The silence in the cavern was heavier than any battle cry, heavier than any wound Sylas had ever known. He stared at his hands—at the dark veins that had begun to spread beneath his skin, faintly glowing where the shard's power had rooted itself inside him.
Alira stood slowly, her daggers lowered but not sheathed. Her gaze flickered between his eyes and the ominous energy coiling around him.
"Can you control it?" she asked, voice low and tight.
Sylas didn't answer immediately. He closed his eyes, feeling the foreign presence surging within him. It was wild, raw, like a storm without an anchor. Yet somehow, it didn't consume him—it hovered, waiting.
"I can try," he said finally, opening his eyes. "But we need to get out of here first."
Alira nodded grimly. Without another word, they moved toward the tunnel they had come from, keeping close. Sylas could feel the Hollow's influence more clearly now, like a thousand whispers clawing at the edge of his mind. Some voices promised strength. Others hissed promises of despair.
As they climbed back up the broken passages, the remnants they had fought earlier lay still, inert. It was as if the shard's awakening had pulled the life—or unlife—from them.
But Sylas knew better than to believe they were truly safe.
After what felt like hours, they emerged back into the ruins of the fortress above. The night sky stretched out above them, stars scattered like shattered glass. Cool air hit their faces, and for a moment, both of them simply breathed.
"We can't go back to the city," Alira said after a while. "Not like this. Not with… whatever you've become."
Sylas sheathed his sword slowly, the motion feeling foreign, like he was moving in someone else's body. "I know."
They had planned to return to Caerwyn, to report back to the Silent Pact. But that plan was shattered now. If the Pact learned Sylas had bonded with a Hollow shard, they would see him as a threat. No negotiation. No questions. Only execution.
"We need answers," Alira continued. "Real ones. About the Hollow, about that shard—and about what it's doing to you."
Sylas nodded, but a heavy realization hung between them: they would be alone in this. No backup. No allies. Only each other.
And perhaps not even that for long.
Alira stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "I need to know one thing, Sylas. Are you still... you?"
He looked at her, seeing the worry she tried so hard to hide. The shard pulsed within him, a constant reminder of how close he was to losing himself. But somewhere beneath it all, his resolve remained intact.
"I am," he said quietly. "For now."
The answer wasn't perfect. It wasn't reassuring. But it was honest.
Alira nodded once. "Then we move."
They gathered what supplies they could salvage from the ruins—old cloaks, spare rations, and a few pieces of gold hidden in a secret alcove Sylas remembered spotting earlier. Every moment they stayed, the risk grew that someone—or something—would find them.
As they prepared to leave, Alira hesitated.
"Sylas," she said, pointing toward the cracked stone crest above the fortress gates. "Look."
There, etched into the stone, half-erased by time, was a symbol Sylas recognized instantly: a black sun surrounded by chained stars.
It was the mark of the Hollow's original cult.
And beneath it, newer carvings had been made, rough and angry. A warning.
"The Hollow stirs. The bound one rises."
Sylas felt a chill run down his spine. They had stumbled into something much bigger than a forgotten ruin and an ancient shard. The cult was still active—or at least, someone had taken up their cause.
He exchanged a grim glance with Alira. No words were necessary.
They slipped into the forest, the ruins shrinking behind them. The moon was thin tonight, the shadows deep. Sylas moved with caution, feeling every branch and stone beneath his boots, every change in the air. His senses were sharper than ever—another side effect of the shard, perhaps.
Hours later, as dawn threatened the horizon, they stopped by a river to rest. Alira knelt by the water, washing blood and grime from her arms. Sylas sat nearby, watching the forest, lost in thought.
He could feel the shard's influence growing with every heartbeat. Soon, he knew, it would demand more from him. It would not be content to sleep inside him forever.
"I know a place," Alira said suddenly, breaking the silence. "A woman. Lives in the northern reaches. A scholar, once. She knows things about the old magics—things the Pact forbade us to learn."
Sylas turned to her. "Will she help?"
Alira shrugged, squeezing water from her hair. "If the price is right. If she doesn't turn us in first."
Sylas gave a tired smile. "Sounds promising."
They sat together for a moment longer, the river babbling softly beside them, the world around them quiet and still.
Then, without ceremony, they rose and continued north, toward a future that neither of them could predict—a future where every step would bring them closer to answers… or to destruction.
The Hollow was no longer just a relic of the past.
It lived now—in Sylas.
And it was only just beginning to awaken.