The silence that followed Selia's sacrifice was not peaceful. It was the kind of silence that hummed in the ears, prickled under the skin, and left a hollow ache in the chest.
Lucian didn't speak for a long time. He sat on the cracked ledge where the floating bridge had once tethered itself to the edge of the Shatterline, staring at the flickering sky. The clouds above were stitched with lightning, veins of magic tearing across the heavens. Strange shadows flitted through the high wind—beasts, perhaps, or illusions conjured by the wild nature of the ley-broken lands.
Laila sat beside him, equally quiet. Her hand found his without a word. It was the kind of gesture that didn't demand conversation, only presence.
Elina stood a few paces away, scanning the terrain. What lay ahead wasn't just wildlands—it was a battlefield carved by old gods and broken pacts. Floating cliffs hovered like islands in the sky, and rivers of molten light twisted between gnarled black trees. At the center, far off but unmistakable, rose the Spire: a cruel tower of stone and bone, reaching into the wounded sky like a spear through a cloud.
That was where the Hollow Eye had made its den.
And that's where they had to go.
"She knew she wouldn't make it back," Lucian finally said, voice raw.
Elina didn't look at him. "Selia always knew how her story might end."
"She deserved more than this."
"She chose it. For you. For all of us."
Laila's grip tightened. "We don't waste that choice."
Lucian nodded, once. "Then we finish this."
🌫️
The journey toward the Spire was slow and dangerous. The terrain shifted constantly. Paths that existed one moment crumbled the next. The air shimmered with volatile magic—ley-energy that hadn't been shaped by any hand, human or otherwise. Sometimes it helped them, forming stepping stones out of nothing. Other times, it tried to drag them into sinkholes of memory, replaying their fears and regrets like looping mirages.
Lucian saw his father's disappointed face.
Laila walked through a hallucinated field of Tista's dying breaths.
Elina was silent about what she saw—but her knuckles stayed white around her sword the entire time.
Three days passed this way. They rationed food, kept watches, and tried not to acknowledge the feeling that something was watching them at all times. On the fourth night, as they camped in the ruins of a collapsed waystone, they finally saw signs of life.
Or rather, unlife.
Figures in the distance—hooded, silent, gliding along a path of broken bone. Their feet never touched the ground. Runes glowed faintly on their robes, the same color as the ley-sickened sky.
Laila whispered, "Wraithbound?"
"No," Elina said, drawing her dagger slowly. "Cultists."
Lucian squinted. "Hollow Eye?"
Elina nodded. "The inner circle."
They dropped low, hiding behind the jagged stone as the procession passed. The air around them grew colder as the cultists approached. Lucian's breath misted. Even the ley-light dimmed.
He could feel the tether in his chest thrumming.
Something old was near.
One of the cultists paused.
His head tilted slightly—just enough to make Lucian's heart leap.
Had he sensed them?
Lucian clutched at the tether instinctively, focusing. He tried to pull himself inward, to dull his presence. To blend. He thought of stone. Stillness. Emptiness.
The cultist's head slowly turned back.
The procession moved on.
When they were gone, Elina let out a breath. "We can't sneak past them when we get closer to the tower."
"Then we go under," Lucian said.
She gave him a sharp look. "What?"
Lucian stood and pointed toward a cleft in the ground. "There's a fracture leading toward the Spire. I saw it glowing faintly—it's like a vein. A ley-channel. If we follow it, we might bypass the main road entirely."
Elina looked uncertain. "You sure it's not a trap?"
"I'm not sure of anything anymore," he said honestly. "But I can feel it. That path wants to be followed."
"That's not comforting," Laila muttered, but she stepped toward it all the same.
They descended into the crevice just before dawn.
⚡
The ley-veins pulsed with energy. The deeper they walked, the warmer it became—not from heat, but from proximity to something vast and alive. The light was constant now, and Lucian could feel it brushing against his bones, trying to speak in pulses and rhythms.
He didn't know how to answer, not yet.
The tunnels wound in unnatural directions—sometimes upside down, other times sideways. Gravity shifted unpredictably. Laila nearly vomited after the second turn. Elina had to cut a path through a wall of molten roots that screamed when touched. Magic here was not gentle. It did not care for balance. It obeyed emotion, instinct, will.
Finally, the ley-channel opened into a vast hollow chamber.
They stepped into a massive cavern beneath the Spire.
Thousands of roots hung from the ceiling, each one glowing with a different shade of ley-light. They coiled around a massive pool of black liquid—a stagnant well that rippled in unnatural rhythms.
And from the center of that well, something rose.
Not a person.
Not quite.
It was a mask.
A white, bone-carved thing, floating above the surface, staring at them with empty sockets. Beneath it, a humanoid shape shimmered, cloaked in layers of stitched flesh and stone.
"Welcome," it said. Its voice was neither male nor female, but echoed with a dozen overlapping tones.
Lucian stepped forward, pulse pounding.
"You're the Hollow Eye?"
"I am its vessel. I am the echo of what your ancestors sealed. And you"—it tilted its head—"are what they feared would come again."
Lucian's hand clenched, but he didn't summon magic. Not yet. "You sent assassins. You manipulated Hades. You tried to destroy the Heartroot."
"I did destroy the Heartroot," the Hollow Eye said, almost gently. "You simply healed a fraction. But the rot remains. And you carry it."
"I carry nothing of yours."
"You carry potential," the voice said. "And that is more dangerous than any spell."
Laila stepped beside Lucian. "We're not here to listen to riddles."
The Hollow Eye chuckled. "Then you are here to die."
Lucian raised his hand—and the tether surged.
The cavern lit up.
So did the mask.
And then, everything exploded into motion.