The Hollow Court stood in silence.
Not because they feared her—fear was for the living.
But because they remembered her.
The silver-eyed woman paced the length of the Bone Hall, her bare feet trailing shadows across the marbled black floor. The Twelve Hollow Thrones loomed around her, each one occupied by something not quite living and not quite dead. Armored specters. Whispering husks. The broken souls of kings who had long ago traded peace for permanence.
She stopped before the throne of the Wyrm King—an ancient tyrant with scales of rusted gold and eyes that burned with frozen fire.
"Your Herald rises," he rasped. "Your pawns move. Yet the world does not fall. Why?"
She smiled, her silver eyes catching the light of a thousand soul-fires that danced along the ceiling.
"Because they still have hope."
"And you mean to crush it?"
"No," she said, slowly lowering herself to the floor. "I mean to use it."
The Bargain
In the deepest vault beneath Sorathal, she entered alone.
The walls were etched in blood and time. The symbols there were older than any kingdom, older even than the Flame itself. They did not glow—they devoured light.
In the center of the chamber lay a chained creature—tall, gaunt, its face masked by a crown of nails. Its limbs stretched unnaturally, and black sap dripped from its fingers like venom. It had no name.
Only a title.
The Bargain Keeper.
The creature stirred as she approached.
"You return," it hissed in thirteen voices. "As you always do. You seek power?"
"No," she said. "I seek choice."
The Bargain Keeper laughed. A hollow, grating sound.
"You burned that bridge a thousand years ago. Your soul is branded. Your fate, sealed."
She reached into her chest and drew out a shard of hollow light—her essence—and cast it before the Bargain Keeper.
"I offer a new pact."
It paused.
"You would break your tether?"
She nodded. "I've played their game. Wielded their flame. Now I forge my own."
The Bargain Keeper lunged forward, its chains straining, and sniffed the air around the shard.
It shrank back.
"This is dangerous."
"Yes."
"It will cost more than your soul."
"I know."
The Bargain Keeper grinned with teeth that weren't teeth.
"Then the bargain is struck."
The shard vanished.
And the Hollow Queen smiled.
The Firebound Path
Kael and Elira rode east, following the trail of flame-marks that now only they could see.
Each night, the mark on Elira's palm pulsed with light—pulling them across ruined hills, burned-out forests, and shattered temples.
On the fourth day, the road split in two.
The old path led to the city of Thalvaren, now deserted. The new path wasn't carved into stone, but written in fire.
Brann dismounted. "That's no road. That's a message."
Kael crouched and studied the trail—smoking, flickering glyphs written in Old Runic, dancing just above the ground like embers caught in wind.
He read aloud:
"Where flame is tested, so too is will. The Second Risen waits beneath the Ashen Maw."
Elira frowned. "The Second Risen?"
Kael stood. "Another of the Twelve."
The Ashen Maw
The Maw was a crater wide as a city, formed during the Sundering. Legends said a comet had struck the earth, revealing a temple buried for millennia.
But as the company approached, the truth became obvious.
This was no temple.
It was a tomb.
Smoke rose in slow spirals from the crater's center. Runes flared along the rim—wards meant to keep something in, not out.
Kael and Elira climbed down alone, leaving the others to hold the perimeter.
At the bottom of the crater stood a black obelisk.
Chained to it was a man.
His eyes were closed, his hands bound by molten steel, his body wrapped in ash. Yet around him, the air shimmered—not with heat, but with memory.
Kael stepped forward. "You're one of us."
The man's eyes opened.
And the crater exploded with fire.
The Second Risen
The fire didn't burn—it sang.
Elira staggered back, shielding her face. Kael stood still, letting the soulflame within him respond.
The chained man looked at them through smoke and time.
"You bear the mark of Balance," he said to Elira. "And you—" his gaze turned to Kael—"You woke too soon."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You were sealed for a reason."
The man gave a dry laugh. "I asked to be."
"Why?"
"Because I saw what was coming. The Hollow Flame. The Queen of Silence. The end of what we call real."
He extended a hand—and the chains melted.
As he stood, fire crawled up his back and coalesced into a cloak of living ash.
"I am Malric, Flamewarden of the Second Rune. And I have waited five centuries for this war."
A Secret Shared
As they rode back to camp, Malric told his story.
"I was part of the first Twelve—when the Crown was whole and the soulflame unbroken. When we shattered the Void Gate, we knew the Herald would return."
Elira's eyes widened. "The silver-eyed woman?"
Malric nodded. "She was the Flame's first guardian. She tried to control it. To bottle eternity. And it consumed her."
Kael clenched his fists. "She claims to have made me."
"She made your pain," Malric said gently. "Not your purpose."
At the edge of camp, a courier waited.
A white crow perched on his shoulder.
"I bring a message," he said, eyes wide with fear. "From the Queen of Hollow Light."
He handed Kael a scroll and turned to ash.
The Message
Kael opened the scroll beneath torchlight.
The ink glimmered silver.
To the Broken Flame, the Wanderer, the Risen:
You seek answers. I offer them.
Meet me at the Hollow Mirror on the night of the blood moon.
Come alone.
If you bring war, I will bring truth.
If you bring fear, I will show you mercy.
The next page you turn decides the fate of the flame.
—S.H.
Kael read it twice.
"She's playing a game," Elira warned.
"Yes," Kael said, folding the scroll. "And we're already on the board."
The Blood Moon Approaches
That night, Kael stood on the cliff above their camp, watching the moon rise. It had already begun to bleed red.
Elira joined him, silent.
Finally, she asked, "Are you going?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
He turned to her. "She wants a meeting. Not a battle. If there's even a chance to understand why this is happening, I have to take it."
Elira's hand brushed his. "Then don't die. That's my job."
He managed a tired smile.
Below them, the fire crackled.
And in the darkness, Malric whispered words into the flame—old words, forgotten prayers.
Preparations for war had already begun.
In the Hollow Mirror
Far away, in the ruins of the Hollow Mirror—a palace built of glass and lies—the Queen waited.
She sat on a throne of bone and silk, staring into a pool of liquid light.
In it, Kael's image burned.
"Come, broken child," she murmured. "Come and ask your questions. Come and learn what the Crown never told you."
Behind her, the Bargain Keeper opened his many mouths.
"He will not forgive you."
"No," she said, eyes gleaming. "But he will need me."