The ruins did not sleep.
As Aethric and Nyra descended from the mural chamber, the air shifted subtly at first, then with deliberate intent. The hum inside Nyra's chest twisted into something sharp, like a warning note held too long.
Aethric stopped.
"Do not move," he said quietly.
The corridor ahead darkened not from lack of light, but from its absence. Shadows thickened, clinging to the stone in unnatural folds. The temperature dropped, breath frosting faintly in the air.
A presence stepped into existence.
It did not arrive through a doorway or from behind cover. One moment, the corridor was empty. The next, something stood there, wrapped in layered cloaks of shadow that shifted independently of any body beneath.
Nyra's instincts screamed.
"This is not a cultist," Aethric said calmly.
The figure inclined its head.
"Correct."
Its voice echoed wrong, fractured, overlapping, as though several mouths spoke at once. Lines of dim, silver script crawled across its form, sinking into shadow and reemerging elsewhere.
"I am an extension."
Aethric's eyes narrowed slightly. "An agent."
The figure did not deny it.
"Your continued existence has been noted, Archmage."
Nyra's breath caught.
Not a legend.
Not a myth.
Recognition.
The agent moved.
The corridor twisted as layered spells detonated simultaneously, blades of compressed void, gravity distortions, spatial shears designed to kill before thought could form.
Aethric raised one hand.
The attacks slid past him.
Not blocked.
Not resisted.
Redirected.
Each spell unraveled into harmless strands, absorbed, repurposed, and woven back into the environment. The stone walls reinforced themselves instinctively, reality stabilizing around him.
Nyra stared, frozen.
She could feel the layers of countermeasures stacked within countermeasures, each reacting before the last finished resolving.
The agent paused.
"Multiple strata. You have not decayed."
"No," Aethric replied. "I adapted."
The agent struck again, this time targeting Nyra.
Aethric stepped sideways.
The attack never reached her.
A thin lattice of invisible force snapped into place, bending the spell's trajectory around her body like water around stone. Aethric did not look at her. His focus never wavered from the agent.
"You should not involve her," he said.
"She is already involved."
The agent's form sharpened, shadows condensing into something almost solid. Ancient sigils flared First Era constructs, degraded but potent.
Nyra felt the hum inside her chest resonate painfully.
Aethric exhaled.
The air reset.
Time itself seemed to hesitate as Aethric layered a suppression field so precisely it nullified only the agent's offensive vectors, leaving movement, speech, and retreat intact.
The agent froze mid-strike.
For the first time, its tone changed.
"Containment rather than annihilation. You still hesitate."
"Destruction is loud," Aethric replied. "And unnecessary."
The agent laughed softly.
"You cannot stop what is already awake."
Its form fractured, splitting into overlapping silhouettes.
"The Hollow Sovereign remembers you."
A sigil ignited in the air between them, a symbol Nyra recognized instinctively. The same asymmetrical mark from Brighthollow.
The agent stepped backward into the shadow.
"The seal weakens. The hierarchy stirs. And the catalyst has been found."
Then it was gone.
The corridor returned to normal, shadows retreating as though ashamed of themselves. The temperature rose. The silence felt heavier than before.
Nyra swallowed. "That thing… it knew you."
Aethric stared at the fading sigil.
"Yes," he said quietly. "And now it knows you."
The sigil pulsed once.
Then burned itself into the stone.
A warning.
A promise.
An agent of the Hollow Sovereign confirms the ancient enemy is active and watching. With the seal weakening and Nyra identified as a catalyst, Aethric realizes the conflict has shifted and this is no longer preparation. The war has already begun.