The buried city beneath Blackstone Academy pulsed with a rhythm that felt alive, its black-gold light weaving through the ley-lines like blood through veins. The fourth Pillar's awakening had sent a tremor through the academy, a signal that the Accord could no longer ignore.
Mark Wilde stood in the subterranean amphitheater, the glow of the Pillar casting sharp shadows across his face. His allies—Elira, Vrix, Silas, and Lysa—stood nearby, their expressions a mix of resolve and unease. The air was thick with mana, heavy with the weight of what they'd just unleashed.
Lysa clutched her tattered journal, her eyes darting between the Pillar and the ancient runes spiraling across the chamber's walls. "It's not just the Pillar," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The city's waking up faster now. It's… talking."
Mark's gaze shifted to the ley-line map etched into the dais. The glowing veins stretched further than before, connecting to points beyond the academy—distant ruins, forgotten vaults, sealed places that pulsed in sync with the Pillars. "It's not just talking," he said. "It's remembering. And it's calling."
Elira leaned on her staff, her wards flickering faintly as she scanned the chamber. "Calling what, exactly? Because whatever it is, the Accord's going to hit us harder now. That stunt at the Council Ball and the fourth Pillar's activation? They're not going to send Markbearers this time. They'll send something worse."
Silas, twirling his cane with a casual air that belied the tension in his eyes, smirked. "Worse than soul-erasing assassins? That's a high bar, even for the Accord. What's next, unleashing a dragon?"
Vrix's stone-like skin glinted as she crossed her arms. "Don't joke. The Eastern Spire's wards were designed to hold something big. I've seen the glyph-logs in the Archives—seals that don't just lock doors, they lock existences. Whatever's coming, it's not just a weapon. It's a statement."
Mark's mind churned, piecing together fragments of his past life as Maximilian Wilde—boardroom battles, betrayals, calculated risks—and the instincts of this new body, now infused with the Forbidden Tier's cold, precise power. The Warden's words echoed in his head: You are the echo of his fire.
The First Sovereign. The Crownless. A legacy buried by the Accord, now stirring beneath his feet. "Lysa," he said, turning to the girl. "Your journal—does it mention anything about a 'Hollow King'?"
Lysa's eyes widened, and she flipped through the pages, her fingers trembling. "It's… not explicit. But there's a passage. Here." She pointed to a sketch of a crowned figure, its face obscured by shadow, surrounded by runes that pulsed faintly on the page.
"It says, 'The Hollow King sleeps where the Veins converge, bound by the Accord's first lie. His whisper breaks wills, his gaze breaks worlds.'"
Elira's wards flared brighter. "That doesn't sound like something we want to meet."
Mark's jaw tightened. "We don't have a choice. The Accord's already moving. If we don't control the narrative, they will. We need the fifth Pillar, and we need to know what we're up against."
Silas tapped his cane against the stone. "The fifth Pillar's under the Observatory, right? Heavily guarded, heavily warded, and probably crawling with whatever the Accord's cooking up. We'll need more than diversions this time. We need an army."
Mark's eyes glinted, the black-gold light of the Pillar reflecting in them. "Then we build one."
The Crownless gathered in the buried city's central atrium, a cavernous space where ancient statues of cloaked figures loomed like silent judges. The group had grown—nearly thirty now, a mix of Dredge Born outcasts, Runebreakers, and students who'd defected after the obelisk's appearance.
Some were driven by curiosity, others by anger, but all shared a spark of defiance against the Accord's iron grip. Mark stood on a cracked dais, the Pillars' resonance thrumming through him like a second heartbeat.
"We're not just fighting for survival," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a man who'd toppled empires. "We're fighting for a world where power doesn't mean chains.
The Accord wants to erase us, to bury the truth of what this city was. But every Pillar we awaken cracks their lies. The fifth is next, and it's not just a power source—it's a declaration."
A murmur rippled through the group. A Dredgeborn boy with glowing veins in his arms stepped forward. "What about the Hollow King? Rumors are spreading. Students are saying the Accord's waking something ancient to stop you."
Mark met his gaze. "Let them. The Hollow King's just another shadow they've buried. We'll drag it into the light and break it, like we're breaking their system."
Elira stepped beside him, her voice sharp. "We've got three days before the Accord's next move. Vrix's contacts in the Archives say they're redirecting mana to the Observatory, reinforcing its wards. They're scared. We use that."
Vrix nodded, her stone-like fingers tracing a glyph in the air. "I've got a plan. We hit their mana relays—disrupt their grid. It'll weaken the Observatory's defenses long enough for us to get in. But we'll need a decoy team to draw their enforcers away."
