They walked in silence.
The terrain shifted from broken plains into old stone roads, half-swallowed by roots and ash. Joe's boots—gifted by Riven, salvaged from an old camp—crunched over bones more than gravel. He didn't ask what kind.
"Where exactly are we going?" Joe finally asked.
"Hollowrest," Riven answered without looking back. "Used to be a pilgrim shrine. Before Torn took it."
"And what's there now?"
"Hopefully not what I think," the paladin muttered.
Joe glanced around. The wind hissed low. The trees stretched too far, their limbs twitching against the sky like hungry fingers. The air was thick with tension, like the world itself was holding its breath.
He kept one hand ready. Static tingled beneath his skin. His core pulsed with lightning every time he blinked. He was getting stronger—he could feel it—but that came with a cost. His joints ached more. His breath fogged even when the air was warm.
Soul Burn.
He wasn't healing. And using magic just made it worse.
Riven moved like he belonged in the rot. Quiet. Efficient. He kept his sword low and his stance centered, scanning every ruin they passed with practiced paranoia.
They came upon another husk of a wagon—this one overturned, coated in black moss. No bodies this time. Just the impression of things that once were. Crushed helmets. Half-buried boots. A wooden signpost snapped in half.
Riven paused.
Joe noticed it too. Symbols. Faint. Burned into the wood.
"What's that?" he asked.
Riven traced it with a gauntlet. "Ward symbol. Used to keep minor aberrants at bay."
"Does it work?"
"Used to."
The road dipped into a narrow gulch, flanked by shattered statues of weeping saints. Their faces were melted smooth—like someone had tried to erase them from memory.
Ahead, Hollowrest waited.
A ruined chapel, leaning against a broken cliff face. The windows were black. The bell tower had collapsed, its bell lying shattered like an open mouth full of broken teeth.
But inside, there was still power.
Joe felt it the second he stepped across the threshold. Lightning crawled up his arms, unbidden. Not wild. Not hostile.
Recognizing.
"This place…" Joe whispered.
"It remembers," Riven said. "Storm-touched places always do."
They moved cautiously inside. The altar at the far end glowed faintly. A single rune pulsed on the floor—an ancient mark, half-erased by claw marks and blood.
[Shrine of the Hollow Saint – Dormant]
Reactivation Requires: Memory Offering
"Of course it does," Joe muttered.
Riven looked at him. "You've been given a core, Joe. That storm inside you? It's not just power. It's a beacon. It makes you resonate with things like this."
Joe stepped toward the altar. His heart thudded. The rune flared as he approached.
"What does it mean by 'Memory Offering'?" he asked.
Riven's voice was quiet. "It means you give it something real. Something that hurt. Something that changed you."
Joe looked at his hands.
He remembered.
A man, bleeding in an alley. Joe walked away. Not helping. Not calling. Not because he was scared, but because he didn't want to get involved. Because it was easier not to care.
Because apathy was simpler than compassion.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the altar, the memory surged.
---
He was back there.
Rain. Sirens. Shouting. And a man dying at his feet.
Joe was younger. Dumber. Colder.
He remembered the guilt later. But not enough to go back.
He remembered the headlines. The reward fund. The "Good Samaritan" article that never mentioned him.
He remembered telling himself it wasn't his fault.
He remembered the lie.
---
When he opened his eyes, he was shaking. The storm inside him had gone quiet—just for a moment.
[Memory Accepted]
[Soul Resonance Achieved]
Shrine Activated.
A pulse of pale light spread across the chapel. The walls seemed to stand straighter. The dark lifted just slightly.
And Joe breathed—cleanly, for the first time since waking in Torn.
"Something's changed," he whispered.
Riven nodded. "You gave it weight. Now it sees you."
Joe didn't know what that meant.
Before he could ask, the shrine pulsed again.
[Hostile Response Detected]
Aberrants Approaching – Estimated Count: 5
Initiating Trial of Storm and Stone
Joe turned just in time to see the shadows split open.
Five aberrant creatures stalked through the chapel's ruined doors—versions of the first monster Joe had fought, but faster. Smarter. Their cores pulsed in unison.
Joe raised his hands.
Riven drew his blade.
"Time to earn that title, Stormborn," the paladin growled.
And they fought.