The Echo stood in the dark, identical to Crispin in every way—same eyes, same scars, same weight behind the gaze. But its presence felt different. Heavier. Colder. Like the version of him that never stopped falling. Never stopped hating.
Crispin stepped forward, fists clenched. "Let me guess. You're me."
The Echo tilted its head. "I'm the you you've buried. The one who didn't survive Arlen's death. The one who didn't save Yara. The one who killed without guilt and smiled when the Crown whispered."
Crispin's breath caught. This wasn't a training exercise.
This was judgment.
"You're the piece holding the Crown back," the Echo said. "The part of you still pretending you're not a monster."
Crispin didn't answer. He couldn't. Because it was true. Some part of him still believed he could be saved. Still hoped he could walk away from this. Live a normal life. Be a brother. A son. A man.
The Echo raised its hand. "Let me show you what it means to stop pretending."
The air cracked open.
And the duel began.
They collided like stars.
Every movement was a blur. Every strike echoed like thunder. Crispin summoned his Echoes—three at once. They attacked in formation, weapons flashing. The Mirror-Echo cut them down with a wave.
It wasn't stronger.
It was ruthless.
Everything Crispin held back, this thing embraced.
And it was winning.
Crispin dropped to one knee, vision swimming.
He tasted blood.
He tasted fear.
"You can't beat me," the Echo said. "Not while you're still hoping someone will save you."
Crispin looked up, eyes burning.
"I don't need to be saved."
He stood.
The Crown pulsed.
And then he stopped holding back.
Everything—the rage, the grief, the hunger, the silence—he let it in. All of it.
He stepped forward and commanded the Echo.
"Arise."
The word struck like lightning.
The Mirror-Echo froze.
Flickered.
Fell.
And then it bowed.
Crispin stepped into the void where it had stood and pulled the fragment into himself.
Not to destroy it.
But to accept it.
The broken piece was still him.
And it made him whole.
The Crown ignited, white-hot, no longer humming but singing.
And the System screamed.
[CROWN EVOLUTION COMPLETE]
[CLASS ADVANCED: HOLLOW KING → ASCENDED THRONEBEARER]
[NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: SOVEREIGN'S COMMAND]
[ABILITY: CREATE — GATES THAT DO NOT EXIST YET]
Crispin opened his eyes.
He wasn't just a king now.
He was a creator.
Back in the Watchtower, Mouren bowed deeply. Revenna stared at him, her expression unreadable.
"You've crossed the threshold," she whispered.
Crispin stepped forward, his voice low.
"They made a Gate to chain gods."
He looked up at the ceiling.
"I'll make one to bury them."
And far above, in a realm no mortal could reach, the Sovereigns stirred.
Because the Hollow King had taken his first throne.
And he was no longer afraid.
The world had gone quiet since the Crown settled on his head, but it was the wrong kind of quiet—the kind before a landslide, when the ground forgets it's supposed to hold. The Watchtower didn't say it out loud, but Crispin could feel it in the way agents glanced sideways, in how conversations dropped to a whisper when he entered a room. They feared him now. Not for what he'd done. But for what he might become. The Hollow King had risen, and he wasn't dead. That alone was enough to shake the entire structure of control they'd built around the unknown.
He sat alone in a room that wasn't a room. No lights. No walls. Just raw, suspended mana shaping a space to match his mind. It responded to him now, this place. The Watchtower's central soul, once cold and clinical, now bent slightly whenever he stepped through. Revenna called it resonance. He called it a warning.
The Crown still pulsed at the edge of his senses—never asleep, never fully awake. Its presence was constant, like a heartbeat that wasn't his. Since his duel in the void, he hadn't heard the Crown speak again. But he could feel it watching. Waiting.
A knock—light, formal. Revenna entered without waiting for permission. Her armor gleamed, spotless as ever, but her face was different. Tighter. Not fear. Worry. And Revenna didn't worry easily.
"They're voting," she said.
He didn't look at her. "On what?"
"On whether you should remain here."
"Nice of them to give me a say."
"They're not. They're just deciding where to bury you if things go wrong."
Crispin turned slowly. "And you? What would you vote?"
Revenna met his eyes without flinching. "I don't vote. I train weapons. And occasionally, I choose which ones are too dangerous to keep loaded."
"Is that what I am now?"
"No. You were that the moment the Crown bonded to you. Now you're something worse."
He stood. The chamber reshaped itself around his movement—arches blooming from nothing, light curling along invisible walls.
Revenna stepped closer. "We have a lead."
"On what?"
"Your father."
Crispin stopped moving.
She continued. "We've found a sealed Gate beneath Old Virelia. It matches the mana signature from your Crown. It shouldn't exist. It's pre-System. Before the first breach was ever recorded."
He felt the Crown twitch.
"And?"
"There's something inside. Something that's been broadcasting a low-frequency signal for over a decade. A voice."
Crispin's throat tightened.
"You think it's him."
Revenna shrugged. "I think it's something pretending to be him. And if it's real, we have bigger problems than your bloodline."
