The Hollow was quiet again.
The battle had ended as suddenly as it began, leaving behind a silence so heavy it pressed against the skin. Dust drifted in the air, mingling with faint traces of light that still shimmered where the fallen Seraph had perished.
Ardyn stood at the edge of the crater, his sword planted in the cracked earth. The blade's glow had faded, but warmth still pulsed faintly through its hilt — the lingering heartbeat of a god's power. His breath came slowly, even now touched by that same strange calm that filled him during the fight.
He had killed angels before. But never ones that were already dead.
Behind him, the Forsaken stirred among the ruins of their camp. The masked figures moved quietly, gathering shards of broken light that still hissed faintly where they touched the ground. Their movements were reverent, careful. They didn't speak to him, but they watched him — warily, almost fearfully.
The chained priest was the first to approach.
He stopped a few paces away, his cloak torn and streaked with dust. "You shouldn't have done that," he said softly.
Ardyn looked up, his voice steady. "Shouldn't have survived?"
"Shouldn't have fought." The priest's tone was weary. "Every time one of them falls, the others feel it. They'll come."
"They already were."
The man's gaze lingered on the crater where the angel's remains still pulsed faintly, like embers refusing to die. "You don't understand," he said. "These things don't die the way mortals do. When their light fades, something else wakes in its place."
He turned away and gestured for the others to retreat deeper into the Hollow. Ardyn followed, his steps heavy, his mind clouded with questions.
The tunnel they entered was narrow at first, carved into the ribcage of the ancient god. The walls glowed faintly with veins of light that pulsed in slow rhythm — not mechanical, but alive. The deeper they went, the more the light dimmed, until only the soft gleam of their lanterns guided the way.
After a while, the passage opened into a vast cavern. The air was thick with the scent of metal and dust. At the center of the cavern stood a massive altar of black stone, covered in cracks that glowed faintly with a pale golden hue.
"This is where we remember," the priest said.
He stepped up to the altar and laid his chained hands upon it. The glow intensified, spreading across the surface like veins of light beneath skin. Faint whispers filled the air — voices layered atop one another, neither alive nor dead.
Ardyn watched in silence.
"These are the echoes of those who defied Heaven," the priest said. "The Forsaken who refused to kneel. We gather their memories so that the truth of what was lost is not forgotten."
Ardyn frowned. "Truth?"
The priest's smile was tired. "You were one of them once, weren't you? One of the chosen."
Ardyn didn't answer. The silence between them deepened until only the sound of the altar's heartbeat remained.
At last, the priest spoke again. "Tell me, Godslayer. Do you still remember their faces?"
The question struck like a blade.
Ardyn turned his gaze away. "Faces blur. Voices fade. All that remains is the sound of burning."
The priest nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer.
He lifted one of his chained hands and pressed it to his chest. The glow around his wrists flared brighter for a moment, and with a faint hiss, a fragment of light detached itself and drifted toward Ardyn.
It hovered before him, pulsing gently.
"A memory," the priest said. "Take it. It may help you understand what you've become."
Ardyn hesitated. The shard vibrated faintly in the air, its glow soft but insistent. When he reached out, it sank into his palm without resistance.
A sudden flash filled his mind.
He was standing in another place — a sky of fire and glass, a city crumbling beneath the weight of divine light. Figures in golden armor knelt before a towering presence, their halos burning white. A single man stood apart from them, sword raised, defying the heavens as light poured from his veins like blood.
You cannot slay what was never alive, a voice whispered. But you can unmake it.
The vision shattered.
Ardyn staggered, clutching his head. The sword at his side hummed in response, faintly resonating with the echo.
When his vision cleared, the priest was watching him closely.
"What did you see?"
"Fire," Ardyn said. "And something that used to be me."
The priest nodded. "The Remnant remembers everything, even what you wish to forget. It is not a gift. It is a chain."
Ardyn's gaze fell to the man's wrists. "Like yours?"
The priest smiled faintly. "Mine were forged by gods. Yours by choice."
