The road stretched before them, endless and unforgiving.

  The ruins of Vhalis had long since disappeared behind them, swallowed by the cold horizon. Now, only the vast Ashen Expanse remained—a dead land where the bones of ancient wars still lay buried beneath the dust.

  Sorin and Aeris moved in silence.

  He wasn’t sure how long they had been walking. Hours? A day? Time felt strange here, stretched thin by the emptiness around them.

  Aeris finally broke the silence. “You’re quieter than usual.”

  Sorin glanced at her. “You barely know me.”

  She smirked. “True. But I can already tell that whatever you saw back there is still clawing at your mind.”

  Sorin didn’t respond.

  Because she was right.

  The vision of the last king of Vhalis lingered, his burning eyes, his voice like crumbling stone.

  "You are not meant to endure."

  The words unsettled him—not because he feared them, but because some part of him believed them.

  Aeris must have noticed the tension in his expression, because she sighed. “Look, if you start brooding this hard every time a dead guy talks to you, we’re in for a long trip.”

  Sorin huffed. “I don’t brood.”

  Aeris raised an eyebrow. “You literally look like a tragic ghost prince.”

  Before Sorin could respond, something shifted in the wind.

  He froze.

  The air was wrong. Heavy. Thick with something unseen.

  Aeris noticed it too. Her hand drifted toward the dagger at her hip. “What is it?”

  Sorin’s fingers tightened around his sword. His senses sharpened, his Echo humming beneath his skin, whispering warnings he could not yet understand.

  And then—

  A bell tolled.

  Deep. Hollow. A sound that did not belong in this wasteland.

  Aeris inhaled sharply. “That’s not possible.”

  Sorin didn’t ask what she meant. Because a second later, the answer revealed itself.

  From the shadows of the distant ruins, figures began to emerge.

  Tall, cloaked in black, their armor etched with the sigil of the Sanctum Order.

  The Hounds of Sanctum.

  Elite hunters. Not human.

  And they had found him.

  Sorin’s jaw tightened.

  “So much for a quiet journey,” he muttered.

  Aeris took a step back. “We need to run. Now.”

  But Sorin didn’t move. His gaze locked onto the hunters as they began to spread out, their movements precise, almost inhumanly synchronized.

  Running wouldn’t help.

  They were already dead men walking.

  And the only way out…

  Was through.

  The Hounds of Sanctum stood at the edge of the ruins, cloaked figures carved from shadow and bone. Their presence was suffocating, pressing down like an unspoken curse.

  Then, as one, they moved.

  Fast. Too fast.

  They blurred across the wasteland, closing the distance with unnatural speed. Their blades—long, curved things forged from blackened iron—sang as they cut through the air.

  Sorin barely had time to react.

  CLANG!

  The first strike nearly split him in half. He raised his sword just in time, steel grinding against steel as the force of the blow sent him skidding backward.

  They’re strong.

  Stronger than normal men. Stronger than even him.

  Aeris was already moving. She ducked low, slipping between two of the hunters like a phantom, her dagger flashing in the dim light. A quick, clean strike to the throat.

  But—

  Her blade passed through empty air.

  No blood. No wound. The Hound she struck didn’t even flinch.

  Aeris’s eyes widened. “That’s not—”

  A fist slammed into her ribs.

  She was sent flying, her body crashing into the remains of a crumbling wall. She groaned, struggling to rise, but one of the hunters was already above her, blade raised for the kill.

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  Sorin moved before he could think.

  He let go.

  The power buried deep in his blood, the thing that made him wrong, inhuman, roared to life.

  He surged forward—faster than thought, faster than sight—his sword carving a brutal arc through the air.

  And this time—

  It connected.

  The Hound’s body convulsed. Its black armor cracked, and from the wound, something poured out.

  Not blood. Not anything human.

  A thick, writhing darkness.

  The creature shrieked.

  Not a scream of pain, but something worse—a sound of rage, of hunger.

  Sorin barely had time to register it before the others attacked.

  One leapt at him, blade descending.

  He dodged. Barely. The sword grazed his shoulder, and where it cut, his skin burned.

  Not like a normal wound. Not like any injury he’d ever taken before.

  This was something else.

  His breath hitched. Their weapons can hurt me.

  Aeris was back on her feet, eyes wild. “These things—they’re not alive.”

  Sorin gritted his teeth. “I noticed.”

  There were five of them still standing. Five against two.

  Not good odds.

  But Sorin had never cared about odds.

  He exhaled, tightening his grip on his sword.

  They would have to be wiped out.

  Completely.

  Sorin adjusted his stance, heart hammering against his ribs. The Hounds of Sanctum were circling now, moving with that same eerie synchronization, their weapons gleaming with unnatural light.

  They weren’t just strong. They were patient.

  They knew he was dangerous. And they did not fear him.

  Aeris gritted her teeth, pressing a hand against her side where she’d taken the hit earlier. “Got a plan?”

  Sorin didn’t answer immediately. His mind was calculating, feeling the weight of the battle, the subtle pull of something deeper beneath his skin.

  Then, quietly, he said:

  “…Stay out of my way.”

  Aeris blinked. “Excuse me—?”

  The Hounds attacked.

  Sorin moved.

  His sword met theirs in a furious clash of steel, sparks flying as he deflected three strikes in rapid succession. He twisted his body, pivoting away from another incoming blade, then drove his knee into the gut of the nearest hunter.

  There was no give. No human reaction.

  The creature barely staggered.

  Fine. Then I’ll cut deeper.

  He shifted his grip and slashed, his blade shearing through armor, through the thing beneath it.

  A gurgling shriek filled the air as the Hound collapsed.

  But where a man would have bled, this thing only shuddered—its body cracking, unraveling like burnt paper.

