Page 6 of Chaos has a Name
The lottery had been drawn, and Thomas Adsila would be the winner.
From his sacrifice would come the bounty.
From his death would come their prosperity.
From his spirit would come another year of hunting plentitude.
It had to be done.
For it had always been done.
IfThe Hollowstrayed from this custom, it would never be able to explain how it had dropped the ball and let the reservation suffer.
Now would it?
The answer was an unequivocal no.
This was bred intoThe Hollow, and passed down to the son of a son of a son, or apprentice, generations back. It was firmly rooted in their culture for certain members of that tribe.
It had always been done, and now, it would continue as soon as they caught the man.
Then, it would repeat all over again.
Forever.
More.
When the whistle was heard, hauntingly floating through the evening air and drifting upon the lands of the blessed tribe,The Hollowknew it was time.
The hunt began.
The solstice began.
It was now or never.
For Thomas, he was about to make the ultimate sacrifice, and for that,The Hollowwas honored to be involved.
As the dark night surrounded them, the man walking down the road heard the whistle, calling, and he paused to look around.
It was clear he was startled.
For it sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before.
Breath over bone had a distinct sound not found in nature.
Staring into the darkness of the trees, hearing that single branch snap beneath someone’s shoes, he tensed.
It was clear he was unnerved.
He shouldn’t be.
The Hollowwould make this painless—like it always did.
“Who’s there?” Thomas called.
And there was no answer.
Why?
