The fall felt endless.

  Sorin tumbled through the void, the remnants of the Hollow Capital dissolving into light above him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The power of the Echo surged within him, but it wasn’t enough to grasp onto anything.

  Then—

  The world slammed back into place.

  Sorin hit solid ground with a force that knocked the air from his lungs. The moment of impact sent a shockwave of pain through his body, his Echo flaring wildly in response.

  He gasped, vision blurring.

  The world around him was wrong.

  He wasn’t in the Hollow Capital anymore.

  He was somewhere far older.

  Sorin pushed himself upright, breathing hard. His body ached, but nothing was broken.

  He took in his surroundings.

  He stood in a vast chamber, its walls covered in ancient, intertwining symbols. They pulsed faintly, like the ruins themselves were breathing. Massive pillars of black stone loomed overhead, stretching into a darkness so deep it felt like the sky itself had been swallowed.

  And then—the whispers came.

  Faint at first.

  Then growing.

  A sea of murmurs, speaking a language that should have been foreign to him—but he understood.

  "Lost one. Lost king. Forgotten and reborn."

  Sorin stiffened. His heart pounded in his chest.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Shadows shifted in the distance.

  Sorin instinctively reached for his sword, but the moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the whispers grew louder.

  "A weapon is no shield here."

  "A blade is no answer."

  "Come forward, child of ruin."

  Sorin’s grip tightened.

  Then—they stepped into the light.

  At first, he thought they were ghosts.

  Figures wrapped in tattered gray cloaks, their faces hidden beneath smooth, featureless masks. But they weren’t like the masked figures outside the Gate—they felt older. Less human.

  They moved in unnatural silence, surrounding him in a slow, deliberate motion.

  One stepped forward.

  "You have come to the place where echoes do not fade," it said, its voice neither male nor female—only ancient.

  Sorin didn’t lower his guard. "Where am I?"

  The figure tilted its head.

  "You are where you left yourself behind."

  Sorin’s blood went cold.

  He took a step back.

  The figures did not follow.

  "Your soul was broken once. You left the pieces here."

  "Now, you must take them back."

  The whispers swelled—and suddenly, the walls began to shift.

  The ruins were coming to life.

  Aeris ran her fingers along the ancient stone, searching for anything—any kind of mechanism, rune, or hidden passage that would open the Hollow Gate.

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  Nothing.

  She growled in frustration, slamming her fist against the surface. The masked figures still stood behind her, unmoving. Watching.

  "You’re not gonna help me, are you?" she muttered.

  Silence.

  Aeris inhaled sharply.

  "Alright, then."

  She turned away and drew her dagger.

  If she couldn’t go through the Gate, then she’d find another way in.

  Even if she had to make one herself.

  The walls shifted.

  Not like stone crumbling—like something alive.

  The symbols glowed brighter, pulsing in rhythm with the whispers. The Hollow Ones stood motionless as the labyrinth around them reformed, corridors stretching and twisting into paths that had not been there before.

  Sorin took a slow step back, instinct screaming at him to run.

  But something about this place—about their words—held him in place.

  "Your soul was broken once," they had said.

  "You left the pieces here."

  His fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword.

  "I don’t remember leaving anything behind," he said.

  The Hollow One closest to him tilted its head.

  "Memory is an illusion. You remember what remains. But you have forgotten what you lost."

  The words sent a sharp, unsettling pulse through Sorin’s Echo.

  The Hollow One raised a hand, pointing toward the shifting pathways ahead.

  "Step forward, Hollow King. Reclaim yourself."

  Sorin hesitated.

  Then—he stepped into the labyrinth.

  The moment Sorin entered, the path behind him sealed shut.

  He wasn’t surprised.

  He exhaled slowly, pressing forward. The corridors stretched in impossible ways, the air growing denser, like it was filled with something unseen. Every step he took echoed strangely—like the sound wasn’t just bouncing off the walls, but traveling somewhere deeper.

  Then—

  A voice.

  "Do you remember the first time you killed?"

  Sorin froze.

  The walls rippled.

  Then, before his eyes, the stone twisted into something else.

  A memory.

  He saw himself—younger. Standing in a battlefield of burning ruins, gripping a sword too heavy for his hands.

  And at his feet—

  A man lay dying.

