The gold swallowed everything.

  Liraeth’s vision whited out—not with light, but with memory.

  A flood of images tore through her:

  —A citadel burning, its spires clawing at a bleeding sky.

  —A silver crown tumbling from a throne, cracking like an egg.

  —A boy with golden eyes (Kael, but younger, softer) screaming as shadows peeled him apart.

  And him.

  The Hollow King.

  Not the echo in the tunnel. Not the fractured thing wearing Sorin’s face.

  The real one.

  Taller than he should be, his features sharpened by time and torment, his crown a circlet of living shadow. His hands—Sorin’s hands—dripped with god-blood, his mouth moving in a silent plea.

  Find me.

  Then—

  Pain.

  Liraeth gasped as the vision shattered, her knees hitting stone. The gold receded, leaving her in a cavernous chamber, the air thick with the scent of rust and damp earth. Her staff lay beside her, its glow reduced to embers.

  Sorin was gone.

  Kael was gone.

  Only the echo remained.

  It stood across the chamber, its form flickering between man and monster, the Hollow Crown hovering above its brow. The silver circlet pulsed, its rhythm syncing with the throbbing in Liraeth’s temples.

  "You shouldn’t be here," it whispered.

  Her fingers curled around the staff. "Where is Sorin?"

  The echo tilted its head. "Where he belongs."

  The chamber walls shuddered. Carvings lit up—not murals this time, but scenes:

  —Sorin, younger, on his knees before a door of fire.

  —A woman (her? Aeris?) pressing a dagger to his throat.

  —A voice (Kael’s?) whispering, "You were never meant to survive."

  The echo stepped closer. "He is a wound in the world. A stolen moment." Its voice fractured, layers of time peeling apart. "And you—"

  It lunged.

  Liraeth swung the staff. Light erupted, slamming into the echo’s chest. It screamed, its form unraveling—

  —then reforming behind her.

  Cold fingers closed around her throat.

  "You were supposed to forget," it hissed.

  The staff clattered to the ground.

  Darkness swallowed her.

  Darkness wasn’t empty.

  It was a mouth.

  Liraeth choked as the echo’s grip vanished, leaving her suspended in a void that breathed. The air reeked of burnt hair and old blood, the same stench that had clung to the Sunspire ruins.

  A voice slithered through the black:

  "You were his weakness."

  Light flared—not from her staff, but from the ground beneath her. A path of embers ignited, leading to a door of blackened bone. The Hollow Crown’s sigil glowed on its surface: a circle split by a jagged line.

  Time’s wound.

  Liraeth staggered forward. The door groaned open, revealing a throne room—not the ruins from before, but a place of polished obsidian and guttering torchlight. At its center stood the Hollow King, his back to her, his crown dripping shadows onto the floor.

  Not the echo.

  Not Sorin.

  Him.

  The true Hollow King.

  He turned.

  Gold eyes. Sorin’s face, but older, harder. A scar split his lip, a mirror to the cracks in Sorin’s skin. His voice was a blade dragged across stone:

  "You shouldn’t remember."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Liraeth’s hands shook. "Where is Sorin?"

  The Hollow King smiled. A crack splintered down his cheek. "Where all broken things go." He lifted a hand, and the throne room dissolved—

  —into a battlefield.

  Corpses littered the ground, their armor seared with black sun sigils. At their center knelt Sorin, his dagger buried in the chest of a soldier. No—not a soldier.

  Kael.

  Younger. Unscarred. Dying.

  Sorin’s hands trembled as Kael’s blood soaked his sleeves. "I didn’t mean—"

  Kael coughed, grinning through the pain. "Liar." His golden eyes locked onto something behind Sorin. "You promised her, too."

  Liraeth followed his gaze—

  —and saw herself.

  Aeris.

  Cloaked in crimson, a spear in her grip, her face twisted with grief.

  The vision shattered.

  The Hollow King stood before her again, his crown now cracked. "He remembers this," he whispered. "Every time he wakes, he remembers killing Kael. Every time, he begs the gods to undo it."

  Liraeth’s stomach lurched. "That’s why he stole time."

  The Hollow King’s fingers brushed her temple.

  "That’s why he made you forget."

  The touch burned like a brand.

  Liraeth recoiled as the Hollow King's fingers left her skin, but the vision didn't fade—it pulled. The throne room dissolved into smoke, and suddenly she was falling—

  —into Sorin's mind.

  Darkness. Then light.

  She stood in a crumbling tower, wind howling through shattered windows. Before her, Sorin crouched over a body, his hands pressed to a wound that wouldn't close. Not Kael this time.

  Hers.

  Aeris's body lay still, her spear broken beside her. Blood pooled around them both, black in the moonlight.

  Sorin's shoulders shook. His scars burned gold, the light pulsing in time with his ragged breaths. "No," he whispered. "Not again. Never again."

  A shadow moved in the corner—the Hollow King, watching with hollow eyes. "You know the price," he murmured.

  Sorin's head snapped up. His eyes weren't his own—fully gold, fully ancient. "I'll pay it."

  The vision fractured—

  —and reformed.

