The Hollow Realm groaned.
The shifting black terrain that had been whispering Sid's name now shuddered with intent. The shadows no longer moved at random; they spiraled, folding into arcs that outlined a circle around the group.
Lucien's blade gleamed faintly, timeglass fragments orbiting his arm. Kael's eyes narrowed, lightning crawling along his knuckles. Reinhardt planted his halberd into the ash floor with a defiant clang.
"This is no breach," Reinhardt muttered, his voice tight. "It's a proving ground."
Sid felt it too—the weight of something unseen pressing on his chest, like a thousand invisible chains dragging him downward. And then, from the swirl of void, the Hollow surged again.
Dozens of malformed husks—wraithlike creatures, their bodies made of tar-black sinew and screeching void-fire—lunged from the spiral walls. Their cries were discordant, like broken glass grinding against bone.
Kael struck first, lightning cracking the air, spearing one into cinders. Lucien followed, time itself bending as his blade cut through two husks before they blinked. Reinhardt swung his halberd in a wide arc, cleaving through a cluster.
But more kept coming. For every one slain, another clawed its way from the ash.
Sid staggered back, his breath ragged. The whispers coiled in his ears again—Sid Valehart… chosen vessel… anchor of flame…
"No…" he muttered, clutching his chest. "Not now…"
One husk slipped past Reinhardt's guard, lunging directly for Sid's throat. Reflex took over. His hand flared with black fire.
The demonflame ignited, but it did not burn outward like before. Instead, it wrapped around the Hollow's body, freezing it mid-lunge. The husk shrieked, limbs thrashing, but the flame locked it in place.
It was not fire. It was not a chain.
It was something far worse.
The Hollow's shadowy body convulsed, its very soul dragged screaming into Sid's flame, tethered to him like a beast pinned beneath a brand. The ash beneath his feet cracked in spirals, black fire etching into the ground like a binding glyph.
Kael froze mid-strike. Reinhardt staggered a step back. Even Lucien's eyes widened.
"What… what is that?" Kael whispered.
Sid's breathing was ragged. His own hands trembled as the tether held the Hollow in place, its essence squirming against his palm. He could feel its soul—a vile, rotting thing—being held prisoner.
"No…" Sid whispered, voice trembling. "This isn't—this shouldn't be possible…"
The husk gave one last, horrible scream before it collapsed inward, sucked into the daemonflame. In an instant, it was gone. Not slain. Not destroyed. Consumed.
The battlefield went silent. Even the endless screeching of the other husks faltered, as though they too feared what they had witnessed.
Sid's flame guttered, leaving only a faint black ember pulsing in his hand. His chest ached—like he had swallowed a shard of iron.
Reinhardt's jaw tightened. Kael's fists curled. Lucien's eyes, cold but searching, lingered on Sid.
And Serrath—who had been watching from the edge of the arena—stiffened.
The exiled warrior's eyes widened as though seeing something impossible. His lips moved soundlessly at first, before he finally whispered, barely audible even in the silence:
"That flame…" Serrath's voice trembled, not with fear, but with recognition. "Why does he carry… a god's curse?"
The words struck like a blade through the group's tension. Sid froze, the ember still glowing faintly in his hand.
Kael whipped toward Serrath. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
But Serrath said nothing more. His face was pale, his hand clenched around his weapon, eyes fixed not on the others—but solely on Sid.
The air grew heavier, as if the Hollow Realm itself had reacted to Serrath's words. The spiraling ash floor shifted again, the terrain collapsing into a vast arena of cracked obsidian. A duel was about to begin.
Lucien's timeglass fragments flared, orbiting him like blades of frozen light. He stepped forward, his voice low, steady, and cold:
"If you know what that curse means… then you'll tell me here."
Serrath raised his weapon, the faintest smile curving his lips despite the tension. "You'll have to take the truth from me."
The Hollow Realm roared, sealing the arena.
And Sid, trembling, felt the ember in his palm burn again—whispering in the voice he had not yet dared to answer.
Anchor of souls… you have taken the first step.
The whisper bled away as the clash between Lucien and Serrath began.