Silas grinned. "That's my specialty. I'll take a few Runebreakers and make some noise. Maybe blow up a statue or two."
Lysa, standing quietly at the edge of the group, raised her hand. "I can help with the wards. My journal has runes that counter memory barriers. They're… old. Older than the Accord's spells."
Mark studied her, then nodded. "You're with me and Elira. We'll need every edge we can get."
The Observatory loomed at the academy's heart, its spire piercing the storm-torn sky. The violet-black rain had intensified, streaks of mana lightning illuminating the campus in eerie flashes. Vrix's team had struck the mana relays hours earlier, sending arcs of unstable energy crackling across the eastern quad.
Silas's decoys had drawn out the security drones, their explosions lighting up the night like fireworks. The campus was in chaos, exactly as Mark had planned.
He, Elira, and Lysa moved through a hidden tunnel beneath the Observatory, guided by Silas's maps and Lysa's journal. The air grew colder as they descended, the walls pulsing with wards that flickered under the strain of the disrupted mana grid.
"This is too easy," Elira muttered, her staff glowing faintly. "The Accord's not this sloppy."
Mark's hand hovered near the spiral glyph on his wrist, the Forbidden Tier magic simmering beneath his skin. "They're not sloppy. They're desperate. That's worse."
Lysa stopped, her journal open to a page of shifting runes. "Here," she said, pointing to a stone wall etched with a faint spiral. "The fifth Pillar's behind this. But the ward's different. It's… alive."
Mark placed his hand on the wall, and the rune flared. The stone didn't dissolve—it sang, a low, mournful note that vibrated through his bones. The wall parted, revealing a chamber bathed in pale, silvery light.
At its center stood the fifth Pillar, a crystal spire that pulsed with a rhythm unlike the others—slower, heavier, as if burdened by centuries of silence.
But it wasn't the Pillar that stopped them. It was the figure standing before it.
A man, or the shape of one, cloaked in tattered robes that seemed to absorb the light. His face was hidden behind a mask of cracked bone, etched with a single rune: Oblivion. His presence was a void, a pressure that made the air feel thin, as if reality itself recoiled from him.
"The Hollow King," Lysa whispered, her voice trembling.
The figure turned, its mask glinting in the Pillar's light. "You are the Crownless," it said, its voice a whisper that echoed inside their skulls. "But you are not ready. The Veins reject you."
Mark stepped forward, the Forbidden Tier magic flaring in his chest. "I don't need your approval. I'm here for the Pillar."
The Hollow King's mask tilted, as if amused. "The Pillar is not a prize. It is a chain. Claim it, and you claim the weight of a thousand erased names."
Elira's wards surged, forming a barrier between them and the King. "Mark, don't engage. This thing's not human—it's a construct of the Accord's first lie."
But Mark felt the city's will stirring within him, urging him forward. He stepped past Elira's wards, his eyes locked on the King. "You're not a guardian. You're a prison. And I'm done with cages."
The King raised a hand, and the chamber shook. Shadows poured from its mask, forming spectral blades that slashed through the air. Mark dodged, his movements precise, guided by instincts honed in a past life.
The Forbidden Tier magic responded, weaving entropy around his fists. He struck, and the shadows shattered, but the King didn't falter.
Lysa clutched her journal, whispering runes that glowed faintly blue. The wards on the wall flickered, weakening the King's hold. Elira joined her, channeling mana into a counterspell that pushed back the shadows.
Mark seized the moment, lunging for the Pillar. His hand touched its surface, and the chamber erupted in light.
Visions flooded his mind—cities burning, mages kneeling, a crown shattered. But this time, he saw the Hollow King's creation: a spell forged by the Accord to bind the First Sovereign's power, to erase his legacy.
The King wasn't a guardian—it was a shackle, designed to trap the Crownless forever.
Mark pulled, and the Pillar answered. Its light flared black-gold, syncing with the others. The Hollow King screamed, its mask cracking further. "You cannot hold it!" it roared. "The Veins will consume you!"
But Mark stood his ground, the city's will merging with his own. "I'm not holding it," he said. "I'm setting it free."
The Pillar's resonance shattered the King's form, reducing it to ash. The chamber stabilized, the light dimming to a steady pulse. Elira and Lysa exhaled, their faces pale but resolute.
"We did it," Lysa said, her voice shaking. "The fifth Pillar."
Mark turned to the ley-line map, now glowing brighter, its veins stretching further. "Five down. Seven to go."
Above, in the Maw's sanctum, the mirror shattered completely, its fragments falling like rain. Her voice was a hiss. "He's broken the Hollow King."
A warlock in crimson robes stepped forward. "Then we unleash the Severance."
The Maw's mask glinted. "No. We awaken the Final Veil."