The third day on the Hollow Marches bled into itself.
Time's a liar out here—sky bruised in endless twilight, ash drifting so thick it smothered the sun's edges, like even light was choking on the ruins. The road cracked under Agro's hooves, old empire stone worn jagged, half-swallowed by creeping moss and slagglass scars.
Every step hummed with faint pressure behind my eyes.
The crown's fault.
I could feel it, buried in my pack—the weight more memory than metal. Whispering through marrow, threading old ruin into my pulse. Most of it still blurred, like fragments of someone else's nightmare glued to the edges of my skull. But pieces sharpened now.
The shapes in the ash weren't tricks of light anymore.
The road ahead curled past a collapsed ridge, blackened spires clawing faint into the misted skyline. Halfway buried in slagglass were the remains of a transit marker—empire relic, metal twisted, runes burned illegible—but the direction was clear enough.
South. Toward Hollowstone.
If it still existed.
Agro's pace faltered. His breath came heavy, nostrils flaring, coat still streaked with old blood and soot. The makeshift saddle creaked faintly under my weight, the strap repairs already fraying.
He needed rest. Food. Real care.
I needed a godsdamned miracle.
Instead, we found relic-hunters.
Four of them. Shadows hunched near the ridge—patched leathers, scavenged weapons, the stink of desperation wafting stronger than the ash. The tallest had a relic-spear slung across his back, jagged edge humming faint with old power. His eyes tracked me like a vulture eying a fresh corpse.
"Road tax," he drawled, stepping into the path.
I reined Agro back, hand drifting toward the rusted sword on my belt. "Didn't know ruins charged tolls."
"They do now," another sneered. Thin, ratty cloak, one arm bandaged to the elbow, eyes sunken with hunger. "Unless you wanna spill your Shards and guts both."
Charming.
I scanned the angles—ridge to my left, crumbled slope to the right, no easy outs. Agro shifted under me, ears pinned, muscles tight with the same distrust gnawing my ribs.
"No Shards left," I said flatly. "Spent them two nights back."
The leader tilted his head, gaze flicking to my pack—the faint bulge of the crown hidden under canvas, pulsing faint through the fabric. His eyes narrowed, lips curling.
"Bet you've got something worth bleeding for."
Figures.
I slid from the saddle, boots hitting cracked stone, sword rasping free—a relic barely deserving the name, rust gnawing the edges, weight uneven, but steel was still steel.
The scavenger with the relic-spear smirked. "Brave, or stupid."
"Both," I muttered, stepping forward.
The first clash came fast—spear lancing toward my ribs. I twisted, the blade scraping wide, sparks flaring as rust met relic alloy. My shoulder jarred, boots skidding across loose ash, but momentum carried me inside his guard.
My fist slammed into his jaw.
Bone cracked. He staggered, blood spraying teeth onto the road.
The second scavenger lunged—a short blade arcing low. Agro reared, hooves crashing down, forcing him back. I caught the swing with my sword, metal grinding rough as I shoved him sideways.
The third held back—eyes wide, calculating, seeing the odds tilt.
Smart.
The leader wasn't.
He lunged, rusted knife flashing. My arm ached from deflection, but I twisted, blade rising, the edge biting his wrist. Blood sprayed. His scream choked in his throat as I shoved him off balance, boot connecting with his gut.
He hit the ground hard.
The others bolted—fading into ash and ruin, vanishing between cracked stone and petrified roots.
Cowards lived longer.
The leader writhed on the ground, clutching his bleeding wrist, curses rasping from cracked lips.
I knelt, pressing the sword's rusted edge to his throat, voice low.
"This road's cursed," I hissed. "Next time you block it, you won't walk away."
His eyes widened, breath ragged. He nodded faintly, the stink of fear souring the air.
I stood, wiping blood from my knuckles, heart still hammering like relic glass under strain. Agro snorted beside me, hooves stamping the ground, steady despite his wounds.
The scavengers vanished.
The Hollow Marches stretched on—empty, broken, waiting.
I re-secured my pack, the crown pulsing faint warmth through the canvas, its whispers threading through the cracks of my skull.
It wasn't proud. It wasn't grateful.
It was patient.
Like the ruin itself.
We pressed south.
The relic fields thickened—slagglass glittering faint under ash, old tech buried half-dead in the ground, humming weak with forgotten power. The crown whispered louder here. Fragments of memory stung the back of my eyes.
A name.
Half-burned banners.
A citadel cracking under fire.
I shoved them down, steps crunching over fractured stone, every pace dragging me deeper into the unknown.
By dusk, Hollowstone loomed faint through the haze.
City? Fortress? Corpse of both. The skyline jagged with crumbled towers, walls blackened from old fire, silhouettes shifting behind broken gates.
I clenched the rusted sword tighter, pulse ticking hard.
The first real test of the road waited inside.
Agro's ears twitched, nostrils flaring.
I exhaled slow, wiping ash from my brow, voice low as the wind curled sharp across the path.
"Hope you're ready," I muttered. "We're not crawling back now."
We stepped forward.
The ruins swallowed the horizon.