The walk was hell.
Kieran's body screamed with every step. Blood crusted across his torn clothes, his breath came shallow, and his limbs moved on stubborn instinct more than strength. But the system's guidance burned like a compass in his mind, a pulsing line through the ash-laced streets.
The city had no name.
Or maybe it did, long ago, before it was swallowed by Veyruin.
Ruins stretched endlessly in all directions—skyscrapers snapped in half like twigs, vehicles rusted mid-explosion, and strange black flora grew through cracks in stone and steel. Giant, flower-like structures pulsed with faint red light, exhaling mist.
Each breath of that mist made his heart beat faster.
He avoided it.
Eventually, the path led him to what looked like an underground station entrance. A rusted stairwell descended into darkness, the edges marked with strange glyphs glowing blue.
The system pinged again.
---
[Safe Point Reached: "The Hollow"]
[Initiating Shelter Protocol…]
---
As soon as he stepped past the threshold, something shifted. The cold vanished. The pressure in the air lightened. The ash didn't follow him down.
He moved slowly through a narrow tunnel. Lights buzzed overhead—real lights, not magic or fire. Electricity.
Finally, the path opened into a large chamber. It had once been a transit terminal, maybe. Now, it was transformed. Crates lined the walls. A forge glowed in the corner. Shadows danced around campfires. And most importantly…
People.
There were maybe twenty of them. Some armored. Some barely clothed. All hardened. Survivors.
Every head turned as he entered.
Weapons were subtly drawn. Eyes narrowed. They saw what he was. New. Bleeding. Unclaimed. A Drifter.
Then someone stepped forward.
She was tall, lean, and wrapped in crimson armor that looked like it had been forged from living bone. A jagged scar ran from her chin to her collarbone. Her voice was calm, but sharp.
"You're lucky," she said. "The Marauder almost never leaves anything behind."
Kieran blinked. "You saw that thing?"
"We watch everything. Veyruin doesn't forgive mistakes."
She stopped in front of him and looked him up and down. Her eyes flicked briefly with faint gold light—an ability? Appraising him?
Then she grunted. "You're not corrupted. Yet."
"...Thanks?"
She turned. "Come on. You'll want to meet the Warden."
---
They moved deeper into The Hollow, past makeshift barriers and strange carved stones that pulsed with protective wards. Every surface told a story—of survival, blood, and sacrifice.
Finally, they entered a dome-shaped chamber lit by soft blue fire.
A figure sat on a throne of twisted steel and black glass.
The Warden.
He looked human, but only just. His eyes were pure white, and cracks ran across his skin like porcelain. His voice was slow and deep, every word deliberate.
"You've awakened something, boy."
Kieran straightened. "What?"
The Warden tilted his head. "Your presence echoes. A Graveheart… that's a sigil we haven't seen in over a decade."
"You know what it is?"
"We know what it was," the Warden said. "Before its last bearer broke Veyruin's laws and vanished into the Deep Scar."
The Warden stood, and the whole room seemed to shift with his movement.
"You are not here by chance, Kieran Vale."
Kieran's blood ran cold. "You know my name?"
The Warden stepped forward, towering over him now.
"Veyruin doesn't make mistakes. It chooses. It hunts. And sometimes…"
He reached out and touched Kieran's chest—right over his heart, where the Graveheart pulsed.
"…it remembers."
---
Suddenly, Kieran's vision blurred.
The room vanished.
He saw ruins of stars, a throne made of bones, and a city buried beneath the skin of a dying god. Voices whispered in a tongue he didn't know, but somehow understood:
> "He is the Key. And the Chain."
> "If he breaks, we all fall."
---
Kieran collapsed, gasping, sweat pouring down his face.
The Warden's voice echoed from far away.
"Rest, Graveheart. Your true nightmare hasn't begun."