They stood in silence for a while. The others worked quietly in the shadows, tending to small altars carved into the walls, each holding fragments of glowing light — memories of the fallen, perhaps, or remnants of divinity too weak to speak.
After some time, Ardyn spoke again. "You said they'll come. How long do we have?"
The priest's expression darkened. "A day. Maybe less. The Hollow shields us from their gaze, but the moment you unleashed that light, the veil trembled. They will not stop."
"Then we'll be ready."
The priest looked at him as if seeing something he didn't know whether to fear or admire. "You speak as though victory is possible."
Ardyn sheathed his sword and glanced toward the tunnel leading back to the surface. "If it wasn't, Heaven wouldn't be so afraid of me."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the priest sighed. "There's something you need to see."
He motioned for Ardyn to follow him deeper into the cavern. The air grew colder, heavier, until it almost vibrated with unseen pressure. The tunnel narrowed again before opening into a chamber lined with statues — not of saints or angels, but of men and women carved in poses of despair. Their faces were etched with agony, their hands raised toward a sky that wasn't there.
"These were the first Forsaken," the priest said quietly. "Those who defied the Voice when it commanded them to kneel. Heaven burned their bodies, but their souls fused with the stone. They became the foundation of the Hollow."
Ardyn ran a hand across one of the statues. The stone was warm to the touch, pulsing faintly beneath his fingers. For a brief moment, he thought he heard something — a whisper, a plea.
"They're still alive," he said softly.
"In a way," the priest replied. "Heaven called it mercy. We called it imprisonment."
Ardyn's eyes lingered on the faces frozen in pain. "And you stayed here, among them?"
"This is all that's left of our faith," the priest said. "We guard the bones of gods and the silence of those who loved them. Someone must remember what Heaven has done."
Ardyn looked at him. "And if memory is the chain that binds us?"
The priest smiled faintly. "Then perhaps one day, it will bind Heaven too."
They stood in silence, surrounded by the unmoving dead.
Then Ardyn felt it — a faint tremor beneath his feet. The same hum that had filled the air before the battle began.
He turned sharply. The sword at his side flared again.
Remnant resonance detected.
Proximity: Unknown.
Signature: Celestial.
The priest's eyes widened. "Already?"
Ardyn didn't answer. He stepped toward the tunnel, his hand tightening on the hilt. The air grew colder with every step.
When he reached the entrance, the faint glow of the Hollow flickered once, then dimmed. A ripple passed through the ground, followed by a distant, hollow cry that echoed through the tunnels.
The Forsaken gathered behind him, fear etched into every movement.
"They found us," one whispered.
Ardyn's gaze hardened.
The System's faint hum filled his thoughts again.
Directive: Protect the Remnant.
Status: Interference detected.
Authority required: Override possible.
He didn't know what that meant, not fully. But he could feel the pulse of the power inside him shifting, responding.
The priest's voice broke through the tension. "If you fight here, the Hollow will collapse. The bones will shatter."
Ardyn glanced back at him. "Then tell me where to lead them."
The man hesitated, then pointed toward the far tunnel — the one leading beyond the ribcage of the fallen god. "There's a breach at the edge of the plain. It leads into the ruins of the first city. If you can draw them there, we may have a chance."
Ardyn nodded once.
He started forward, the others watching as he climbed the tunnel back toward the surface. The light grew dimmer with each step until only the faint pulse of his sword remained to guide him.
When he emerged into the wasteland again, the sky was shifting — cracks of light bleeding through the stone above, like wounds in the heavens themselves.
The horizon burned faintly.
They were coming.
Ardyn raised his sword, the glow spreading along its length like dawn breaking in reverse.
The System whispered in his mind.
Remnant synchronization expanding.
Authority of Defiance increasing.
He could feel it now — the pull of that old, impossible power. The weight of rebellion that once burned through his soul.
He looked toward the distance, where the light grew brighter, and for the first time since his return, a small, grim smile crossed his face.
"If Heaven wants its war again," he murmured, "then let it begin with me."