The Gate into Deadfall Forest didn't pull Ezra in.
It invited him.
A soft hum in the bones. A whisper at the edge of hearing. Not a demand—but a welcome. As if the world behind the veil recognized him.
As if it had been waiting.
Rei held her breath beside him. The Gate shimmered before them, a vertical slash of pale violet light hovering between two withered trees. Runes circled its edges—half familiar, half alien. Not system glyphs. Something older.
The Bone Rat twitched on Ezra's shoulder, agitated.
"You sure?" Rei asked.
Ezra nodded once.
Without another word, he stepped through.
Gate Instance – CLASS: UNSTABLE / ORIGIN: LEGACY ECHO
Welcome, Ezra Vale.
You are walking in the footsteps of the Hollowborn.
He landed hard.
Not on forest floor, not on dungeon stone—but on grass.
Real grass.
The sky overhead was dark, lit only by a massive, low-hanging moon. The landscape stretched in all directions, warped and blurred like an oil painting smeared with tears.
Trees stood twisted into shapes that vaguely resembled people—arms raised, faces frozen in silent screams.
The system flickered.
[This Gate is a memory-locked instance.]
Warning: Mental feedback possible. Lucid recall active.
Soul Slot 2 – Reacting to Gate. Echo Awakening Initiated…
Initializing: Nyra's Remnant…
Ezra's pulse thundered.
The air vibrated. The ground cracked beneath him.
Then—she appeared.
A woman stepped out of the mist across the field.
Tall. Black cloak trailing behind her. Hair like raven ink. A scythe in one hand, jagged and breathing shadow. Her eyes… they were Ezra's eyes, only older. Wiser. Broken.
She didn't walk. She glided.
Ezra stepped forward.
"…Nyra?" he asked.
The woman stopped. Her head tilted, as if confused.
"No," she said, voice like crumbling ruins. "Not anymore."
Ezra blinked. "What are you?"
The figure smiled sadly. "I am what she left behind. Her regret. Her rage. Her Echo."
Then her eyes burned violet.
[ECHO BOSS: Nyra's Remnant]
CLASS: Aberrant Soulbound
RANK: B- (Suppressed)
OBJECTIVE: Survive. Understand. Choose.
Rei stepped through the Gate behind him just in time to see the figure lift her hand.
The sky tore open.
The battlefield exploded.
Tendrils of ghostlight whipped through the air. The trees screamed. Figures rose from the earth—undead soldiers clad in armor made from grief, faces blank, swords dripping soulfire.
Ezra summoned everything he had.
[Raise Lesser Dead – Active]
[Bone Armament – Active]
[Mark Prey – Nyra's Remnant]
[Soul Siphon – Linked]
The Bone Rat leapt from his shoulder, biting down on the ankle of the nearest undead.
Ezra's Ghoul tore through a fallen knight, only to be incinerated seconds later by a wave of violet flame from Nyra's Echo.
"She's too strong!" Rei shouted, ducking under a sweeping blade and throwing her plasma-knife into the eye of another undead.
Ezra didn't respond.
He stepped forward into the storm.
His blade met the scythe in a shockwave that cracked the ground.
Nyra's Remnant looked down at him—not with hatred, but something like sorrow.
"You do not understand what you are," she whispered. "You think this is about power. Rank. Revenge. But you carry more than your name, Ezra. You carry my sin."
She struck again.
Their weapons clashed in a burst of black sparks. Ezra spun, ducked under her sweeping arc, and drove his blade toward her ribs.
It passed through.
She didn't bleed. She flickered.
Ezra stumbled back.
"She's not fully real," he gasped. "Just a memory."
"A memory that kills," Rei shouted, stabbing another knight in the back.
Ezra gritted his teeth.
He had to end it.
He closed his eyes—and reached inward.
[Soul Slot 2 – Echo Bind: Attempting Synchronization…]
The Gem in his chest burned. His breath caught.
[Trigger Phrase: "I claim what was lost."]
Ezra opened his eyes. "I claim what was lost."
The world screamed.
Nyra's Echo froze mid-strike. Her image shattered into a thousand pieces of violet light.
Then something stepped out of her shadow.
A new form. Smaller. Younger.
A girl—no older than twenty—clutching a scythe in both hands, eyes wide, face tear-streaked.
"Don't make the same mistakes I did," she whispered.
[Echo Binding Complete.]
Soul Slot 2: "Nyra's Remnant" – Bound
Summon Unlocked: Death-Class Scythe: Hollow Mercy
Description: A weapon forged from regret and war. Has 5 Gem Slots. Unlocks Soulflow-based techniques.
Ezra fell to one knee as the light poured into him.
In his hand, something formed.
A scythe—black, curved, jagged at the edges. Not pristine. Not pretty. But real.
The moment he touched it, the system vibrated:
[Weapon Class: Bound Artifact]
Name: Hollow Mercy
Gem Slot 1 – Unlocked: Soul
(Effect: Soul Drain – Successful strikes siphon enemy life into undead under your control.)
Ezra rose slowly.
The battlefield fell silent.
The knights had vanished. The sky was whole. The Gate shimmered around them.
Rei stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"You… you have her weapon," she breathed. "The stories said it was lost with her."
Ezra gripped the scythe tighter. "It wasn't lost. It was waiting."
He stepped toward the fading light.
The Gate began to collapse behind them.
But one final message scrawled across the sky before it closed:
"They remember you now, Hollowborn."
Outside Deadfall Forest – Two Hours Later
They walked in silence until the treeline broke.
The city glimmered on the horizon, fractured but alive.
Ezra had the scythe strapped across his back now. Its weight felt natural—like a third limb. The Bone Rat rode on his shoulder as usual, twitching every time the weapon pulsed.
Rei finally broke the silence.
"Do you even know what you are anymore?"
Ezra looked at her.
"No."
"Do you care?"
He paused. Then:
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "Good. Because if you stop caring, I'm walking."
Ezra smirked faintly.
They stopped at the edge of a broken freeway and watched the clouds pass overhead.
In his system, new text appeared.
[New Quest Line Unlocked: The Five Keys of Hollow Mercy]
Objective: Recover the remaining four Soul Gems—Time, Space, Balance, Power. Each bound to a Guardian Echo.
Progress: 1/5
Ezra stared at the message.
His path was no longer survival.
It was reclamation.
Not of the world.
Of himself