Sorin stood frozen in the throne room.

  The figure before him radiated something familiar—a presence buried in his memories, tangled in the parts of his mind he had spent years refusing to touch.

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

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

  The words ripped through him.

  Sorin’s fingers twitched toward his sword, but the moment he moved, the world shuddered.

  The throne room flickered.

  For a split second, Sorin was no longer in a ruined labyrinth—he was back in the past.

  And he was no longer a lost wanderer.

  He was a king.

  The throne room was alive.

  Torches burned with cold blue fire, the banners of the Hollow Kingdom draped along the walls. The scent of steel, parchment, and something electric filled the air—power.

  And Sorin—the Sorin of that time—sat upon the throne.

  He was younger, but his eyes were already tired.

  At the foot of the dais stood two figures.

  One was a general, armored in black and gold. Loyal to the end.

  The other was a man draped in silver and shadow, his presence just as sharp as Sorin’s own. Not an advisor. Not a soldier. Something more.

  Sorin’s past self leaned forward, fingers pressed together.

  "This war is nearly over," he said. "The city will fall. The Hollow Kingdom will stand over the ruins, just as we planned."

  The general nodded.

  The man in silver, however, did not.

  Instead, he stepped forward, his voice measured, careful.

  "And when it does," he asked, "what will we become?"

  Sorin frowned.

  "We will become what we were meant to be."

  "A kingdom of ashes?"

  Sorin stiffened.

  The man in silver took another step forward.

  "You told me once that you never wanted to rule over ghosts," he said. "But that’s exactly what we are creating. A graveyard with a throne."

  The general’s grip tightened on his blade. "Watch your tongue."

  But the man in silver didn’t look away from Sorin.

  "This isn’t what we wanted," he murmured.

  A pause.

  Then—

  Sorin stood.

  And for the first time, something dark shifted in his expression.

  "What we wanted?" His voice was calm. Dangerous.

  The man in silver didn’t back down.

  "What you wanted, then."

  The silence between them was heavy.

  Then Sorin exhaled, stepping down from the throne. His boots echoed against the stone.

  "You and I built this together," he said.

  "But if you’ve forgotten what that means—"

  He stopped inches away from the man in silver.

  "Then perhaps you were never meant to stand beside me at all."

  The man’s expression didn’t change.

  He only murmured:

  "I hope you remember this moment, Sorin."

  "Because one day, it will be the moment you regret the most."

  The memory fractured.

  And suddenly, Sorin was back in the labyrinth.

  Facing the very same man.

  The vision collapsed around Sorin, and he staggered backward, breath sharp.

  The ruins were back.

  The throne was gone.

  And yet—the man still stood before him.

  But now, his silver cloak was tattered, his presence less like a blade and more like a wound that had never healed.

  "You remember me now, don’t you?"

  Sorin’s voice was hoarse.

  "…You’re dead."

  A slow, bitter smile.

  "Am I?"

  Aeris stared.

  The figure before her lowered his hood, revealing a face she never thought she would see again.

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  She had only seen glimpses of him in old records, heard whispers from those who still spoke of the past in hushed voices.

  But now—he was standing right in front of her.

  The Exiled One.

  The man who had once stood beside Sorin.

  The man who had betrayed him.

  And yet—

  His eyes were not what she expected.

  Not cruel. Not vengeful.

  Just… tired.

  "Tell me something," Aeris said quietly.

  "Are you the reason the Hollow Throne fell?"

  The Exiled One exhaled.

  "Not the only reason."

  "Then why the hell should I trust you?"

  "You shouldn’t."

  Aeris scowled.

  "Fantastic. So why are you still standing here?"

  The Exiled One tilted his head slightly.

  "Because," he murmured, "if Sorin is beyond that Gate—then there’s something inside that wants him to remember the truth."

  Aeris narrowed her eyes.

  "And?"

  "And if he remembers everything—"

  He met her gaze.

  "—he might not be the same person when he comes back."

  Aeris’s breath caught.

