A shallow ravine that cut through the land not too far from Dravenloch City, its stone walls darkened by age and weather. Twisted roots crawled along the rock face like veins, and the canopy above was thick enough to swallow most of the daylight.
From a distance, nothing about the area stood out. It was quiet, unimportant—exactly the sort of place no one bothered to watch.
Two figures stood within the shadows of the ravine.
They were dressed alike, long cloaks blending seamlessly into the dim surroundings. Their faces were uncovered, revealing near-identical features—sharp eyes, pale skin, and expressions that seemed permanently carved into calm indifference.
They were twins.
Ro and Rael.
Between them hovered a crimson, eye-shaped construct, suspended in midair without any visible support. The artifact pulsed slowly, like a living thing, its surface was etched with fine, concentric sigils that rotated in opposing directions. At its center was something that looked disturbingly organic—a blood-red iris that moved subtly, as though observing everything at once.
It was "The God's Eye"
An artifact long believed to be under the exclusive possession of the High Council.
Yet here it was.
The God's Eye was a non-combatant artifact, but its value rivaled that of any weapon of mass destruction. It was powered by refined blood essence—it was ancient, concentrated, and dangerous to handle improperly.
Its capabilities were terrifying in their own way.
Through the God's Eye, one could communicate with any marked individual, regardless of distance or barriers, Mountains, oceans, sealed domains—none of them mattered. It could observe distant locations through blood resonance, trace fluctuations in spatial distortions, and record echoes of powerful events long after they occurred.
In one word....this artifact was very powerful.
The features of this artifact was not limited to that only....but It could identify the presence of specific bloodlines, It could sense the activation of artifacts, It could even detect anomalies—things that should not exist, or exist where they should not.
What it could not do was fight.
But it did not need to.
The artifact shimmered, and the image of a third figure appeared above it.
A man stood in the projection, his form slightly distorted by the medium. He wore a half-mask that covered only the upper portion of his face, carved from dark material etched with symbols that seemed to shift when not directly observed.
His exposed mouth was curved into a faint, knowing smile.
This was the Father of Ruin.
Leader of the Damned Ones.
A figure spoken of only in whispers, if at all.
Ro spoke first, her voice low and steady. "The Maverick Clan Head has left Dravenloch City."
The Father of Ruin tilted his head slightly. "And?"
"Lord Alaric and his brother, Fen," Rael continued, seamlessly picking up the thread. "They departed together. And their Destination is: the High Council."
The projected man's smile widened by a fraction.
"So the seal has weakened enough to force their hand," he murmured. "Interesting."
Ro exchanged a glance with her twin before speaking again. "With the clan head absent, the city's leadership is unstable. We can move now, if you wish."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the God's Eye.
Then the Father of Ruin chuckled.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
The word was spoken lightly, but it carried weight.
"I have other plans," he continued, his voice smooth, almost amused. "Plans that require patience."
His smirk deepened, as though he could already see the outcome unfolding exactly as intended.
Rael narrowed his eyes. "And the Masked Ones?"
The smile faded slightly. "Have you seen any?"
Both twins shook their heads.
"No sign," Ro replied. "None near the city or at the outer routes."
The Father of Ruin stared at them through the projection, his gaze was sharp despite the distance.
"Then let them be," he said after a pause. "If they are meant to appear, they will. If not—"
He did not finish the sentence.
The God's Eye pulsed once, sharply.
The projection vanished.
The artifact dimmed, its blood-red iris closing as the sigils slowed to a halt. Ro reached out and grasped it, and the construct collapsed into a small, dormant form that she tucked away beneath her cloak.
The ravine returned to silence.
---
Far from there, beneath the open sky, Sanè and the others continued their journey toward Dravenloch City.
The sun had climbed high by the time they decided to stop.
They chose a stretch of land bordered by low hills and scattered trees. The road was visible from a distance, but not close enough to expose them completely. It was a reasonable place to rest—temporary and unremarkable.
111 gathered dry branches and ignited them with a controlled flicker of flame. The fire bloomed quickly, its warmth pushing back the midday chill. The four of them sat cross-legged around it, their masks reflecting the dancing light.
For a long while, no one spoke.
The road behind them was quiet.
Sanè felt the fatigue settling into his bones—not the exhaustion of battle, but something deeper. A heaviness that came from constant movement, constant vigilance, and the slow accumulation of things left unsaid.
He closed his eyes.
At once, the world shifted.
He was no longer seated by the fire.
He stood within a vast, empty space—dark, endless, and silent. There was no ground, no sky, only a sense of depth that stretched in every direction.
Before him floated three petals.
They were translucent, glowing faintly with a deep violet hue. Each petal was distinct, etched with fine lines that resembled fractures in crystal. They rotated slowly, drifting around an unseen center.
Sanè watched them quietly.
He remembered what Number 12 had told them.
About dots and ranks.
About how Hollows manifested their advancement differently.
He understood now.
He was no longer uncertain.
Three petals....Three voidstars.
A Three-Voidstar Hollow.
His manifestation was not dots—but petals. A divergence. A variation.
Perhaps an anomaly.
He reached out instinctively, but before his hand could touch them, the space around him shifted.
A presence emerged.
It was not physical. It did not have a clear form. Yet it was unmistakable...Cold, Ancient and yet Familiar.
"You have finally begun to listen."
The voice echoed through the void, layered and distorted, as though spoken by many at once.
Sanè stiffened.
He knew that voice.
His Vestige.
"You are late," the voice continued, not accusing—simply stating a fact. "But expected."
Sanè did not answer immediately. He had always felt the Vestige's presence—watching, waiting—but this was the first time it had spoken so clearly.
"I did not think you would reach this stage so soon," the voice said. "Three voidstars. Interesting."
The petals pulsed faintly in response.
"What are you?" Sanè finally asked.
There was a pause. Then a low, almost amused resonance rippled through the void.
"I am what you carry," the Vestige replied. "And what will one day carry you—if you fail."
The words were calm.
Terrifyingly so.
"You stand at the edge of understanding," the voice continued. "The Hollow path is not empty. It is hungry. Each advancement feeds the shard within you."
As he said that...the petals started rotating faster.
"You have felt it," the Vestige said. "The pull. The pressure. The quiet whisper that grows louder with each step."
Sanè clenched his fists.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Good," the Vestige replied. "Awareness is survival."
The presence loomed closer, the void darkening around the petals.
"Remember this," it said. "Power is not granted. It is endured."
The space trembled.
"And when the blood moon rises again," the voice added softly, "you will learn whether you are the master—or the meal."