Ethan's body burned.
The void corruption in his veins pulsed in time with Rylan's chant, knitting through his bones like roots through a corpse. The cathedral's air buzzed with power, the stained-glass windows rattling as the Hollowed's whispers rose to a crescendo.
Their void-black eyes reflected the green fire coiling around the altar, where Rylan stood with arms outstretched.
Mara's crossbow was empty. Jarek bled from a dozen wounds. And Rylan—always smiling, always mocking—hummed as shadows dripped from his fingertips.
"You see it now, don't you?" His voice echoed through the cathedral, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings. "The Star wasn't destroyed. It was buried. And you, Duskheir, are its garden."
Ethan's knees hit the cold stone floor. His vision blurred—flashes of the Thirteenth Star's jaws, Liora's dagger, the Keeper's grin. The locket around his neck burned, its cracked surface oozing black smoke.
Mara pounced, her dagger aimed at Rylan's heart.
He caught her wrist, twisting until the bone creaked.
"Still fighting, sister? Even after all these years?" His free hand pressed against her temple. "Let me show you what real power looks like."
Mara's mind shattered.
Visions flooded her senses.
The Order's true purpose—not to destroy the Star, but to harvest it
Rylan in the shadows of Valenmoor, whispering to the Keeper
Hundreds of Hollowed, scattered across the continent, waiting for the call
Ethan—not as a man, but as a vessel, his body a living test for the Star's rebirth
Rylan released her, letting her crumple to the floor.
"The Duskheir line ends tonight."
Ethan's body was no longer his own.
The void surged through him, vines of black and green erupting from his skin. The Hollowed moaned, their mouths stretching too wide, too hungry. The cathedral's ceiling cracked, revealing a sky stained the color of bile.
Somewhere in the shadows, the Keeper laughed.
Jarek staggered to his feet, clutching his bleeding side.
"Mara... the locket..."
She understood. Liora's final gift wasn't just a warning.
It was a weapon.
Ethan fought the void's grip, his teeth gritted so hard they cracked.
"Mara—!"
She didn't hesitate. Ripping the locket from his neck, she smashed it against the altar with all her strength.
The world stopped.
Liora's voice rang out, clear as a bell.
"The pact was never meant to bind the Star. It was meant to starve it."
The locket's fragments ignited, white flames racing along the cracks in Ethan's skin. The void shrieked, recoiling as the fire spread—to the Hollowed, to the altar, to Rylan.
"NO!" He clawed at his face, the flames devouring him from within. "You don't know what you've—!"
The fire reached the cathedral's heart.
And the world exploded.
Silence.
Ethan woke to the smell of charred stone and the taste of blood. The cathedral was gone. The Hollowed were ash. Mara knelt beside him, her hands raw from the flames. Jarek lay a few feet away, breathing but broken.
Above them, the sky was clear.
No green. No Star.
Just dawn.
Mara helped Ethan sit up, her grip firm despite her burns.
"Can you walk?"
He nodded, though every movement sent pain piercing through his corrupted veins. The void's presence had diminished, but its mark remained—black lines creeping up his neck, his vision occasionally swimming with green static.
Jarek groaned as he forced himself upright.
"Blackstone's gone." He gestured to the burning ruins around them. "But the Order's roots run deep."
Mara's jaw tightened.
"Then we dig them out."
Ethan stared at his hands—once marked with golden sigils, now dull and cracked.
"What if the Star isn't truly gone? What if—"
A child's scream cut through the morning air.
They turned as one. On the outskirts of the ruined city, a lone figure stood outlined against the rising sun.
It was small and trembling.
And glowing faintly green.