The road north led them to Hollowspire—a ruin that had once been a fortress of the Divine Houses. Its towers were blackened, the stone fused like glass. Eira explained that the city had fallen in the last great Ash War, when Sovereigns still walked the world.
Now, scavengers lived here, hunting relics and corpses.
Kael felt the shard hum as they entered the shattered gates.
The streets were eerily quiet. Statues of faceless gods lay in pieces. Ash drifts covered the ground, shifting like dunes in the wind.
"Stay close," Eira murmured. "There are things here that remember the old wars."
They didn't get far before they found the bodies.
Three of them, nailed to a wall with ash-forged spikes. Faces burned away. Chests hollowed.
Kael's gut twisted.
"Who did this?"
Eira didn't answer. Instead, she crouched beside one body and examined the wound. Her jaw tightened.
"Inquisitors."
Kael's fire stirred.
"They're ahead of us," Eira said. "And they've found something worth killing for."
The trail led them to the heart of Hollowspire—a cathedral split clean down the middle by some ancient blast. Inside, black banners hung like cobwebs. The air smelled of dust, blood, and something sweeter—like burnt honey.
At the altar, two Inquisitors knelt beside a chest. One rose, sensing them.
Kael's vision tunneled.
The chest was open—and inside lay another shard. Smaller than his, pale silver instead of red, but radiating the same kind of wrongness.
The Sovereign in him screamed.
"Take it. Devour it. Become whole."
Kael stumbled forward before he realized he was moving.
"Stop," Eira hissed. "You're not ready—"
But he didn't stop.
The Inquisitor's head snapped toward him. It stood, staff ready, the second still guarding the shard.
Kael's hands burned. The fire was already there, begging to be unleashed.
And this time, he didn't try to stop it.