The stars had long since faded when the Hollow stirred. Silence, it seemed, was never empty — it only waited to be heard. The mirrored surface of the Void rippled once, as if exhaling, and stillness spread like ink across the unseen floor. From breath to echo, every pause carried a truth — power here was not spoken, but remembered.

The realm of Kenōma, the Void Between, was a hymn to stillness: sound beside silence, thought beside unmaking, reflection shaped by restraint. It did not hunger for voice, nor crave form — for its keeper cherished quiet as others coveted dominion.

Born from the first hush after creation’s cry, Kenōma had never ruled, only balanced. They were the Void Eternal — the Silent Mirror, the heart of reflection. Their rune was Leorg — Shadow Crescent, Night — and through them, the world learned to listen. Where Phanēs illuminated and Noctura concluded, Kenōma held the space between.

Around them, the air shimmered faintly with absence — light bending inward, sound dissolving into calm. The scent of cold stone and forgotten rain lingered, and the surface beneath was smooth as breath held too long. In that stillness, they stood — a shape defined by what it refused to be, eyes like wells where thought sank and quiet bloomed.

Their dominion was not command but contemplation — every silence a truth, every stillness a gift. The world answered them in the pause between words, the hush after revelation, the moment before acceptance. And now, a seeker stepped into the Hollow, their reflection trembling on unseen glass.

Kenōma turned, and the silence deepened — not emptiness, but welcome.

“Welcome to the Umbral Hollow,” they said, their voice little more than a whisper of thought. “Here, nothing speaks — yet all is understood.”