The Hollow

Sometime After The Fall

Part I
The First Ones

Ashen gray skies had given way to a blood-red sunset, casting a haunting glow over the crumbling buildings and cracked streets of Old Town. Milo wandered through the skeletal remains of what was once a bustling marketplace, his bare feet silent on the cold, damp ground. He moved with the lightness of someone who had done this countless times, scavenging for anything useful.

The wind whistled through the empty windows of shattered skyscrapers, carrying with it the scent of decay and the distant sounds of life. Milo paused, tilting his head to listen. He could hear the faint murmurs of a First Ones' encampment nearby, their voices mingling with the crackle of fires and the clinking of makeshift tools. He wasn't afraid; he had learned to avoid them. The First Ones didn't like his kind, though he never understood why.

A glint of metal caught his eye, half-buried under a pile of rubble. Milo knelt and unearthed a rusted tin can, inspecting it with mild curiosity. He wiped the grime away and peered inside, hoping for a stray morsel. Empty, like most of the things he found these days. With a sigh, he tossed it aside and continued his search.

As he roamed, he hummed a tune he couldn't remember learning. It was an old, haunting melody that seemed to rise from deep within him, echoing through the hollow shells of buildings. The sound brought him a strange comfort, a reminder of something lost but not forgotten.

Milo's eyes, a peculiar shade of milky blue, scanned the desolate landscape. He saw movement in the shadows—a rat scurrying across the street, a flock of crows taking flight from a distant rooftop. His senses were sharp, more attuned to the nuances of survival than most.

A soft rustling behind him made him turn. A figure emerged from the gloom, another of the Hollow. Older, more ragged, with hollow cheeks and eyes that seemed to see right through the world. The familiar elder gave a nod of acknowledgment, a silent greeting that resonated directly in Milo's mind.

"Found anything?" the elder's thoughts echoed in Milo's head, the manifestation of his voice like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

Milo shook his head and echoed back. "Just scraps. The First Ones have picked this place clean."

The elder nodded, his expression unreadable. "Keep looking. There's always something left behind."

As they continued their search, Milo's thoughts drifted. He wondered about the First Ones and their strange ways, about why they seemed so afraid. He had seen their children play, their faces bright and full of life. He had watched them from afar, feeling a strange kinship he couldn't explain.

The elder's voice broke through his reverie, "Stay close to the shadows, Milo. We're not welcome in their world."

Milo nodded, though he didn't fully understand. To him, survival was the only world he knew, and he did what he had to, just like the First Ones. He was like them, wasn't he?

The sun dipped lower, casting longer, blood-red shadows. Milo's stomach growled—a reminder of his hunger, ever-present and gnawing. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. He would find something. He always did.

As they moved deeper into the ruins, the sounds of the First Ones' camp faded, replaced by the eerie silence of the abandoned city. Milo's mind wandered back to the tune he hummed, the haunting melody of a world long gone. In this strange, broken land, he was just another of the Hollows, doing what he could to make it through another day.

As Milo and the elder Hollow continued their search through the ruins, Milo's determination grew stronger. He sifted through piles of debris, his milky-blue eyes scanning every nook and cranny for something of value. The red sky above cast an ominous glow, but Milo remained focused on his task.