  Now Liraeth stood in a vast library, its shelves stretching into infinity. Sorin (but not Sorin, older, harder) stood before a pedestal, a dagger in his hand. The same dagger that had killed Kael in the previous vision.

  The Hollow King's voice echoed: "Cut the thread. Take the crown."

  Sorin raised the blade—

  Liraeth lunged forward. "Stop!"

  Her hand passed through him. She was a ghost here, unseen, unheard.

  The dagger flashed down.

  The world screamed.

  A sound like breaking glass, like a thousand mirrors shattering at once. The library folded in on itself, time itself unraveling as Sorin—no, the Hollow King—clutched a silver crown in his bloody hands.

  "Forget," he commanded the writhing air. "Forget it all."

  The command hit Liraeth like a physical blow. She staggered back—

  —and found herself kneeling in the cavern once more, the echo's cold fingers still around her throat.

  It leaned close, its breath like tomb air. "You see now. He was never meant to remember. Neither were you."

  The staff's faint glow caught her eye. Just out of reach.

  The echo tightened its grip. "The Hollow King made his choice. Now you must make yours."

  Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. With her last strength, she rasped: "What...choice?"

  The crown's light pulsed. The echo smiled with Sorin's lips.

  "Die as Aeris...or live as Liraeth and let him go."

  The echo’s grip loosened—just enough for Liraeth to suck in a burning breath.

  "Choose," it whispered.

  Her fingers twitched toward the staff. The sigils along its length flickered weakly, like a dying heartbeat. Aeris had carried this weapon. Liraeth had forged it.

  The crown’s pulse quickened.

  She spat blood onto the stone. "I don’t need to choose."

  The echo stilled.

  Liraeth moved.

  Her knee slammed up, catching the echo’s wrist. Bone cracked. It hissed, its form rippling—

  —and she rolled, fingers closing around the staff.

  Light erupted.

  Not gold. Not silver.

  Red.

  The color of the First Flame.

  The echo screamed as the light hit it, its body unraveling at the edges. But it didn’t dissolve. It split—

  —and from its shadow stepped Sorin.

  Real Sorin.

  His scars burned black now, veins of darkness threading through the gold. His eyes were wild, his dagger clutched in a shaking hand. He looked at Liraeth like she was a ghost.

  "You’re here," he rasped.

  The echo reformed behind him, its laughter jagged. "Of course she is. She always follows you into the dark."

  Sorin flinched.

  Liraeth’s staff flared again, pushing the echo back. "We need to go. Now."

  But Sorin didn’t move. His gaze locked onto the crown still hovering in the air. "It’s not a cage," he murmured. "It’s a lock."

  The echo’s smile vanished.

  A sound like thunder shook the chamber. The walls trembled, cracks splintering through the murals—

  —and through the cracks poured memories.

  Not visions. Not echoes.

  Fragments of the Hollow King’s past.

  Liraeth saw:

  —A younger Sorin (but not Sorin) kneeling before a woman with a spear (her, but not her).

  —A door of fire splitting open.

  —A voice (Kael’s?) screaming a single word: "Stop!"

  Then—

  A hand grabbed her shoulder.

  Kael.

  Bloodied, breathless, his golden eyes blazing. In his free hand, he clutched a broken sword—one Liraeth recognized from the murals.

  "The trial isn’t for you," he gasped. "It’s for him." He pointed at Sorin. "The echo isn’t trying to kill us. It’s trying to wake him up."

  The crown’s light pulsed violently.

  Sorin’s scars split open.

  And the Hollow King’s voice filled the chamber:

  "Remember."

  The command tore through Sorin like a blade.

  "Remember."

  He collapsed to his knees, hands clawing at his head as the visions ripped through him—not echoes, not fragments, but everything.

  —The first time he took the crown, its weight crushing his skull.

  —The first time he killed Kael, his hands shaking as his brother bled out.

  —The first time he saw her—Liraeth, Aeris, the woman who kept finding him across lifetimes—standing over him with a spear at his throat.

  The memories weren't just his.

  They were the Hollow King's.

  And they were awake.

  Liraeth lunged for Sorin, but Kael yanked her back. "Don't touch him!" His grip was iron, his golden eyes wide with terror. "The crown's got him—it's pulling him into the past!"

  The echo reformed, its body now half-solid, half-smoke. "Not the past," it whispered. "The fracture."

  The chamber walls dissolved into swirling darkness, the ground beneath them turning to glass—and beneath that glass, Liraeth saw:

  A city burning.

  Not Ashgrave. Not Sunspire.

  The first city.

  The one that existed before the gods fell.

  Sorin stood at its center, the Hollow Crown searing into his brow, his hands outstretched as time itself bent around him.

  The echo's voice slithered through the vision:

  "You broke the world to save him. Now break yourself to save her."

  Sorin screamed.

  His scars ruptured, gold and black bleeding into the air like liquid fire. The Hollow Crown's shadow stretched, its power lashing against the glass—

  —and then the glass cracked.

  Kael swore, shoving Liraeth toward the far wall. "It's collapsing!"

  The echo laughed, its form unraveling into smoke. "No. It's opening."

  The ground shattered.

  Liraeth fell—

  —into the Hollow King's last memory.