Hollowfied

Cecil looked at Dorian after he said it, confusion flickering behind his glasses.

Why was he confused?

There was nothing confusing. Dorian meant every word that passed his lips. Nothing poetic. Nothing performative.

Just truth.

Before Cecil could ask, Dorian turned.

The knights opened the door without a word. Dorian stepped through and started down the steps, sweat still drying on his neck, shirt still torn at the collar.

Cecil stood in the doorway, watching him go.

Still confused.

Dorian paused on the last step. Didn't look back. Just said:

"Well?"

Cecil understood.

Cecil didn't say a thing down the steps, just followed him and quickened the gap between him and Dorian down the path. It had seemed that Dorian was escorting him out of the manor.

Midway on the path, Cecil slowed to a stop.

Dorian kept walking for a beat, then turned his head just slightly over his shoulder.

Cecil's usual excited tone quieted. His brow furrowed with concern. "I haven't seen any other Valerius arrive here," he said. "Just you, my granddaughter, Cedric... and the newborns."

His gaze narrowed.

"Come to think of it…"

Dorian cut him off with a flat tone. "Come to think of it I don't speak of my family?"

He turned fully now, sarcastic eyes narrowing as he tilted his head. Then scoffed, glancing off toward the horizon where the sun had already begun to bleed orange.

"I'm not on good terms with them."

He held a finger up to shut Cecil up before he could speak.

"One, they talked about your granddaughter. Two, I don't like them, with very few exceptions. And even with those? I don't speak to them. And three…"

He looked back at the older man, his voice steadier now.

"I don't love that family. I love my family. All of them. And I'll do anything to protect them. If you think that's cold…"

Dorian stepped forward, gaze dropping low, sharp, but not hostile.

"Then you don't understand the first thing about being a father. Though I presume you do," he said. "You fought for your granddaughter. I can't imagine what you'd have done for your daughter. Or your wife."

A pause.

Dorian's voice tightened.

"My kids are the next generation. Whether they're normal or hollow, I'll love them. Always. If any of you abandon them, that's fine. But…"

He stepped even closer, shadows cutting across his face.

"You lay hands on my children—"

Cecil cut him off not with words, but with a hug.

Warm. Sudden. No hesitation.

Dorian froze. Then… slowly, tentatively… returned it.

"You're going to be a great father," Cecil said softly, arms still wrapped around him. "Son."

That word hit Dorian like a blade sheathed gently in the ribs.

He didn't have a good relationship with his father. Never had. Too many reasons. Too many wounds.

But for a second, in the old knight's arms, he felt something close to peace.

Cecil pulled back, brushing his coat straight and starting down the path again. Dorian walked beside him.

"So?" Cecil asked. "What are you going to name them? I assume you've got names picked?"

Dorian chuckled. "Yeah. Cassius is my second son."

"And your first born daughter?" Cecil asked quickly. "I'm thinking....Selene?"

Dorian stopped. "No."

"Oh. Just a thought."

"Well, I let Selene decide that one. She wanted my input, but…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Reminded me of something. You were surprised by how I fought today."

Cecil blinked. "Wasn't expecting it, no."

"Why?"

Dorian gave the signal to the knight near the gate, who stepped forward and opened it with a bow.

"Selene's three times more dangerous than I am," Dorian said. "You knew that."

"Well…" Cecil scratched the back of his neck. "She said you were mostly a pretty boy."

Dorian laughed, a sharp exhale of disbelief. "Figures."

Cecil gave a sheepish smile, then stepped through the gate as the butler opened the carriage door.

He paused at the threshold. "About those kids—"

"Cassius, Liora, Avaia," Dorian cut in. "And there's another on the way. We don't know when, but I've already named him, well, if it's a him. Then it's Lucius."

Cecil's smile faded, voice low. "I see…"

He stepped inside. His voice, barely above a whisper:

"It really is the new generation."

Was he talking about the shift in fighting? The noble bloodlines? The names?

Or maybe he just felt the weight of time. And what it meant to pass the torch.

Dorian waved him off, turning on his heel as the butler closed the door behind the old knight.

He whistled idly to himself on the path back. The knight stationed nearby, arms crossed, muttered:"He's not so bad. Bit annoying when excited."

Dorian laughed, then stopped as he collided with someone.

"Oh—sir, I'm sorry—"

He looked down. Fatima.

She stumbled back, caught off guard.

"Fatima?"

She looked shaken.

"It's your son," she said, voice thin. "The new one. He's… he's Hollow."

Silence.

Dorian's face didn't move at first. Just a long, slow breath. His eyes closed.

A Hollow.

The kind of life that meant carrying weight no child should bear. Something Dorian had been spared. Something his son hadn't.

This wasn't a great day.

Fatima spoke again, gentler this time. "But the rest aren't. And we're almost certain the one on the way isn't, either. We can tell this time it's a boy. The priest and the doctor both said…"

Dorian nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "For you. And for Cassius."

Dorian turned, looking at the sky. Nightfall had crept in like guilt.

He nodded again, not at her, but maybe at fate, or maybe just to keep himself from crying.

"It's fine," he said quietly. "Let's go inside and rest. It's been a long day, Fatima."

She nodded and peeled off toward the servant's quarters.

Dorian walked through the manor doors and up the stairs, into the bedroom.

Selene was already asleep.

He lay beside her, staring at the ceiling.

His last thought, before sleep dragged him under:

"The Hollow never forgets its own."