He touched his face as he looked, as though confirming that what he saw was real.
“This is me,” he murmured.
It did not sound like a statement.
It sounded like a discovery.
He had not always been “The Hollow Man.”
There had been a time—long ago now—when he had been simply Elias.
A boy who laughed too loudly. Who ran through fields until his lungs burned. Who once believed that the world, for all its flaws, held something worth loving.
But that boy had faded, piece by piece, over the years.
Not all at once. Not in some dramatic, singular moment.
It had been quieter than that.
A disappointment here. A betrayal there. Losses that carved into him, slowly hollowing him out until something essential was gone.
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