The storm didn't roar—it wept.
Thunder rolled over the broken skyline as the Spire behind them shuddered in slow agony. A distant cry rose from its peak, the kind that wasn't human, wasn't beast—just old. A memory made of sound. The kind of wail that made birds drop from the sky and blood run cold.
Elara stood at the edge of the hollowed cliff, wind tugging at her cloak, hair wild around her face, her skin glowing faintly beneath the darkening clouds. The sigil on her wrist pulsed with new life—three rings now, dancing like coiled serpents under her skin.
Kael moved beside her, his jaw tight. "You're not the same."
She didn't answer right away. Her fingers flexed, and with a thought, the air around her rippled. A pulse radiated outwards—a silent scream that made the ground hiss and curl like paper over flame.
She had touched something inside that Vault.
And it had touched her back.
Behind them, the others watched in cautious silence.
Talon finally broke it. "So what now? We poke the gods in the eye or wait for them to stab us first?"
Vaelith let out a dry laugh. "We'll know which way the blade is pointed soon enough."
"Elara," Nyra said softly, "can you feel it? The Nexus?"
Elara closed her eyes. And there it was.
Like a heartbeat beneath the skin of the world.
It was calling her.
More than that—it was moving.
She turned toward the group. "We have three days before the Veil thins enough to cross. The Hollow Gate will open. When it does, we go in."
Thorne frowned. "And what's on the other side?"
Kael answered grimly. "Everything they tried to keep from us."
---
They made camp two miles from the Spire's edge, beneath the roots of an old stormwood tree. Rain had begun to fall, soft at first, then harder, as if the sky was mourning something long buried. They kept the fire low. Every sound in the forest felt louder now, every crack of twig or shift of branch like a whisper from something watching.
Kael sat across from Elara, sharpening his blade.
"You really okay?" he asked.
"I don't think I'm supposed to be," she said honestly. "Whatever happened down there… it didn't just change me. It awoke something."
Kael looked at her carefully. "You're not alone. Remember that."
She met his gaze. "Even if I become something else?"
He sheathed the blade. "Then I'll be the one to remind you who you were."
That earned him a faint smile.
Talon, chewing on dried fruit, leaned back. "So, hypothetically—if Elara becomes a death goddess, who gets eaten first?"
"Thorne," Nyra said instantly.
"Fair," Thorne muttered. "But only if she swallows me in one bite. No chewing."
Vaelith snorted. Even Elara laughed—tired, but genuine.
It was a small moment. A fragile one.
But it mattered.
Because war was coming. And laughter would become a luxury they couldn't afford.
---
That night, Elara dreamed.
She was standing in the ruins of Velin'Thar—the ancient city of the Sigil-Bearers. The towers were ash, the streets slick with blood. The air was thick with fog and the smell of iron.
A child stood in front of her.
Barefoot. Pale. Eyes too old for their small face.
"You will burn them all," the child said.
Elara flinched. "No."
The child smiled. "Yes."
Then the world split apart—
—and she woke with a gasp.
Kael was already at her side.
"Same dream?"
"Worse," she whispered, her hands trembling. "Kael… what if the sigil doesn't just amplify me? What if it rewrites me?"
Kael took her face in his hands, grounding her. "Then let it try. You're stronger than it. You've always been."
She leaned into his touch, finding a moment of stillness in the storm that was fast approaching.
---
Morning came with silver light and a sharp chill.
The group moved out quickly, heading toward the Hollow Gate. The terrain shifted with every mile—trees older than memory, rivers that flowed backward, air that shimmered with threads of magic torn loose from the Veil.
And then, just as the sun broke above the ridge—they saw it.
The Hollow Gate.
A floating arch of obsidian and bloodstone, suspended in midair, tethered to the ground by chains of smoke. Its surface shimmered with symbols, some burning red, others pulsing like heartbeats.
"It's beautiful," Nyra whispered.
"It's hungry," Thorne corrected.
Elara stepped forward.
The sigil on her wrist began to glow.
As she approached, the gate responded. Its chains writhed. The air thickened. A hum filled the valley—low, bone-deep.
Kael stood close. "Ready?"
She nodded. "We cross tomorrow. When the veil is weakest."
Vaelith narrowed her eyes. "And on the other side?"
"Everything changes," Elara said.
They set up camp again—this time only steps from the gate.
Tonight, no one joked.
Tonight, they prepared.
Elara stared at the gate until the stars rose.
