In a land fractured by elemental extremes and ancient grudges, five kingdoms stand divided — each shaped by its climate, customs, and uneasy relationship with the monstrous frontier known only as the Wasteland.

For generations, the kingdoms of Solkar, Thal, Nordr, Virellia, and Alzhan have fought among themselves — over borders, trade, and pride — while the Wasteland's creeping horrors press ever closer. From this cursed land come the Oldspawn — beasts of myth and nightmare, whose hearts, when consumed, fuse with one’s own, birthing magic at a terrible cost. Power, after all, is never without sacrifice.

Evelyn — an orphan from a border outpost — is quiet, clever, and far more dangerous than she knows. When she survives a raid on her village and consumes a fractured core-heart, she becomes something new: a bearer of wild magic not bound to any kingdom's laws or customs. Her abilities are raw and unstable, and she draws the attention of those who would shape her into a weapon.
At her side is Torren, her childhood friend — steadfast, brave, and unknowingly the source of her first love. But while Evelyn’s path leads her deeper into the politics and power of the Five Realms, Torren’s takes him elsewhere: to duty, to transformation, and ultimately, to love beyond their bond.

Guiding Evelyn is the enigmatic scholar Vareth, a rogue archivist exiled from Alzhan’s great think-towers. Vareth believes Evelyn’s magic may be the key to ending the Wasteland’s expansion — or the cause of its rebirth. He teaches her the truth of the Oldspawn, of core-magic, and the First Fire, a forgotten power lost to time.

But in the depths of the Wasteland stirs something older than monsters. Once a god-emperor of a fallen sixth kingdom, now corrupted by centuries of core-consumption, the being known as The Hollow King has begun to move again. His twisted children — the Echoed, part-human, part-beast — are spreading across the borderlands.

And he wants Evelyn.

To survive, the kingdoms must unite. But can old enemies find common ground — when power is bonded in blood, bone, and the heartfire of beasts?

Night in the fenline was a predator with too many mouths.


Moss clung to every surface, dew slick and sour. The air buzzed low—like a throat trying to speak but never finding the words. Somewhere beyond the mist, water dripped in a rhythm Evelyn couldn't unhear: slow… slow… quick. Like a heartbeat stuttering before it gave out.


Evelyn and Torren crouched beneath the twisted limbs of a gnarled dusk-pine, its roots forming a crude shelter. The fire they tried to build smoked uselessly, hissed out by the wet ground.


Torren sat with one arm around his ribs, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the dark.


"How bad is it?" Evelyn whispered, eyeing the blood-stained wrap under his tunic.


He grunted. "Cracked bone. Could be worse."


"I don't do reassuring. You want warm words, find a priest."


Evelyn managed a tired half-smile. "We're fresh out."


A breeze passed overhead—cool, unnatural. No rustle of branches followed it. Just that low, deep hum that wasn't a hum. The sound they'd first heard beneath the stone slab.


"I think something followed us," she murmured.


They both knew what that meant. Echoed. The real kind. Not beastlings or wild strays—changed ones. Once human, perhaps. Touched by the Hollow long enough to forget names, forms, or fear.


Torren rose slowly, drawing his blade. His knuckles were white.


"I know," she said. And then added, "But I can… try something."


The heat behind her ribs—where the shard had burned its way in—was no longer just heat. It was shape. A seed. It wanted to be used.


And in the dark space behind her eyes, Evelyn saw again the silver-eyed woman from her dreams, standing in firelight. Singing. Not a lullaby, not truly. A call.


She inhaled—and felt the warmth bloom outward. Not wild. Not painful.


Then Evelyn placed her palm against the soaked earth.


Not fire, but light. A red-gold gleam spread in a thread beneath the roots, chasing something unseen. A web. A warning.


The Echoed beast burst through the treeline—a ragged thing, like a stag stretched too tall, its antlers blackened and branching like veins. Its eyes had no pupils. Its ribs shifted with every breath.


Torren moved instinctively to intercept—injured or not.


And from the earth, a flare of flame erupted—bright, brief, but hot enough to sear the creature's leg. It howled and turned, fleeing back into the fog.


And Evelyn collapsed to one knee, breath ragged.


He crouched beside her, awe in his voice. "You do now."


Chapter 11 - Hollow-Breath