When the final cultist's body had turned to ash, silence claimed the cathedral once more.
Lucien stood beneath the throne of obsidian swords, his breath shallow, the cursed wound in his shoulder still smoldering. Every breath hurt—but pain had become familiar. Almost comforting.
He looked up at the sword-throne. Somehow, it still felt like it was watching him.
"You expected me to die, didn't you?" he whispered. "Like the rest of them."
He reached for the hilt of Veyrion, still strapped across his back, and planted it into the floor before him. The stone responded.
The entire room trembled.
[Inheritor Verified. Accessing: Hollow Line Memory Echoes]
Warning: These fragments may distort reality. Do not resist.
A pulse of violet light spread out from the throne.
Lucien felt the ground fall away.
Suddenly, he was standing in a war zone of memory.
But this time, it wasn't a trial.
It was history.
Flames roared around a crumbling fortress. Armies of twisted beasts clashed with silver-cloaked soldiers beneath a storm-blackened sky. The world was breaking—and at its center stood a man who looked exactly like Lucien.
No.
Not exactly.
Taller. Older. Hair longer, pulled back. Same silver eyes—but they burned like stars.
His armor bore the Vaelthorn sigil, but inverted—thorn entwined around a dying star.
Beside him stood a woman with wings of glass and a staff of white fire. Her face was hidden by a hood, but her voice rang out like thunder.
"Lucien, you must not open the gate!"
The older Lucien didn't flinch.
"It's already too late. The Hollow is awake. I've seen what comes next. The Realms will drown if we don't shatter the Veil now."
"You'll destroy everything."
"I'm already dead."
The memory trembled.
Lucien—present Lucien—could feel the words echo through him, like they'd been spoken across lifetimes.
Then the vision snapped.
He was back in the cathedral.
Collapsed on one knee. Breathing hard.
Blood leaked from his nose.
[Memory Echo Sync: 17%][Mental Strain Detected: Rest Required]
He wiped his face with his sleeve. "No rest. Not yet."
He needed answers.
Why did he remember himself as a man he'd never been?
Why did the name Lucien Vaelthorn carry the weight of someone who had burned realms?
Before he could process it further, a sound echoed through the hall.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
He rose instantly, blade halfway drawn.
From behind a column stepped a tall figure in ceremonial robes—face obscured by a cracked mask of porcelain. Their voice was sharp, feminine, but eerily calm.
"So the Hollow Line truly survived."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. Another cult?"
She chuckled. "No. I'm something worse."
She tossed him a scroll. It unraveled mid-air, covered in shifting runes.
[Item Acquired: Echo Contract – Soulbound Message]
The scroll spoke:
"To the Last Hollow. If you hear this, then the veil is thinning. They will come for you now. Not just the Broken Star, but the true powers—the Writ Keepers, the Null Hunters, the Sovereign Choir.""I was you once. Or perhaps, you are me again. Regardless… listen carefully."
Lucien's heart pounded.
This was his own voice.
An echo of a version of himself from a forgotten age.
"The Hollow Core cannot be caged. It is a weapon, yes—but also a key. Find the Nine Vaults. Reclaim the Requiems. And above all..."
"Never trust the one with eyes of glass."
The scroll burst into flame and vanished.
The masked woman stepped forward. "He left behind failsafes—echoes locked to his bloodline. And now you've triggered them."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
She removed her mask.
Her face was ageless. Her skin shimmered faintly, like it was half-phased from reality. Her eyes—were made of glass.
"I am called Serith. I was his ally… once.""I helped him burn the Sixth Realm."
Lucien gripped his sword.
Serith raised a hand. "If I meant you harm, you'd be dust."
She smiled faintly. "But you're not him. Not yet."
Lucien's voice was cold. "I'm not planning to be anyone's weapon."
Serith tilted her head. "You won't have the luxury of choice. Not when the gates open."
She turned, vanishing into a blink of light.
Only her final words lingered in the air:
"Ghosts follow those who inherit the Hollow.""And not all of them are dead."
Lucien stood alone again.
The sword in his hands. The future in ashes.
And a war older than memory waiting just beyond the next door.
To be continued in Chapter 6: Vault of the Forgotten Names