THE HOLLOW REIGN
VEILS OF RUIN
The air was thick with the scent of smoke and old blood, mingled with the faint metallic tang of magic long forgotten. The chamber beneath Halvenreach pulsed with a dangerous life of its own, veins of arcane energy tracing through the stone like poisonous roots. Every breath tasted like ash, every shadow whispered secrets best left unheard.
Riven knelt before the vessel that imprisoned Aamon Bloodbane's physical form—a man whose body was more prison than flesh, and whose soul was a tempest trapped behind an iron cage of blood magic. His dark skin gleamed faintly beneath the soft flicker of enchanted wards, and his chest rose and fell with a slow, unnatural rhythm. But it was the eyes, those black orbs suddenly igniting with molten fire, that told the true tale.
The chamber exploded with light as the sigils etched in ancient blood flared like wildfire. Riven barely had time to shield his face before the vessel shuddered violently, a low roar like thunder rolling through the depths of the earth.
Aamon's eyes snapped open.
They burned like molten obsidian, consuming the darkness around them with an infernal hunger that set the room ablaze with an invisible, suffocating heat. The voice that emerged was no longer human. It was older than time, a chorus of whispers folded into a roar, echoing off every wall, every stone, every secret buried beneath the city.
"I am the breath between worlds... The Hollow King's whisper... The Father of The Under... The end that does not end."
Riven staggered back, chest heaving, as the air rippled and bent around the vessel. Elara's pale form stepped forward, her eyes narrowing into slits of crimson fury. Her vampire blood stirred wildly, a flame flickering just beneath her skin.
"He awakens," she said in a voice sharp enough to cut steel. "And with him, the darkness grows."
The vessel vibrated again, emitting a low hum that resonated deep within their bones. Aamon's voice rose, no longer confined to the prison of flesh.
"You think you can bind me? Control me? I am the hunger beneath your bones, the silence that screams in your soul. The old pacts are broken. The hollow god rises."
Riven's hands clenched into fists, the remnants of his wolfblood snarling just beneath his skin. "We will not let you take this world. Over my dead fucking body."
Aamon's laughter was a symphony of destruction and despair, echoing across dimensions.
"Fight? You do not yet understand. The fractures beneath you grow. Your precious alliances tremble. Soon, the very air you breathe... will turn against you."
---
Outside the hidden sanctum, the city of Halvenreach was alive with its own dark pulse. Beneath shattered spires and broken battlements, the factions moved like chess pieces on a board rigged for destruction.
High Palewarden Selric stood before the shattered council chamber, his voice sharp and urgent.
"We face a threat unlike any before. Aamon's influence spreads beyond the vessel. His oracles—those poor, hollow shells—walk among us, sowing discord and shadows. The Pale Synod cannot hold much longer."
Magister Kael, wrapped in robes inscribed with glowing runes, shook his head slowly.
"The Eclipsed Moon Order grows silent, but their veils darken with secrets. And the Faeblood stir in their hidden conclaves, weaving intrigues far beyond our sight."
Selric's gaze was icy, a blade honed by years of war and betrayal.
"We must forge alliances. Quickly, or watch everything collapse into chaos."
A tense silence settled over the chamber, broken only by the faint crackle of embers in the hearth.
---
Far from the city, perched on the ragged cliffs of the Ashmar Peaks, Aeron Vale surveyed the horizon beneath a bruised twilight sky. The revenant's oath echoed in his mind, a binding promise forged in the Twilight Between—a realm of liminal shadows where life and death blurred into one.
His cloak whipped in the cold wind as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, its blade etched with runes that glowed faintly in the fading light.
War was coming, though not yet. His task was to prepare, to gather what strength he could from the fractures left behind. And to seek out those who would stand against the rising hollow god.
Behind him, the ruins whispered old tales—echoes of battles long past, and of betrayals that bled the land dry.
His gaze hardened.
"They will come," he murmured to the wind. "And when they do, I will be ready."
---
In the eerie stillness of a moonlit glade, Serah Vael emerged from shadow like a specter born of flame and mist. Her eyes glowed faintly with the iridescent fire of faeblood, an unnatural blend of light and shadow.
Once a loyal Ember Paladin, Serah now walked a different path, one veined with secrets and sharpened by betrayals that had left scars deeper than any blade.
Her movements were precise, predatory. She was a hunter among ghosts, weaving through the web of intrigue spun by the fractured factions.
She paused beneath an ancient tree, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky.
"The Hollow God rises," she whispered, voice cold but resolute. "And I will be its shadow."
Her fingers brushed a pendant hanging at her throat—a shard of dark crystal pulsing with latent power.
---
Back in the sanctuary beneath Halvenreach, the chamber shook as Aamon's voice grew louder, echoing through the ley lines beneath the city.
"You cannot cage me. I am the blood that sings in the void... the hunger beneath the bone. The old powers will shatter. The factions will break. And from their ruin, I will claim what was stolen—what was promised in fire and blood."
Elara's eyes burned with defiance, her fangs glinting in the dim light.
"We will not let you unravel this world," she spat. "No matter the cost."
Riven growled low, his wolfblood thrumming like a storm in his veins.
"We stand on the edge of oblivion," he said. "But we are not yet broken. The shadows do not care for good or evil—they consume all. But we still have a choice."
The chamber trembled violently, dust and shards cascading from the vaulted ceiling.
Outside, the first tremors of the coming conflict rippled through the fractured lands.
---
A weighty silence fell as the echoes of Aamon's words faded, replaced by the distant howl of the wind—carrying with it the scent of smoke, the promise of betrayal, and the rising tide of war yet to come.
The veils of ruin had begun to part.
And beneath them, the true darkness waited.