to steal Thessa’s books. Who used to argue with Kael about sword forms. Who used to laugh at Zeke’s terrible jokes.
Then the moment passed. Now I was left with this robot version that didn’t smile, barely ate, and would walk around like an emotionally stunted gremlin.
And he was hollow again. He was lost in what he was fighting.
But inside?
Inside, he was screaming, crying, and begging for help.
Milo’s mind was a battlefield.
He stood in a mirror chamber, surrounded by versions of himself—some younger, some older, all broken. One wept in a corner. One paced like a caged animal. One stood tall, cloaked in Void, smiling with teeth too sharp.
“You’re not real,” Milo whispered.
The Void-Milo stepped forward. “I’m more real than you.”
“You’re what’s left.”
“I’m what’s true.”
The younger Milo sobbed. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
The Void-Milo laughed. “But you did. And they forgave you. That’s the worst part. Their fake forgiveness makes you think that you did the right thing when, in actual fact, all it has done is cause greater harm. They didn’t forgive you; they just wanted you back. To separate you from your power.
TO
MAKE
YOU
WEAK”
Milo clenched his fists. Flinching with every word spoken. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No,” the Void said. “But you let it happen. You are weak, and you wanted power, control, and with me, you had it.”
He turned to the mirror in the center of the room.
It showed me.
Mo.
Reaching for him.
Smiling.
Still believing.
“I don’t deserve her,” Milo whispered.
The Void-Milo leaned in. “Then let me take over. Let me make sure she never gets hurt again.”
Milo closed his eyes.
And screamed.
Back in the real world, Milo collapsed.
Aine caught him before he hit the ground.
“He’s fighting,” she said.
Thessa rushed over. “Fighting what?”
“Himself.”
Kael drew his sword. “Can we stab it?”
“No,” Aine said. “But we can help him win.”
Zeke looked around. “How? With friendship and interpretive dance?”
Yuel shrugged. “Marshmallows and cookies?”
Ellira’s runes flared. “He’s stabilizing. Barely.”
Lira stood. “Then we hold the line. Until he finds himself again.”
Inside, Milo stood.
Bleeding.
Shaking.
But standing.
“I’m not you,” he said to the Void.
“You are, don’t you remember the power?” it hissed.
“Yes,” Milo said. “Yes, I remember, I’m what’s left after you.”
He turned to the mirror.
Touched my reflection.
And whispered, “I’m coming back.”
The next morning, the eastern border cracked, shook, and the ground rolled.
The sky turned violet. Then the clouds rolled in.
The ground whispered.
And the Echo arrived.
And we were now in a fight for our lives, again!