"Then open it."
"You don't just open something like that. You don't tear a scar off history and hope it's healed underneath. We have to investigate—cautiously."
"No." Crispin's voice was low. Sharp. "We've waited too long. I need answers."
Revenna hesitated, then tapped a panel on her wrist. A map bloomed into view, showing the underbelly of Virelia—a sprawling network of old tunnels, discarded systems, buried secrets. One node pulsed faintly.
"We'll move tonight."
Elsewhere, across the city above, Yara David stepped off a school bus with her bag slung over one shoulder and a sketchpad clutched tight to her chest. She hated walking home alone, but it had become routine. Crispin hadn't come home in weeks. Their mother barely spoke anymore, and whatever warmth used to live in the apartment had long since evaporated.
She took the long route home, avoiding the alleys and shortcuts, sticking to the main roads like Crispin always told her. But something felt wrong. She could feel it. Not hear it. Not see it. Just… know.
The man was already following her.
She turned a corner, ducked behind a wall, and reached into her bag—not for a weapon, but for the old panic pendant Crispin had made her carry. A relic charged with a single-use teleport rune. Not military grade. Just enough to throw her half a block.
She pressed it.
Nothing happened.
The magic was dead.
Her heart slammed.
The man rounded the corner. Dressed in civilian clothes. Smiling. But his eyes weren't normal. Too still. Too hungry.
"Yara David," he said.
She backed away. "Get lost."
He kept smiling. "You look just like him."
She didn't hesitate. She screamed and threw the bag at his face, bolting into the alley. But the man didn't run. He walked. Calm. His footsteps didn't echo. And his shadow stretched toward her like a leash.
"You have something he values," he said as she ran. "That makes you important."
And then the shadows moved.
Back in the Watchtower, Crispin froze mid-step. The Crown pulsed like a gunshot against his skull.
Revenna turned. "What is it?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He was already gone.
Teleportation wasn't allowed in the Watchtower without clearance. He didn't care. The moment the Crown reached toward Yara, he followed the tether like a blade through smoke.
He appeared midair above the alley and dropped hard, slamming into the ground like a meteor. The air exploded outward. Trash bins flew. Windows shattered.
And the man turned slowly, as if unsurprised.
"You're early," he said.
Crispin didn't reply.
He raised a hand.
The Crown roared.
Four Echoes exploded into being behind him, surrounding the man in a blink.
"Step away from her," Crispin growled.
The man looked at Yara, who was frozen with wide eyes against the wall.
Then he smiled wider.
And he changed.
His skin peeled back like silk. His eyes lit with Sovereign flame. Wings unfolded—black, ethereal, jagged.
"You're not the only one with ancestors, Hollow King."
And then the alley turned to war.
Crispin moved first. A command, not a thought. The Echoes charged, their forms blurring with divine speed. One struck high, one low. The man caught both. With fingers. He twisted. Echoes shrieked and died. But they were reborn instantly—rising again like smoke reknitting.
Crispin lunged, fist wrapped in Crownfire. He struck. The man blocked.
The impact collapsed walls.
Yara screamed.
Revenna arrived a second later through a forced gate, gun blazing. Runes flashed. The man recoiled as a shot pierced his arm—but only briefly. He regrew it mid-motion.
"This isn't a Sovereign," Revenna shouted. "It's worse."
Crispin knew.
It wasn't a full god.
It was a fragment.
A child of the Gates themselves.
He called the Crown deeper.
Not for more Echoes.
For himself.
For the part of him that no longer feared dying.
"ARISE," he commanded—not at a corpse, but at himself.
And in that moment, a second Crispin appeared beside him—an Echo of his fury, molded into flesh, moving as one.
Together, they struck.
The fragment faltered.
Not because of power.
But because it recognized the signature.
"You wear his blood," it whispered, retreating.
"You wear His."
Crispin didn't stop. He pressed forward.
Revenna flanked.
Yara screamed his name.
And with one final strike, the fragment exploded in a burst of screaming mana and vanished.
Silence returned.
Smoke. Ash. Echoes fading.
Yara collapsed into Crispin's arms.
"You came," she whispered.
"I'll always come."
She nodded, eyes glassy. "I know who you are now."
He stiffened.
"What?"
She looked at the Crown.
"I remember. When I was five. Before Dad vanished. He told me you'd save me someday. That you were born to protect the Gate."
The Crown flared.
Revenna turned sharply.
"What did she say?"
Yara continued, half-conscious. "He said… if the world started to forget its own name… you'd be the one to remember it."
Crispin's hands trembled.
Back in the Watchtower, alarms screamed again.
Revenna touched her comms.
"What now?"
The voice on the other end sounded terrified.
"The sealed Gate… beneath Old Virelia. It's open."
Crispin stood slowly.
And he heard it.
A voice, ancient, hoarse, low.
Not in his head.
Not in a memory.
Through the air. Through the Crown. Through the Gate.
His father.
Screaming his name.