  Sorin barely had time to register the sight before another one lunged at him.

  Too fast.

  Too close.

  The black blade sank into his side.

  Pain exploded through him, sharp and burning, unlike anything he had ever felt before. It wasn’t just a wound—something was eating into him, burrowing into his very being.

  His vision blurred.

  His knees buckled.

  Not yet.

  Something inside him screamed—not in pain, but in rage.

  LET GO.

  His body answered.

  The ground trembled. A low hum rippled through the air, followed by the unmistakable howl of an Echo awakening.

  Sorin exhaled, his breath curling into mist.

  And then the world twisted.

  Aeris had seen a lot of terrifying things in her life.

  But nothing like this.

  Sorin moved differently now.

  Not like a man.

  Like something else.

  His sword struck, and the air itself cracked around it.

  One of the Hounds tried to dodge. Tried.

  The blade caught it mid-movement—and the force of the strike ripped it apart.

  Not cut. Not wounded.

  Unmade.

  The darkness inside the creature spilled out like smoke caught in a storm, twisting and writhing before it simply… ceased.

  Aeris’s blood ran cold.

  This wasn’t normal.

  Sorin turned toward the remaining Hounds. His eyes… were not the same.

  The irises burned silver.

  And his wounds—the ones that should have been crippling—were already closing.

  The Hounds hesitated. For the first time, they did not advance.

  Aeris had no idea what she was looking at.

  But the creatures did.

  One of them whispered.

  “Hollowborn.”

  Sorin’s expression did not change. He simply raised his sword—his grip steady, his posture relaxed.

  And then, voice colder than ice, he spoke.

  “Run.”

  The Hounds did not.

  They attacked as one.

  And Sorin met them with a fury that was not human.

  Sorin moved like a shadow unchained.

  The first Hound came at him, blade flashing toward his throat. He didn’t block.

  He stepped in.

  Too fast. Too close. The Hound had no time to react before Sorin’s hand snapped up, gripping its wrist with bone-crushing force.

  Then—

  CRACK.

  He twisted. The Hound’s arm shattered, its blackened bone splintering like brittle wood.

  A wretched screech filled the air.

  Another came from behind—Sorin felt it before it struck. He twisted his sword, letting his momentum carry him into a downward slash.

  The second Hound split apart at the waist.

  Its body did not fall.

  It dissolved.

  Aeris barely had time to process what was happening. Sorin wasn’t just winning.

  He was butchering them.

  There were only three left now, circling like wounded animals. Their perfect synchronization had broken, their movements jagged and uneven.

  They were afraid.

  Not of his sword.

  Of him.

  One of them whispered again, voice rasping with something that almost sounded like horror.

  “Hollowborn…”

  Sorin’s grip tightened around his weapon. He could feel it now—the way his body moved with unnatural ease, the way his wounds no longer hurt.

  The Echo inside him was fully awake.

  It whispered. Urged him forward. Finish it. Destroy them. Leave nothing.

  But something about those whispers—they were not his own.

  They never had been.

  His breath came faster. His vision blurred at the edges, colors warping, the world stretching and twisting in ways that did not feel real.

  Something was wrong.

  One of the remaining Hounds lunged.

  Sorin reacted on instinct, swinging his blade in a perfect arc.

  But—

  He missed.

  No—he hadn’t missed.

  His vision had shifted.

  The world lurched—and suddenly, he wasn’t standing where he thought he was.

  A Hound’s blade found its mark, carving into his shoulder. Deep.

  Sorin staggered.

  The pain was sharp, real, grounding—but it was not enough to silence the thing inside him.

  The Echo roared. Stronger now.

  Too strong.

  Sorin’s hands shook. His chest burned, his veins pulsing with a power that no longer felt like his own.

  The air warped.

  He was losing control.

  Aeris saw it.

  Her eyes widened. “Sorin—stop.”

  But Sorin couldn’t hear her anymore.

  Only the Echo.

  And it wanted more.

  Aeris didn’t think. She acted.

  She sprinted toward Sorin, dodging the last Hound’s feeble strike.

  He was still standing, but barely. His breathing ragged. His posture wrong.

  The silver light in his eyes was growing brighter.

  Too bright.

  Aeris had no idea what would happen if he fully lost control—but she wasn’t about to find out.

  She did the only thing she could.

  She grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

  “Sorin. Look at me.”

  For a terrifying moment, nothing changed.

  Then—

  The silver in his eyes flickered.

  A spark of recognition.

  Aeris didn’t hesitate.

  She drove her dagger into his side.

  Not deep. Not enough to maim.

  Just enough to shock him back into reality.

  Sorin gasped. His entire body convulsed, the burning light in his veins flickering like a dying flame.

  And then—

  It was gone.

  The Echo’s whispers faded.

  Sorin’s knees hit the ground, his breath sharp and uneven. His hands no longer shook.

  It was over.

  Aeris let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You back?”

  Sorin swallowed hard. His voice was hoarse. “Yeah.”

  The final Hound—the last one still standing—did not attack.

  It knelt.

  A strange, eerie stillness settled over the battlefield. The creature bowed its head, speaking in a language Aeris didn’t recognize.

  Then, in a whisper that barely reached their ears—

  “The Hollowborn has awakened. The Watchers will see.”

  Before either of them could react—

  The Hound collapsed into dust.

  Sorin and Aeris were left alone in the empty wasteland.

  Aeris let out a slow exhale, running a hand through her hair. “Well. That was horrifying.”

  Sorin wiped the blood from his mouth, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave.

  “…Yeah.”

  He looked down at his hands. The tremors were gone. But deep inside him, beneath skin and bone—

  The Echo was still there.

  Waiting.

  Watching.

  And it would never let him go.