  The ruins were silent around them.

  Then, finally—

  The Exiled One stepped forward.

  "Come on," he said.

  "I’ll help you get through the Gate."

  Sorin’s pulse pounded in his ears.

  He had thought—no, he had been certain—that this man was dead.

  Yet here he stood.

  The Exiled One.

  The man who had once fought beside him, who had whispered strategy over late-night war councils, who had stood at his side as they shaped the Hollow Kingdom into what it was meant to be.

  And who, in the end, had been the one to tear it apart.

  "You’re dead," Sorin repeated, voice sharp.

  The Exiled One exhaled, gaze unreadable.

  "That’s what you wanted to believe."

  The words cut deeper than Sorin expected.

  His fingers clenched at his side, his body tensed for battle. But the Exiled One didn’t move. He only studied Sorin—like he was searching for something.

  Like he was waiting to see if Sorin would remember why this had all happened in the first place.

  Then—

  "Do you remember the night the Hollow Throne burned?"

  The world lurched.

  The air around them shattered.

  And suddenly—Sorin was no longer in the ruins.

  He was back in the past.

  Flames consumed the palace halls.

  Smoke curled through the shattered windows, the banners of the Hollow Kingdom torn and burning.

  Sorin’s past self stormed through the corridors, sword slick with blood.

  The capital was under siege.

  But not from an outside force.

  No.

  His enemies were his own people.

  Guards he had once trusted turned against him. Soldiers who had sworn fealty now raised their blades.

  And at the center of it all—

  The Exiled One stood at the foot of the throne, sword dripping red.

  Sorin’s breath burned in his lungs.

  "You—" He stepped forward, fury cracking through his voice. "You led them here."

  The Exiled One did not deny it.

  "You wouldn’t listen," he said.

  "You wouldn’t stop."

  Sorin gritted his teeth, his grip on his sword so tight it felt like it would snap.

  "We built this together," he spat. "And you destroyed it."

  The Exiled One’s expression was unreadable.

  "No, Sorin," he murmured.

  "You did."

  The memory snapped away, and Sorin staggered forward, gasping.

  His vision swam, his breath sharp and unsteady.

  He could still hear the flames, the sounds of that night, echoing in the back of his mind.

  But now—he was back in the ruins.

  And the Exiled One still stood before him.

  Sorin lifted his gaze, anger and confusion twisting inside him.

  "You betrayed me," he hissed.

  The Exiled One held his stare.

  "Did I?"

  Sorin froze.

  The Exiled One took a slow step forward.

  "You saw the war as something you could control," he said, voice steady. "You thought you could reshape the world into something better. But you weren’t building a kingdom, Sorin. You were building a graveyard."

  Sorin’s hands trembled.

  His mind wanted to reject it, to shove the memories back into the depths where he had buried them.

  But the ruins weren’t letting him forget.

  They were forcing him to face it.

  For the first time in years—Sorin questioned whether he had been the hero of his own story.

  Aeris watched the Exiled One carefully.

  She still didn’t trust him.

  Didn’t trust the way he spoke, the way he moved—like he already knew what would happen.

  But she didn’t have time to doubt.

  Sorin was still trapped beyond the Gate, and if this man was her only chance at getting through—

  Then she would use him.

  The Exiled One approached the ancient stone barrier, pressing a hand to its surface.

  It shuddered under his touch.

  The masked figures who had guarded it before did not react.

  Aeris narrowed her eyes.

  "You said blood wouldn’t open it," she muttered. "Then what will?"

  The Exiled One exhaled slowly.

  "A name."

  Aeris blinked.

  "What?"

  The Exiled One turned his head slightly.

  "This Gate was sealed with a sacrifice," he said. "A life given to ensure what’s inside never escapes."

  His fingers trailed over the stone, tracing the faded symbols.

  "The only way to open it is to call upon the one who was sacrificed."

  Aeris felt something cold settle in her stomach.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

  But she did anyway.

  "Who was sacrificed?"

