Smoke lingered in the valley like a second sky.
Ezra stood atop a ruined watchtower overlooking the aftermath of the battle. The sun had not yet risen, but a pale gray light filtered through the drifting soot, casting long shadows across the cratered battlefield where the Choir's corrupted factory once stood.
Below, the Bone March reorganized. His undead milled like ants in formation—silent, waiting. Kael oversaw the wounded. Vesper calibrated a long-range scanner beside a new arrival—a woman with bright copper eyes and a cloak of synthetic feathers.
Ezra's attention, however, was fixed on something else.
The way the earth still pulsed beneath his feet.
"This wasn't the end," he muttered.
"It never is," came a voice from behind.
Kael approached, arms crossed, a grim set to his jaw. "We found something during the sweep. Thought you'd want to see it."
Ezra followed him down a broken staircase, past the line of moaning survivors and salvaged supplies. They moved through shattered corridors until they reached a cave that hadn't been there before.
"It collapsed during the pulse," Kael explained, gesturing to a cracked slab of flooring. "We thought it was just a sinkhole. But there's something down there. Something old."
Ezra narrowed his eyes. "Old?"
Kael nodded. "Pre-Surge."
The Descent
The hole led down through layers of broken stone and forgotten infrastructure. As they descended—Ezra, Kael, Vesper, and a few chosen scouts—the air grew cold and thick with ash. The smell of metal faded, replaced by something older, like dust-covered parchment and dry bone.
The walls were lined with murals—scratched depictions of humanoid figures worshipping twisted gods with skull faces and hollow eyes. One mural showed a man standing atop a pile of corpses, black mist rising from his hands.
Ezra paused. "That's necromancy."
"More than that," Vesper said, scanning the walls. "This predates the Surge by centuries. Maybe even millennia. These tunnels weren't made by humans—not modern ones."
They reached a massive doorway—a sealed arch flanked by statues of skeletal kings.
The door bore no handle.
Only a single phrase, etched in a tongue Ezra had never seen before—yet somehow understood.
"Life is the lie. Death remembers."
His hand moved on its own, pressed flat against the cold stone.
The door opened.
The Forgotten City
What lay beyond was a city.
No, not quite a city—more like its skeleton. Ruins stretched in all directions, domes and towers cracked and half-buried in volcanic ash. Ancient lamplights flickered to life along crumbled streets. The temperature dropped as they stepped inside.
Mana hung heavy in the air.
Undead mana.
Ezra felt his necromancy pulse in response—drawn to the sheer density of dormant death around them.
"I don't like this," Kael muttered, drawing his blade.
Vesper tapped her scanner. "I'm not getting readings. It's like the whole area is jamming me."
They pressed on.
The city whispered around them—faint voices without form. Ezra felt eyes watching, though nothing stirred.
Until they reached the center.
A cathedral-like structure loomed, built into the side of a collapsed cliff. Stone doors stood wide open. Inside, a dais waited… and upon it, a throne of black bone.
And seated upon it—a corpse.
No ordinary corpse.
Its body was robed in red and gold armor, plated with soulmetal. Its skull bore a crown of glass. In one hand, it held a scepter shaped like a vertebrae spine. And on its chest, a mark Ezra recognized:
The Hollowborn sigil.
Ezra approached slowly, heart pounding.
As he neared, the corpse's eye sockets flared with cold blue fire.
"You have awakened the Last King."
The voice echoed through the cathedral—not spoken, but injected directly into the minds of those present.
Kael froze. Vesper dropped into a defensive stance.
Ezra stood firm.
"Who are you?"
"I was once Vael of the First Requiem. Herald of Endings. Emperor of the Undying Spire."
Ezra's mouth went dry.
He knew that name.
It was in the old myths—spoken in orphanages and forbidden archives. A lich-king from the First Collapse. Banished. Erased.
"You're dead."
"I was. Until you came."
Ezra's gauntlet flared with unstable necromantic light. "What do you want?"
The corpse smiled—or something close to it.
"To remember. And to teach."
The Vision
In a flash, Ezra was no longer standing in the cathedral.
He stood instead atop a mountain of burning corpses.
A city—alive and thriving—lay below him, torn apart by flames and spectral beasts. He watched legions of undead swarm the walls. At the center of it all stood Vael, scepter raised, eyes burning.
"The world you know is but a second echo," Vael's voice said. "We ruled once. Necromancers, born not of corruption, but of balance. Guardians of transition. Life to death, and death to purpose."
"But we were betrayed."
Ezra watched as celestial figures descended—knights clad in light, wielding weapons of pure law. They struck down the undead armies, shattered the cities, and chained the kings.
"We were forgotten. Buried."
The vision faded.
Ezra gasped, knees buckling.
Vael stared down at him from the throne.
"You are Hollowborn. Not by accident. You are our echo. You carry the curse… and the key."
Ezra rose to his feet slowly. "Why show me this?"
"Because the enemy you fight now—Veylin, the Choir, the Surge—they are not new."
Ezra froze.
"They are imitators. Echoes of the ones who first erased us."
Worldbuilding Reveal: The Hollow Cycle
Vael explained—through memory, not words.
Long ago, the world existed in cycles. Life rose, then death brought balance. Necromancers were keepers of the end—ensuring souls did not rot, but return. But a force—alien, divine, hungry—descended to break the cycle. The Surge was not the first intrusion.
It was merely the next.
And the Choir?
Pawns. Veylin? A fragment.
"They will always return," Vael intoned. "And so must we."
He raised his hand.
A shard of his crown detached and floated toward Ezra—embedding itself in his gauntlet. The metal hissed and fused, glowing faintly.
[New Trait Acquired: Crown of the Last King]⟢ Undead you summon may retain partial memories of life.⟢ You may raise elite undead with unique personalities and evolving traits.⟢ Gain access to the Forbidden Spell: Memento Vitae
Ezra staggered back.
"What… what do you want from me?"
Vael's light dimmed.
"You will find others. Pieces of the old spires. Fragments of the lost cycle. Gather them… or the world will fall again."
The flames in his skull flickered out.
Vael fell still.
Back at Camp
Ezra didn't speak for a long time.
Kael paced beside the fire, clearly shaken. Vesper was already uploading partial schematics of the underground city to the Coalition network.
"What now?" Kael asked. "You gonna tell the others about this 'Hollow Cycle' thing?"
Ezra stared into the flame.
"No. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because we don't know who to trust. And this…" Ezra held up his gauntlet, the new crown-shard pulsing. "This changes everything."
Vesper approached, pulling up a projection map.
"We've confirmed three more rift anomalies. One in the north beyond the Frostline. Another deep inside the Shattered Gulf. And a third… underground. Beneath Halcyon."
Ezra frowned. "Halcyon's supposed to be a safe city."
"Not anymore," Vesper said. "Not if it's sitting on a forgotten spire."
Ezra stood.
"We leave at dawn."
Elsewhere…
In a mirrored chamber made of chrome and bone, Veylin watched a recording of Ezra's battle in the Choir factory.
He smirked, swirling a glass of black ichor.
"He's ahead of schedule."
A figure stepped from the shadows behind him. Cloaked in writhing robes, its face was a smooth, eyeless mask.
"Shall we intervene?"
"No," Veylin whispered. "Let him gather the pieces."
The masked figure tilted its head. "You're not afraid?"
Veylin smiled.
"I want him complete… before I break him."