The wind howled through the jagged peaks as Kiran stood at the threshold of the Void Plains.
Before him stretched an expanse of twisted land, blackened by corruption, scarred by time. The air itself seemed heavier, charged with an unnatural stillness. Nothing lived here. No birds, no insects, not even the whisper of leaves.
This was the border between worlds.
And somewhere beyond this darkness, hidden deep within the Void's grasp, was the Void Shard.
Kiran exhaled. He could feel it now.
A pull at the edges of his senses, a whisper in his bones.
This was not just a quest.
It was a reckoning.
The Weight of the Journey
He tightened the straps on his gauntlets and adjusted his cloak. He was alone now.
He had left the warriors behind—this path was his to walk, and his alone.
Lyssara had forced his hand. Malrik was moving faster than expected. If he waited, if he hesitated, the war would be lost before it even began.
He had no choice but to step into the unknown.
A Realm of Shadows
The moment he crossed the threshold, a wave of cold washed over him.
Not the cold of winter, nor even the chill of fear—this was something deeper.
An emptiness.
Like the world itself had been drained of warmth, of light, of time.
He kept moving.
His boots crunched against the blackened ground, yet there was no echo. No sound beyond his own breath.
The deeper he went, the more the landscape shifted.
The ground pulsed, as if alive.
Jagged formations of obsidian-like rock twisted upward, curling like the fingers of a dying god.
And then he saw them.
The Void Wraiths.
The First Battle
They emerged from the darkness, shifting figures of black mist and hunger.
No eyes. No mouths.
Just a void where something human-like should have been.
Kiran didn't wait.
He moved.
His blade sang through the air, slicing into the nearest wraith. The moment the steel connected, a shockwave pulsed outward—but the wraith did not die.
It reformed.
Faster.
More violent.
Kiran barely ducked in time as it lashed out, a tendril of shadow ripping through the air. He pivoted, adjusting his stance.
Normal weapons wouldn't work here.
He clenched his fist, focusing.
The mark on his chest burned.
A pulse of power surged through him.
And for the first time, Kiran let it in.
The Power Within
His vision blurred as something inside him awakened.
His veins darkened, a silver light pulsing beneath his skin.
The Hollow Mark—the very thing he had been fighting against—responded.
And when he struck this time, his blade burned with a strange, otherworldly fire.
The wraith shrieked.
Not in pain.
But in recognition.
As if it had seen this power before.
And feared it.
Kiran didn't stop to question.
He drove forward, cutting through the wraiths, his blade now something more than steel—something ancient.
And as the last wraith fell, dissolving into nothingness, Kiran stood amidst the swirling mist, his chest rising and falling.
Something had changed.
And whatever it was…
It was only the beginning.
To Be Continued…