  A long silence.

  Then—

  The Exiled One murmured the name.

  And Aeris felt her heart stop.

  Because it was Sorin’s own name.

  The silence after the Exiled One spoke was heavy.

  Aeris stared at him, trying to make sense of what she had just heard.

  "Sorin was… the sacrifice?"

  The Exiled One’s expression was unreadable, but there was a weight behind his gaze.

  "He doesn’t remember it," he said. "Not yet. But his blood, his name, and his existence are all tied to this Gate. If we open it…"

  His voice lowered.

  "Then we may not find the same Sorin on the other side."

  Aeris’s fists clenched.

  "I don’t care," she said.

  The Exiled One tilted his head slightly.

  "Are you so certain?"

  Aeris stepped forward, defiant.

  "Sorin is my friend," she said. "I don’t care what this place does to him—I will pull him back, no matter what."

  The Exiled One studied her for a long moment.

  Then, slowly, he turned back to the Gate.

  "Then we begin."

  The Exiled One pulled something from his cloak—a small, jagged stone, pulsing with faint light.

  Aeris frowned.

  "What is that?"

  The Exiled One did not answer immediately. He approached the Gate, pressing the stone against the surface. The moment it touched the ancient carvings, the air around them shifted.

  A whisper.

  Not a voice, not words—something older, something buried deep in the fabric of this place.

  Aeris shivered.

  The Exiled One closed his eyes, exhaling.

  Then—he spoke.

  Not in the common tongue.

  Not in any language Aeris recognized.

  But the Gate responded.

  The carvings began to glow.

  The masked figures surrounding the Gate twitched, their bodies stirring as if coming to life.

  Aeris’s breath caught.

  The Exiled One opened his eyes.

  "Once a name is spoken," he said, "the Gate decides."

  "Decides what?"

  "Whether to return what was lost…"

  His voice dropped.

  "Or to take something in exchange."

  Aeris’s stomach tightened.

  Before she could respond—

  The Gate began to open.

  Sorin wasn’t alone anymore.

  The moment the Gate began to shift, he felt it—something pulling at his mind.

  The ruins faded, the memories blurred, and suddenly—

  He was standing in a void of white.

  A single throne sat in front of him.

  His throne.

  And sitting upon it was—

  _"You."

  Sorin’s blood froze.

  Because the person sitting on the throne was not a stranger.

  It was himself.

  But not as he was now.

  No.

  This Sorin wore the full regalia of the Hollow King. His armor gleamed, untouched by time or ruin. His eyes were sharper, heavier—the eyes of a ruler who had made impossible choices and never looked back.

  The Sorin he used to be.

  "Do you know why you’re here?" the Hollow King asked.

  Sorin’s fists clenched.

  "This is a trick," he growled.

  The Hollow King smiled.

  "No, Sorin. This is a reckoning."

  The throne room shifted.

  And suddenly, Sorin was no longer standing—he was kneeling.

  Chains coiled around his wrists.

  And the Hollow King stood over him.

  "You have forgotten what you are."

  Sorin struggled against the chains, but they wouldn’t break.

  "You have wandered, lost, pretending to be something lesser. But deep down, you know the truth."

  The Hollow King leaned closer.

  "You are still me."

  Sorin’s breath came fast.

  No.

  He had left that part of himself behind.

  He had sworn never to become that man again.

  But the Hollow King only smirked.

  And then—he raised his sword.

  The same sword that had once ruled an empire.

  "Let’s see if you remember how to fight for your throne."

  Aeris stumbled backward as the Gate shook violently.

  The Exiled One did not move.

  He watched as cracks spread through the stone, as the masked figures began to dissolve into dust.

  And then—

  A shadow stepped through.

  At first, Aeris thought it was Sorin.

  But then she saw the gleam of regal armor.

  And the way his eyes burned gold.

  Her breath caught.

  Because the figure standing before her was not Sorin.

  Not the Sorin she knew.

  It was the Hollow King.