The Hollow Bastille.
Reinhardt had only ever heard whispers of it—a fortress carved into the bones of the world, where those deemed too dangerous to exist were cast away. No maps led to it, no records acknowledged it. It was a grave for the living.
And now, they were going to break someone out of it.
He shot Selene a look as they trudged along the uneven terrain, the night stretching endless before them. "Tell me this isn't as impossible as it sounds."
Selene smiled, but there was something in her eyes—a sharpness, a challenge. "Nothing's impossible. Just improbable."
"Comforting."
They pressed on in silence, the cold air biting at their skin. After what felt like hours, a shape emerged on the horizon. A massive structure, rising from the earth like an open wound. Dark, jagged, unnatural.
Reinhardt exhaled. "That's it."
Selene nodded. "The Hollow Bastille."
A wave of unease settled over him. This wasn't a place built by mortal hands. It reeked of something older, something cursed.
He glanced at Selene. "Tell me you have a plan."
She smirked. "Of course." Then, after a pause—"We improvise."
Reinhardt sighed, adjusting his grip on his sword.
This was going to be a disaster.