Nero stepped into the ruined chamber, his breath misting in the frigid air.
The walls curved around him like the inside of a dying heart, ancient stone blackened by centuries of cursed magic.
The ground pulsed faintly under his boots, alive, throbbing like a wound that refused to close.
At the center of it all, the figure waited.
It wore a fractured mask:
One half radiant, shimmering faintly with silver light.
The other blackened and jagged, devouring every trace of brightness.
Twin eyes glowed behind the mask, sorrowful, ancient, enduring.
Unlike the crushing despair saturating the Shatterveil, the figure's presence pressed against Nero's chest with a strange gentleness, a memory of warmth, buried beneath the endless cold.
When it spoke, its voice was no louder than a whisper, yet the stones themselves seemed to carry its words.
"I am Hope.
The light that endures.
The dream that refuses to die."
Nero's grip tightened on his wand.
"What are you?" he asked, steady but cautious.
The figure tilted its head, the broken mask catching the dim, fractured light.
"A remnant.
A fragment of what once was whole."
It gestured toward the carved walls.
The ancient symbols cracked and faded by time shimmered.
Then, they moved.
The carvings rippled like disturbed water, images shifting and reassembling, telling a story frozen in stone and magic.
Nero watched, heart pounding.
From the carvings emerged a tall figure cloaked in ancient robes, silver runes woven into the fabric. His face was hidden, but his presence burned with fierce intensity.
Beside him stood another, cloaked in shadow, darker than night, exuding a suffocating weight.
They faced each other.
Not as equals.
The first bowed, a disciple before his master.
Nero's mind raced.
Euthymios... and Ekrizdis.
No words were needed.
The story unfolded in movements.
Ritual circles drawn.
Symbols of sorrow carved into stone.
Magic woven, split, reforged.
A desperate dream: to sever despair from the human soul.
But something went wrong.
The visions twisted.
Euthymios screamed as the magic tore him apart, sorrow bleeding into the air like blackened mist.
From the remnants, a shape clawed its way into existence, monstrous, ravenous.
The Hollow Tree.
The curse of the Shatterveil.
Nero staggered back a step, the weight of the memory slamming into his chest.
The carvings fell still.
Only the figure, Hope, remained, silent and waiting.
Nero drew a breath, forcing the pieces together, his voice low but clear.
"Euthymios tried to purge all negative emotions from the human soul.
His ritual failed, and instead, he gave despair a living form.
A creature that devoured all emotions.
Joy, love, hope, grief, fear… leaving nothing but hollow shells behind.
Realizing his mistake, he tried to seal the creature to the Hollow Tree... but the effort shattered his soul."
Hope's light dimmed, as if mourning.
"Despair, his agony, was bound to the tree.
Hope, the last ember of what he had been, tore free."
Nero stepped closer, piecing the logic together.
"Because your soul shattered, because Euthymios Hope and Despair were torn apart…
The creature can no longer consume hope or love directly.
Only despair.
It must twist hope into despair before it can feed."
The figure bowed its head, a silent confirmation.
Nero stayed focused, frowning slightly.
"Euthymios' failure happened centuries ago.
Why is this happening only now?"
Hope's light flickered, sorrow rippling outward.
"It was Malrik who shattered that fragile balance.
He seeks to attune himself to Despair.
He is weaving his soul into its essence.
Each life lost, each soul broken, deepens the bond."
Hope's voice darkened.
"But such a bond cannot be rushed.
Malrik must gradually absorb and integrate the sorrow into his own being, a slow and dangerous process.
If he moves too fast, the fusion would destroy him instead.
If he succeeds... he will cease to be mortal.
He will become a being bound to sorrow itself."
Hope's form dimmed further, sorrow thickening the air.
"For generations after Euthymios' fall, the balance endured.
Despair remained trapped within the Hollow Tree.
I remained hidden, weakened but enduring.
The Shatterveil was cursed... wounded, but stable."
The chamber pulsed again, carrying the weight of centuries.
"But Malrik found the anchors.
He corrupted them, rewrote their purpose.
What once held the Shatterveil in check now feeds Despair's hunger.
Every soul he steals strengthens the bond, tipping the balance further.
And if this continues... I will fade entirely."
Nero's jaw clenched, his heart hammering in his chest.
"How long do we have?"
Hope's glow dimmed further, the edges of his light flickering.
"At the pace he has set... five years.
Perhaps less, if sorrow continues to deepen."
Five years.
Not much time, but enough to grow strong enough.
Nero's gaze hardened.
He wasn't satisfied knowing only Malrik's ambitions.
He needed to understand the true enemy.
He stepped closer, voice sharp.
"Tell me, what exactly is the creature bound to the Hollow Tree?
And what has Euthymios' Despair become after all this time?"
Hope's form wavered, the chamber trembling faintly, as if the question touched something raw.
"The creature... as you know, is a being born from Euthymios' failed ritual, a thing that feeds on emptiness, that devours hope, joy, and life itself.
It was never meant to exist.
It has no consciousness and only exists to consume."
Hope's light dimmed.
"Despair, however... is something else.
Despair is a fragment of Euthymios' own soul, the part that broke beneath the weight of his guilt and grief.
It is not the beast.
It is trapped within the creature, bound to its hunger, twisted and corrupted over centuries."
The chamber grew colder, the shadows deepening at the edges of Nero's vision.
"When you face it... it will not fight with claws or flame.
It will bleed into your mind, your heart.
It will whisper your regrets, mirror your doubts, magnify your every hidden wound.
Despair knows how to break you without ever striking a blow."
Nero's heart hammered painfully in his chest.
"And if we leave it be?"
Hope's answer was a final whisper of inevitability.
"The Shatterveil will spread.
The wound will never heal.
Despair will become a plague upon the world."
Nero closed his eyes for a moment.
He thought of the cursed clan.
Of Lyra's trembling hands.
Of his loved ones.
Of a fragile, imperfect world that still deserved saving.
He opened his eyes, clear and unyielding.
"Then I will not fail."
Hope's light expanded, a soft glow wrapping around Nero, sinking into his skin.
A spark.
A promise.
Hope's voice brushed against his mind like a solemn oath.
"You are not alone, Nero.
You carry more light than you know."
The warmth seeped deeper, pushing back against the cold.
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