The Hollow was dying. Not slowly and not peacefully. It was tearing itself apart while collapsing inward with the fury of a world unmade.
The first pulse of destruction came like a breath that was sucked in by a dying god, air, ash, and screaming wind dragged toward the center where the Heart of the Hollow had once beat.
Every corpse, every altar, every splinter of bone began to spiral inward, pulled into a black void forming where Vark had fallen.
The ground tilted beneath their feet. "MOVE!" Kelvin roared, grabbing Lyra by the arm as the ledge beneath them disintegrated.
The pull of the implosion nearly tore her from his grasp, but he anchored himself with his sword driven deep into the flesh-like wall. Xerion coiled around them both with its flames dimming to embers as it strained to hold steady.
