Red Hands

The portal loomed before them, jagged and wrong—like a wound in the skin of the world, pulsing with crimson light that throbbed in rhythm with Kael's heartbeat. It was as though reality itself had been torn apart, revealing something ancient and insatiable on the other side. The Ashlands had guided them here with cruel inevitability, and now, standing before the legendary blood-forged gate, Kael could feel it—that quiet, gnawing dread curling inside his gut.

This was no mere artifact. It was a remnant of forgotten power. A relic carved out of myth and blood.

Kael's cursed hand throbbed, the red hue crawling faintly up his wrist like veins of molten lava. The skin shimmered with barely contained energy, the sigil burned into his palm glowing faintly, like a brand waiting to be claimed. He curled his fingers into a fist, but the sensation only worsened—the heat, the itching under his skin, the way the gate seemed to recognize him.

Behind him, Silas stood silently, one hand on the hilt of his blade. His expression was unreadable, though his knuckles were white against the steel. The man rarely showed fear, but here, on the brink of entering the Hollow Court, even he wasn't immune to uncertainty.

And the girl—silent as the grave—stood apart from them both. Her white dress stirred lightly in the ash-choked wind, her eyes fixed unblinking on the gate. She hadn't spoken in hours. Something in her gaze was distant, almost as if she had already stepped through, her thoughts trailing into a world they could not yet see.

A hush fell over the world, thick and oppressive. Even the wind dared not whisper here.

Kael stepped closer. The cursed hand tingled, responding to the gate's presence with a dull burn. Heat radiated from the rift, dry and ancient, as though the breath of a dying god leaked from the tear. He reached forward slowly, fingers trembling. It felt wrong—like reaching into a beast's open maw.

Then the girl moved.

"Let me," she said, her voice sharp and cold, yet carrying something beneath it—resolve, or perhaps resignation.

Kael blinked at her. "Are you sure?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she stepped forward, her pale hand extending toward the gate.

There was something haunting about her posture. Not just determination, but acceptance. As if she knew what would happen. As if this had been written into her bones long before any of them arrived.

She pressed her palm to the tear.

The gate reacted instantly.

Crimson light exploded across its surface, flaring outward like lightning across a storm-swept sky. Both Kael and Silas flinched back, weapons half-drawn on instinct. But the girl didn't move. Her hand remained firm against the surface, even as the light contorted into black veins, twisting and coiling around her like tendrils of oily smoke.

Then the light died.

The swirling energy recoiled, slithering off her skin like water rejecting oil. The gate pulsed once, then dimmed, the wound sealing itself as if ashamed of what it had just touched.

She stepped back. Her face was expressionless, but Kael saw the truth in her eyes.

"She isn't... alive," he murmured.

Silas turned to him sharply. "What did you say?"

Kael shook his head slowly, watching her. "It rejected her. Like she wasn't real."

"Not human," Silas whispered, voice strained with disbelief.

Kael didn't answer. The air still hummed with residual power, and the red in his cursed hand had begun to intensify, veins flaring brighter. It hurt more now—sharp needles under his skin, his blood quickening.

He stepped forward.

"Let me try."

Silas's hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "Kael, if that thing flayed her just for touching it—"

"I have to," Kael said quietly, shaking him off.

He stared at his palm. The sigil burned like a brand of fate—his fate. The cursed blood had led him this far. Maybe it was always meant to end here.

As his hand drew near the rift, the air thickened. The red light of the gate flickered like a heartbeat responding to a familiar pulse. The heat was no longer external—it was inside him, spreading through his veins from the cursed hand, seeping into his bones.

Kael pressed his palm to the gate.

A scream of wind erupted around them. The very earth beneath their feet trembled. The gate's surface came alive, energy coiling outward like a tidal wave crashing into him. Kael's body jerked violently, and a cry tore from his lips. The pain wasn't physical—not exactly. It was deeper, as though his soul were being pulled through a sieve.

The sigil on his hand drank the energy greedily. It pulsed brighter than ever, glowing red-hot, searing his flesh. The cursed veins ran up his forearm now, wrapping around him like chains.

Kael tried to pull away, but the gate wouldn't let him. It wanted him. Or rather—it wanted his blood.

"This is how it works," the girl said, her voice barely audible over the roaring wind. "The blood must be given. Only then can the gate open."

Kael could barely hear her. His world had narrowed to heat and light and pain.

"Kael!" Silas shouted. "You're letting it consume you!"

"I have no choice," Kael gasped.

His knees buckled. The red had climbed to his shoulder now, glowing through his cloak. His heart hammered in his chest, every beat thudding like a war drum. And then—just as he thought he might collapse—something changed.

The energy stopped resisting.

It flowed into him now, not like a storm but like a river. Controlled. Channeled.

The gate shimmered, pulsed, and then cracked open.

The tear widened with a sound like tearing flesh, revealing a vortex of swirling crimson and black. On the other side—nothingness, chaos, the Hollow Court in all its terrible splendor.

Kael stumbled back, the sigil on his hand dimming slightly but still glowing. The red had retreated to his wrist, but the burn in his chest remained. It felt like something inside him had shifted—some part of him no longer entirely human.

Silas caught his arm. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know," Kael said, his voice raw. "But the gate's open. That's what matters."

The girl nodded once, her gaze unreadable. She stepped to the edge of the portal, her white dress fluttering in the vortex's wind.

"No turning back," she whispered.

Kael looked into the swirling chaos and nodded.

"Let's finish this."

They stepped forward.

As their bodies passed through the rift, time fractured. The world around them bent and stretched, warping like wax before flame. Kael felt his skin crawl, his thoughts untethered from reality. Each step dragged them deeper into the maw of something ancient and unknowable.

He felt watched.

Not by a presence, but by time itself—fragments of moments long lost brushing against him like cobwebs. Ghosts of memories that weren't his. A child's laughter. A battlefield. A crown shattered in fire.

The Hollow Court awaited.

They emerged into darkness.

A void stretched before them, yet not silent. The air shimmered with whispers, a thousand voices speaking in tongues Kael didn't understand but felt. The ground beneath their feet was slick with black stone, carved with runes that pulsed faintly like embers.

The red on Kael's hand flared again.

Silas drew his sword slowly. "Where... are we?"

Kael looked up. In the distance, pillars of bone and obsidian rose like teeth from the earth, and beyond them—a castle, or perhaps a prison. A structure of impossible geometry, shifting as he stared at it. The Hollow Court.

"We're in the belly of the beast," Kael said. "And it knows we're here."

The girl turned to him. "Then let's not keep it waiting."