They hadn't truly left the place, not immediately.
By the time the three of them regained consciousness near the rim, the sun had already dipped low. Pale golden light filtered through the canopy, striping mossy ground with flickers of amber. No one spoke. Instead, they instinctively reached for their bags, pulling out food bars or water bottles,ritual gestures, like anchors to reality.
Mike leaned back against a tree. Cerin pulled off his gloves and brushed dirt from his sleeves. Kuro crouched beside a mound of earth, the same one where he'd once felt that strange pulse.
...
Then a breeze shifted, reversing its path.
Kuro paused.
"Wait," he murmured. "Feels like... someone's watching."
Mike and Cerin looked up,but saw nothing. Kuro motioned with his eyes. Quietly, they moved. Cerin activated the short-range sensor to scan a ten-meter radius. Mike circled slowly to the right. Kuro stepped back, attuning his senses to the stillness.
A minute. Two. Five.
Nothing. No strange pulses. No distant footsteps. No shadows. But that sensation, that tickle at the base of the neck,lingered.
"Nothing on the sweep" Mike said.
"Might be aftershock" Cerin offered.
But Kuro wasn't sure.
They left the rim only after the last light had faded.
...
Truthfully, it was hunger that made them stop. Again they gathered, silently eating,Mike still against the tree, Cerin removing more dust, and Kuro beside the old mound.
"Do we have enough from this trip?" Kuro asked, eyes scanning the horizon.
"Seems like it" Mike replied.
Halfway through his protein bar, Mike stood, testing his legs. He'd expected soreness, maybe fatigue. But oddly,he felt fine. More than fine. He felt... smooth. Energized.
"I'm going for a walk," he said. "Just to check the area."
"Don't go too far," Kuro warned.
Mike circled the stones. The wind was light. The earth still moist. But something inside him felt... released. His legs responded cleanly. His heartbeat, steady. He even leapt over a fallen log, effortless.
Back at the others, he placed a hand against a tree.
"Weird... I don't feel tired at all. My body's... lighter."
Kuro watched him carefully. He said nothing.
Then Cerin opened his notebook, trying to sketch the symbols he barely recalled from the Hollow. But as soon as pen met paper, his hand moved on its own,line after line, stroke after stroke, forming symbols in perfect detail.
When he looked up, both Mike and Kuro were staring at him.
"You remembered all that?" Kuro asked.
"Not really. I just glanced at them. But... it's like my brain stored them anyway."
Kuro went still.
"Maybe," he said slowly, "we each... brought something back."
Mike frowned. "You mean,"
Kuro gestured at Cerin. "He remembers strange glyphs in perfect clarity. That's not normal memory."
Then he turned to Mike. "And you,you've been moving lighter, faster. Your breathing's perfect. You leapt over that log like it was nothing. That's not your usual baseline."
Mike blinked. He stared at his hand, flexing his fingers. Every motion was fluid,not strength exactly, but a deeper precision. Like his body understood limits,and how to surpass them.
Cerin was still staring at his notebook.
"Maybe that energy system... wasn't just frequency. Maybe it's selective. And responsive. It left a mark."
They all sat still.
No arguments. No disbelief.
In silence, each of them was beginning to feel it: what they touched was more than just a phenomenon.
It had intent. It left something behind.
A breeze shifted again.
Far away, a sensor unit,supposedly off,blinked green. Then went dark.
Mike looked at Kuro.
"You saw that?"
"Yeah."
No one spoke. But all of them knew:
The journey wasn't over.
...
On the way back, no one talked.
Mike led. His steps were fast and steady, gliding over terrain despite the heavier pack. Cerin followed, gripping his notebook. Kuro stayed at the rear, watching their reflections shimmer across streambeds.
"Someone was watching," he thought. "But why stay hidden?"
By dusk, they emerged from the woods. The parking lot was empty. Their electric trike waited like it had no idea its riders had stepped out of reality.
As the engine hummed to life, the first rain began,soft, consistent, like quiet signals falling through layers of static.
"We shouldn't tell anyone about this," Cerin said suddenly.
"Why?" Mike asked.
"Because... it's not the right time. And we still don't know what it means."
Kuro didn't reply. But in the rearview mirror, he squinted. A glint of light flashed,then vanished.
They returned to the dorm at 19:43.
And though they were back, each carried something they couldn't shed.
Not an object.
But a silent signature,etched deep into their operating code.
The trip was over.
But what began there... had only started.
...
That night, rain fell over Noctis.
Not heavy. Not violent. Just thin sheets, repeating like a soft data loop.
In their small apartment, no one said much. Mike sat at the desk, staring at a dead sensor screen. Cerin had taken off his coat and collapsed on the rug, drained.
Kuro stood at the window, arm resting on the frame.
He wasn't looking at anything.
But he could feel it.
Part of that place,still here, behind him, in the very air.
...
The days that followed passed as if the trip had never happened. Classes resumed. Final exam dates blinked on third-floor bulletin boards. Lab lights stayed on late.
No one spoke of the Hollow.
Not out of fear. Not out of agreement.
But because they needed time,to figure out where the trace would lead.
Mike threw himself into school sports. His gains were almost unnatural,better lifts, faster sprints, sharper reflexes. Teammates noticed.
"You're on something?" one asked.
Mike just laughed. "Good sleep, maybe."
Cerin buried himself in books,but also began testing his memory. He discovered, to his own shock, that he could recall entire sequences of code or symbols after just one glance.
Kuro grew quieter. But sharper. He often climbed to the school rooftop, scanning the horizon with sharp eyes.
He told no one. But he felt it:
If someone was watching them,and remained unseen,it was best not to alert them.
He began to experiment.
Subtle space shifts. Energy flows. He focused, pulling sensation into his hand. In an abandoned skyscraper, he threw a punch into a wall,and cracked it.
Not a scratch on his skin.
...
Three days later.
After careful thought, Kuro decided to meet Cerin first, to warn him about the surveillance.
Cerin was rearranging a few technical books on his desk. The dorm room was quiet, with only the soft rustling of wind outside the window.
He wasn't surprised by the knock on the door.
But he didn't expect to see Kuro, holding an old notebook.
"I was looking for this. Thought you might've borrowed it?"
Cerin raised an eyebrow, about to reply.
But as Kuro stepped inside, he gently placed a hand on Cerin's shoulder, then brought a finger to his lips.
A signal for silence.
The two locked eyes in a wordless stillness that lasted five seconds.
Then Cerin understood. He nodded, subtly, but firmly.
He had already sensed something was off. But seeing Kuro like this, the feeling turned to certainty.
Kuro scanned the bookshelf briefly, pretending to search, then said in a louder voice,
"Ah, here it is. Mind if I keep it for a few more days?"
"Sure," Cerin replied evenly.
Kuro gave a small nod and walked out, without looking back.
…
Three weeks later, Kuro sent a message:
"Tomorrow night. Rooftop gym. 20:00. Bring what you need."
Mike replied with a thumbs-up.
Cerin typed back: "Ok."
For the first time since the Hollow, they would meet again,not to revisit the past, but to test the truth:
What exactly had followed them back?