She could feel the eyes watching from the other side. Waiting. Whispering.
And she whispered back.
"I'm not the girl I was."
A pause.
Then she smiled darkly.
"I'm worse."
Dawn bled slow across the horizon, smearing gold over the mountains like a wound reluctantly healing. Elara stood first. She hadn't slept—none of them had, not really. The Hollow Gate pulsed in the early light like a living thing, beating in rhythm with the sigil etched across her skin.
It was time.
One by one, the group gathered, silent in their preparation. Armor was strapped, blades were tested, spells whispered under breath. No one spoke of what lay beyond. No one needed to. It was war, and every one of them could feel the weight of it on their bones.
Kael stood beside Elara.
"You lead," he said.
She looked at the Gate.
A wind stirred from within it—warm, thick, and smelling of myrrh and ozone. It wasn't inviting. It was summoning.
And Elara walked into it without hesitation.
The world twisted.
Colors bled. Sound shattered.
Then everything went still.
---
When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else—somewhere that hummed with too much life.
The sky above was a violet canvas streaked with rivers of gold. Floating islands drifted lazily through the air like forgotten dreams. A crescent moon hung low, cracked but glowing, watching them. The ground beneath her boots felt soft, almost alive, covered in a thick carpet of crimson moss.
The Hollow Realm.
They had made it.
But they were not alone.
Kael stepped through next, followed by the others. Each one stumbled, blinking against the strangeness of the world. Sounds echoed wrong here—like voices speaking a second before mouths moved.
"What is this place?" Nyra asked, awe softening her voice.
"The other side," Elara said. "The place they locked away when the gods grew afraid."
Talon whistled low. "No wonder they were scared."
A path formed before them—not carved, not natural. It grew, responding to their presence, petals unfolding into a walkway that shimmered faintly with magic.
Thorne looked skeptical. "Either we're being welcomed… or we've just stepped into someone's very elaborate trap."
They followed the path.
With every step, the Hollow Realm revealed more of itself—forests with leaves made of whispers, rivers that reflected your future instead of your face, creatures with too many eyes and not enough mouths that watched silently from the trees.
And then they reached the city.
Vel'Serath.
Built into the cliffs, its towers were hollow bones wrapped in crystal and fire. Bridges of woven light stretched between spires. The air buzzed with tension. Not life. Not death. Something older.
It was there they saw them—the Hollowborne.
Tall, slender beings of shadow and starlight. They did not speak. Did not move. But they watched.
Elara's sigil flared.
One stepped forward. Eyes like twin galaxies. No mouth, yet she heard the voice directly in her mind.
"The Vessel has arrived."
The Hollowborne turned as one.
And knelt.
The air cracked. Magic surged.
Kael stepped protectively in front of Elara. "What's happening?"
The Hollowborne's voice whispered again.
"The Stormwalker returns. The war begins anew."
Elara's breath caught.
Kael looked at her. "What do they mean? Stormwalker?"
Elara didn't answer.
Because in her mind, the memories had returned—visions that weren't hers, voices from lifetimes ago. Fire. Blood. The taste of godhood on her tongue.
She had been here before.
Not her—but the first Elara.
The one who made the Hollow Sigil.
---
Later, they were taken into the Citadel of Bone—a structure pulsing with history. There, the Hollowborne offered knowledge. Scrolls older than time. Visions pulled from the fabric of the Hollow.
They saw the truth.
The gods didn't create the Hollow Realm. They stole from it.
Drained it.
Used it as a battery to power their immortal thrones.
The Sigil was rebellion. A weapon forged from the will of a woman who had once been both queen and curse. Elara's ancestor. Her shadow. Her ghost.
And now, the cycle was coming full circle.
The Veil was breaking.
And Elara was the crack.
As night fell, Kael found her alone on a balcony of the Citadel, staring out at the sea of floating lights below.
"You okay?" he asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
"Kael… what if this place brings out the worst in me?"
Kael sat beside her. "Then let me bring out the best."
She turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes—fierce, unshakable faith. In her. Not the sigil. Not the prophecy. Her.
They didn't kiss.
But they didn't need to.
Their silence was an oath.
---
Later that night, Elara stood before the central altar.
The Hollowborne watched.
They called her Stormwalker.
She raised her hand, and the sigil flared with violent light.
A tremor shook the city.
A wall of fire bloomed across the distant sky.
The gods felt it.
For the first time in a thousand years—they remembered fear.