The ground beneath their feet was no longer stone.
It writhed.
Sid stumbled as the ruined floor of the Mirror Spire began to ripple like a pool of tar, dragging his boots deeper with every breath. Lucien and Reinhardt cried out behind him, but their voices were swallowed by the rising roar — a sound not of wind, nor water, but of countless whispers screaming all at once.
The Hollow breach above them expanded into a yawning wound in the sky, its jagged edges glowing faint violet. Shadows spilled downward like threads of liquid glass, pulling reality apart strand by strand.
"Stay close!" Nox's command cut through the chaos, sharp as steel. His cane struck the floor, releasing a ring of protective wards — but the symbols bent, twisted, and shattered as if mocked by the Hollow's hunger.
Sid's chest clenched. That pressure again. The same weight that had haunted him since Serrath first appeared… no, even before that. The demon's voice murmured, faint and hungry, beneath the cacophony.
Finally… deeper…
A hand seized Sid's wrist. Lucien, his eyes flaring gold with temporal light.
"We're being pulled under. There's no resisting it."
Sid barely had time to nod before the floor gave way.
The world inverted.
Darkness. Not black, but ash-grey. The air was heavy, thick with dust that clung to their throats and lungs. The ground here was cracked obsidian, glowing faintly with embers that never died.
They had landed in a wasteland. Above them hung no sky, only a dome of shifting fragments — broken mirrors that reflected distorted versions of themselves.
Reinhardt was the first to rise, his fists clenched tight. "This isn't the human world anymore…" His voice carried unease, a rare thing for him.
Nox adjusted his glasses, though his hands trembled faintly. "…The Hollow Realm. But deeper than I have ever seen. This is no ordinary breach."
At those words, a distant rumble shivered through the wasteland.
Seven pillars erupted from the ground in a circle around them, each carved with runes burning in ash-fire. From within the pillars stepped figures — seven warriors, their bodies mangled by Hollow corruption. Twisted armor, broken visages, and hollowed-out eyes that still glowed with fragments of their former selves.
Reinhardt's voice cracked. "Those… they were human once."
"No," Nox whispered, his tone colder. "They are us. Echoes of warriors who fell to the Hollow before. Their strength, their regrets, their rage… bound here as Trials."
Lucien's golden eyes narrowed. "Seven pillars. Seven warriors. Seven trials."
The first of the corrupted warriors raised a blade forged from molten ash, pointing it toward Sid. The others mirrored the gesture, like puppets moved by an unseen hand.
The dome of mirrors above them shimmered, and a voice rolled across the wasteland, deep and echoing, neither demon nor god.
"Seven Trials of Ash.
One flame to endure.
Break… or burn."
The weight of it nearly crushed Sid's knees. That voice wasn't just sound — it carried intent, force, command.
Reinhardt spat into the dust, his crimson aura flaring. "So it's a gauntlet. Fine. We'll smash through it."
But Sid couldn't move. The demon's whisper coiled around his skull, louder now, almost eager.
Seven trials, vessel. Seven steps toward me…
He clutched his head, breath uneven. No one else seemed to hear it.
The corrupted warrior of ash lunged, its blade carving sparks through the air. Reinhardt intercepted, steel meeting molten edge, their clash shaking the ground.
Lucien snapped his fingers, golden sand freezing the warrior's next strike mid-air. "Focus, Sid! If you falter now, this place will eat you alive."
Sid's vision swam, the mirrors above flashing with twisted reflections — dozens of Sids, some human, some cloaked in black flame, some with eyes that glowed like gods. Each one moved differently, none in sync with him.
He tore his gaze away, forcing air into his lungs. His hands burned faintly — not with the demon's power, but something stranger, as if the Hollow Realm itself was testing him.
The voice thundered again:
"Trial One ~ The Ashborn.
Prove flame against ash."
The ground split. The first warrior's body erupted into a storm of ash and embers, forming a giant whose hollow eyes fixed solely on Sid.
Everyone turned toward him.
Nox's gaze was unreadable, but his words carried weight: "Sid… this one is yours."
Sid swallowed hard. His body trembled, not with fear alone, but with the weight of expectation pressing from all sides — from Nox, from his friends, from the daemon whispering inside.
And so, for the first time, he stepped forward alone.
His shadow stretched across the ashfield as the Trial of the Ashborn roared.