  Blood soaked into the ground. The man’s lips were moving, but the words were lost to time. Sorin saw himself standing over him, blade trembling. His younger self looked—horrified.

  "You were not born a killer," the voice whispered.

  "But you became one."

  Sorin’s pulse pounded.

  He remembered this.

  He had buried this.

  His younger self tightened his grip.

  Then, with a cry of fear and rage, he drove the blade down.

  The vision shattered.

  Sorin gasped, stumbling back.

  The whispering voices grew louder.

  "Do you remember the weight of your first betrayal?"

  The stone shifted again.

  Another memory rushed forward.

  And this time, Sorin was not ready.

  Aeris stood at the Hollow Gate, blade in hand.

  The masked figures still watched, silent and unmoving.

  "You said only one can pass," she muttered, narrowing her eyes. "And you said if he fails, he won’t come back."

  Silence.

  Aeris’s grip on the dagger tightened.

  "Then I don’t have time to sit around and hope."

  Without another word, she drove the blade into her palm.

  Blood splattered against the stone.

  The masked figures reacted.

  A low hum resonated through the ruins as the Gate shuddered, the ancient symbols along its edges flickering.

  One of the masked figures stepped forward.

  "Blood opens many doors," it said, its voice like a breath of wind. "But not this one."

  Aeris clenched her jaw, forcing the pain down.

  "Then tell me how to get through."

  "You do not belong beyond the Gate."

  "But there is one who does."

  Aeris’s breath caught.

  "…Who?"

  The masked figure raised a hand—and for the first time, it pointed beyond the ruins.

  "Find the one who was cast out."

  The memory changed.

  Sorin barely had time to process the battlefield before the world shifted again.

  The flames vanished. The air turned cold.

  And suddenly—

  He was standing in a throne room.

  Not ruined. Not abandoned. But whole.

  It was beautiful.

  Too beautiful.

  Pillars of dark stone stretched toward a ceiling of starlight, as if the sky itself had been pulled inside. The air smelled of incense and steel, of power and purpose.

  And at the center—

  A throne of obsidian and silver.

  Sorin felt his chest tighten.

  He knew this place.

  He had stood here before.

  "Do you remember your greatest betrayal?"

  The voice echoed through the chamber.

  And as Sorin turned, his pulse slammed against his ribs.

  There was someone standing near the throne.

  Someone waiting for him.

  His own Echo trembled, reacting to the presence.

  "You know me," the figure said.

  "You just don’t want to remember."

  Sorin stepped forward.

  And the shadows peeled away.

  He saw a man.

  Draped in black and silver, tall and imposing. A presence like a storm before it breaks.

  His face was obscured, but Sorin felt it—the weight of his stare.

  The figure took another step forward.

  "I stood beside you when you built this kingdom."

  "And I was the one who tore it down."

  Sorin staggered back.

  "No," he muttered. "This isn’t real."

  The whispers laughed.

  "Isn’t it?"

  Aeris ran.

  The ruins stretched endlessly, but she didn’t stop.

  The masked figure’s words still echoed in her mind.

  "Find the one who was cast out."

  She didn’t know who that meant.

  But if there was even a chance that someone could get her through that Gate—she was going to find them.

  Then—

  A sound.

  A shift in the air.

  Aeris skidded to a stop, reaching for her dagger.

  And then, from the shadows—

  A voice.

  "…You shouldn’t be here."

  Aeris turned.

  Someone stood at the edge of the ruins.

  Wrapped in tattered robes, silver chains glinting in the dim light.

  Their face was hidden by a hood, but she felt the weight of their presence.

  "Are you the one they cast out?" Aeris demanded.

  A long pause.

  Then—

  A dry, bitter laugh.

  "Once, maybe."

  Aeris tightened her grip.

  "Then you’re coming with me."

  The figure lifted their head slightly.

  "You have no idea what you’re asking."

  "Yeah? Well, I don’t care."

  Aeris stepped forward.

  "Sorin is trapped beyond that Gate. And I need you to help me get him back."

  Silence.

  Then, finally—

  A sigh.

  The figure pulled back their hood.

  And Aeris froze.

  Her blood ran cold.

  Because she knew that face.

  And Sorin did too.

  Because once upon a time—he had trusted this person more than anyone.

  And they had been the one to betray him first.