Chapter 56 – Into the Hollow Vale
The first breath of dawn clung to the cliffs like a shiver. Pale light spilled into the Sanctuary as the eight heirs stood silently before the cracked gates. Their packs were secured, weapons fastened, glyphs etched across their skin. There was no ceremony, no speeches. Just a grim understanding. They were walking into a place whispered about in half-forgotten tongues: the Hollow Vale, where the tomb of Obruhn Saren stirred.
Neolin stood beside the gate, hood drawn up, eyes distant. "You will feel the wrongness before you see it," he said, his voice calm but heavy. "The Hollow Vale is not just a place. It's a scar. Obruhn's presence poisoned it centuries ago, and now, it resists everything living. Even light."
The group nodded one by one. Frank, silent and focused, adjusted his cloak. Tom's jaw was set, hand resting near the hilt of his blade. Kitty stood closest to him, her golden eyes flickering with some unreadable tension. Peter, always restless, tapped his fingers against the metal clasp of his book pouch. Lucy and Zane exchanged a glance—half determination, half fear. Marcus, arm still bound from their last skirmish, nodded to Neolin. "We'll be back. All of us."
Neolin didn't smile. "Just come back with your hearts intact. Not just your bodies."
The doors groaned open, and the eight stepped into the cold world beyond.
The journey to the Hollow Vale took them through jagged canyons and dead forests, past stone bridges so ancient the wind seemed to mourn their collapse. With every mile, the color bled from the world. The sky dulled, the trees turned brittle, and even the birdsong vanished. The further they traveled, the more the world felt wrong.
"Anyone else feel like the wind's watching us?" Kitty whispered as they made their way through a pass of blackened rock.
"It's not the wind," Peter muttered. "It's Obruhn's shadow. He never really died. He's been... sinking into the soil."
Lucy pulled her cloak tighter. "So this is what corruption feels like."
As the sun disappeared behind the mist, they arrived.
The Hollow Vale spread before them like the open jaws of some buried titan. A deep basin of ash and stone, ringed with cliffs and split by cracks like veins. The light barely touched it. Fog moved in unnatural rhythms, coiling and pulling back like breath.
Zane was the first to speak. "I don't like this."
"You're not supposed to," Frank replied.
At the center of the Vale stood the ruins of Shav'Alin, the forgotten city built atop Obruhn's tomb. The city was broken beyond recognition: towers twisted into spires of obsidian, streets that led into walls, windows that opened into stone. It was as though reality itself had been rewritten.
They entered the city slowly, weapons drawn. The glyphs on their arms began to respond, flickering, twitching.
"Magic's sick here," Peter said, inspecting a cracked sigil on a collapsed statue. "Everything's distorted."
Tom moved carefully beside him. "Stay close. Don't split up. Not even a few steps."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A hum began—not sound, but pressure, like something massive rolling underground.
Frank looked at his hand. His glyph was glowing, but not its usual soft blue. Now it burned crimson.
"Something's coming," he whispered.
The stone beneath their feet cracked.
A clawed hand burst through the floor, followed by another. Then a shriek—not loud, but deep, ancient, vibrating through their bones. A beast emerged, stitched from the shadows of the dead city. Its body was skeletal, made from stone and ash, but its eyes burned with the green fire of Obruhn's essence.
Marcus raised his shield, planting his feet. "Brace!"
The creature lunged, claws tearing through air. Tom met it with a flare of Palecto, his blade slicing a streak of light through its arm. Kitty leapt behind him, golden wings forming from her glyph as she lifted briefly into the air, hurling a blast of raw demonlight into the beast's head.
It staggered. Zane darted in from the side, blades flashing, while Peter drew a rune in the air that flared and exploded beneath the monster's legs.
"We can take it!" Lucy shouted.
But the creature didn't fall. It split. With a burst of green smoke, it divided into two smaller versions of itself, both snarling, crawling toward the group.
Frank stepped forward, glyph burning brighter now. He held up his palm, focusing on the ancient memory inside him. "Not this time."
Blue-white light surged from him, crashing like a wave. The ground trembled, and the creatures screamed as the light tore through their forms. In seconds, they dissolved into ash.
The silence returned.
Everyone stood panting, weapons raised, eyes wide. Marcus lowered his shield. "What was that?"
"A taste," Neolin's voice echoed in Frank's mind. "Just a taste of Obruhn's reach."
Frank turned toward the shattered temple at the center of the city. Its doors were half-open, shadows pulsing inside. A whisper crawled from it, one no one could understand, but everyone felt.
"He's waiting," Frank said.
Tom moved to his side. "Then we don't keep him waiting."
The eight of them gathered their strength. They stood shoulder to shoulder, glyphs glowing like stars in the darkness, and stepped toward the tomb. Into the heart of the Hollow Vale. Into Obruhn's lair.
Whatever awaited them inside would not be a battle.
It would be a reckoning.