They left the city before dawn, moving quietly through the broken outskirts where the air still tasted faintly of distortion.
Dravenloch was behind them now, but the memory of it followed like a shadow—ruined streets, cracked stone, wounded people, and the sealed scar where the wormhole had opened....but ofcourse it didn't matter to them though.
The group did not speak much at first.
Masks hid their faces. Cloaks hid their shapes. And the silence helped them blend into the early fog and the dull gray of the road.
But Sanè—Number 99—could only stay quiet for so long.
After a long stretch of walking, 99 glanced at Number 12, who moved ahead with calm certainty. 12 always looked like she knew where she was going, even when no one else did.
"12," Sanè said softly, "how does our hollow cultivation path work?"
The question slowed the group.
Even Number 111
Number 12 glanced sideways, almost surprised by the question. Then she gave a short breath, like someone remembering they had been keeping too much to themselves.
"I don't really explain it," she admitted. "Not often....cause it's kinda fun watching you guys find out yourself."
"Then explain it now," Sanè said, not rude, just eager.
Number 12 slowed a little, letting the group's pace soften so her voice could carry. "Fine. The difference isn't huge in structure. The danger is what changes everything."
She lifted her chin, speaking with simple clarity.
"The normal path is what most people know. It goes like this: Ashborn, then Bloodfang, then Dreadmark, then Wyrmscourge, then Hellforged, and finally Godrend."
Number 111 hummed quietly, as if they already knew the list.
Number 12 continued, "But the thing most people don't talk about is this: your starting point is not the same for everyone."
She raised one finger. "Some are born with a natural spark. That is Ashborn."
She raised a second. "Some are born with a stronger spark. The ones called geniuses. They start at Bloodfang."
Sanè blinked. "Born into a rank?"
"Yes," 12 said. "Not fully developed. But their spirit and body align at that level from the start."
Number 123, walking behind them, spoke up. "So what about those born with nothing?"
Number 12's gaze sharpened slightly. "Those are the ones people call Hollow."
123's shoulders stiffened. "That's what we were."
Number 12 nodded once. "Empty. No natural cultivation seat. No proper foundation. Normal families see that and decide the child is useless."
Sanè's hands clenched at their sides. The word useless always landed hard.
Number 12 said, voice steady. "And ofcourse there are the Transmuters....they help create a pathway. They help cultivators body hold power without collapsing. They help the advancement become smoother."
Number 111 tilted their head. "So Transmuters don't just make potions. They shape people."
"They shape survival," 12 corrected. "That's why they are important. And that's why powerful families fund them."
Number 111 scoffed softly. "Or use them."
Number 12 didn't deny it. Instead she asked, "Do you know why you wear masks?"
Sanè blinked. "You're asking us?"
Number 111 answered proudly, "We earned them. They represent us. They mark our survival."
Number 12 nodded once. "Yes. That's one reason."
Then she said the second reason, and the air seemed to tighten.
"And because once a Hollow reaches Wyrmscourge… the body begins to show."
Sanè's posture stiffened. "Show what?"
Number 12 lifted a hand and traced her own forehead, just above where her mask would hide it. "A hollow-mark forms. Not ordinary scars. Not tattoos. A spiritual sign."
She made it simple, though it was something they could picture.
"It looks like a chain of tiny black stars—like burned pinpoints—arranged in a crescent across the brow. People call them Voidstars."
Number 200's voice was low. "Voidstars."
Number 12 continued. "Five Voidstars means a Hollow has reached Wyrmscourge. Seven means Hellforged. Nine means Godrend."
Sanè swallowed. "So Hollows are ranked by the stars."
"Yes," Number 12 replied. "And it doesn't stop there."
She tapped her forearm. "Every Hollow also gains a shard-pattern somewhere on the body. It's unique to the Vestige inside them. Some look like cracks. Some look like vines. Some look like claw marks. But no two Hollows are exactly the same."
Number 111's voice turned grim. "So the mask hides the stars."
"It hides the stars," Number 12 agreed, "and it hides the shard-sign."
Sanè hesitated, then asked the question that had been forming since the fight.
"How many Voidstars do you have?"
Number 12 answered without pride. "Six."
The group went quiet again.
Six meant she was above Wyrmscourge, but not yet Hellforged. Yet she had crushed five Wyrmscourge experts in a single move.
Number 200 finally asked what everyone was thinking.
"Then how did you completely suppress those five Wyrmscourge experts we met in Dravenloch?"
Number 12 turned her head slightly. Even masked, her smile was obvious.
"You'll understand," she said, "when you become five-star Hollows."
Number 200's tone stayed flat. "That isn't an answer."
"It's the safest answer," Number 12 replied.
Then she continued, as if she had decided to give them the truth—but only the part that wouldn't kill them to know.
"The hollow path has a drawback. A risk."
Her voice became colder.
"When you advance, you risk being consumed by your Vestige."
Sanè's stomach tightened.
Number 12 explained it plainly.
"Hollows are empty. We fill that emptiness with Vestige. The Vestige gives power, but it also wants control. If you cannot control it, it will control you."
Her gaze turned toward Sanè walking not too far from her.
"Especially the Shadowed one," she added.
Number 123's voice was small. "So we can lose ourselves."
"Yes," Number 12 said. "But you also gain skills. Vestige skills....abilities normal cultivators can't imitate."
The wind rose.....as the road stretched ahead.
Then Number 12 said something that made Sanè's memory snap awake.
"And every blood moon… Hollow power increases."
Number 111 stiffened.
"And the chance of losing control increases too," Number 12 finished.
Sanè remembered immediately. The last time they acquired a shard piece, the sky had been red. The blood moon had made them stronger—strong enough to hold off a Hellforged expert for a few desperate moments.