Cain ran.
The ruins blurred around him as he sprinted through the mist, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His muscles burned, his wounds throbbed, but none of it mattered. The shriek that had echoed through the abyss still rang in his ears, a sound so deep it rattled in his bones. Whatever had made it was coming.
He leapt over a collapsed pillar, landing on uneven ground. His foot slid against loose gravel, and he stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell. The terrain was treacherous—broken stone, sharp ridges, jagged remnants of structures long forgotten. His boots crunched against the debris as he pushed forward.
A sudden pulse of movement in the mist made him veer sharply to the right. Shapes flickered at the edges of his vision, stretching unnaturally, shifting in the fog. They moved silently, gliding along the crumbling ruins like wraiths.
Cain ducked behind a fractured wall, pressing his back against the cold stone. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs. He gripped the rusted metal rod he had scavenged earlier, though he doubted it would be much use.
The mist thinned just enough for him to see them.
There were four—no, five—creatures drifting through the ruins. Unlike the ones he had seen before, these figures did not move with erratic, twitching motions. They were eerily smooth, their bodies tall and gaunt, their skin stretched thin like parchment over bone. Their arms hung at their sides, ending in long, clawed fingers that nearly scraped the ground as they walked.
But it was their faces that sent ice through Cain's veins.
Their heads were featureless—blank expanses of pale, gray flesh, except for the deep, hollow indentations where eyes should have been. Empty sockets, black as the abyss itself. Their mouths were stitched closed by strands of dark sinew, sealing them in silence.
Cain's grip tightened on his weapon. These weren't the same creatures that had slaughtered the other prisoners. They were something else entirely. Something worse.
One of them stopped. Its head tilted slightly, as if sensing something.
Cain held his breath.
The creature lifted its hand, long fingers curling as it reached toward the air. Its claws tapped against the stone, slow, deliberate. A pulse of energy rippled from its fingertips, and the mist shifted around it, moving as if alive.
A whisper brushed against Cain's mind.
Not words, not thoughts—something deeper. A feeling, a presence pressing against his consciousness, peeling back the layers of his mind as if searching for something.
His stomach turned. His body locked up, muscles stiffening under the invisible pressure. It was inside his head.
Pain stabbed behind his eyes, sharp and searing. His breath hitched. The creature's head snapped toward him.
Cain's body reacted before his mind caught up. He twisted away from the wall, breaking into a sprint. The whisper in his mind vanished, replaced by a sudden, piercing screech.
The air behind him shattered.
Something heavy slammed into the wall where he had been crouched just seconds before, splintering the stone into jagged shards. Cain didn't look back. He bolted through the ruins, his feet barely touching the ground as he dodged crumbling debris.
Another shriek tore through the air, and the mist rushed forward. It coiled around his legs, thick and heavy, like hands trying to drag him down. He kicked forward, muscles straining, lungs burning.
A dark shape loomed ahead. A gap between two massive structures, an archway leading into a deeper section of the ruins. He had no choice but to take it.
Cain threw himself forward, diving into the narrow passage just as another blast of unseen force tore through the air behind him. The impact sent a shockwave rattling through his bones. He rolled across the stone floor, barely managing to avoid slamming into a crumbling pillar.
Silence.
Cain pushed himself up, coughing against the dust that had kicked up around him. His vision blurred for a moment before sharpening again. The air here was different—thicker, heavier. It smelled of old stone and something metallic, something almost… burnt.
The archway behind him stood intact, though mist curled at its edges, shifting but never crossing through. The creatures hadn't followed him.
He exhaled slowly, his hands shaking as he ran them through his sweat-dampened hair. He wasn't sure if he had escaped or if he had just stumbled into something worse.
The chamber ahead stretched into darkness, vast and hollow. Towering pillars lined the walls, each one covered in deep carvings, ancient runes pulsing faintly with a dull blue glow. The symbols were familiar—the same as the Titan mark he had touched earlier.
His gaze swept across the chamber. At its center, half-buried in debris, stood a massive stone throne. Cracked and worn, it loomed over the ruins like the skeleton of a fallen god.
And someone was sitting in it.
The figure was motionless, draped in what looked like ceremonial armor, though time had eroded much of its detail. A tattered cloak, dark with age, hung over its shoulders. A helmet concealed its face, though Cain could see the faint glow of blue light pulsing from within the visor.
Not dead. Not alive. Something in between.
Cain swallowed hard, stepping forward cautiously. His boots echoed against the stone floor. The moment the sound reached the throne, the figure moved.
Its head lifted. The glow within the helmet intensified, flaring bright for a fraction of a second before dimming again.
A deep, resonant voice rumbled through the chamber.
"You are not the first to come here, Vessel."
Cain froze. His breath caught in his throat.
The figure did not stand, did not shift beyond that small movement, yet its presence filled the entire room. The weight of its gaze—despite the lack of visible eyes—pressed down on him like a physical force.
"And you will not be the last."
Cain's mouth was dry, his pulse hammering in his ears. He forced himself to speak, though his voice came out hoarse. "Who are you?"
The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, in a voice that carried the weight of centuries, it answered.
"The last of the Hollow Watchers."
The name meant nothing to Cain. But somehow, deep within his bones, within the pulsing heat of the Titan Core inside him, it did.
The Watcher lifted a hand, palm facing upward. The air between them shimmered, the runes along the pillars flaring to life. The mist outside the chamber recoiled, as if whatever power had awakened within these walls had commanded it to retreat.
"Tell me, Vessel," the Watcher said, voice as deep as the abyss itself.
"Do you seek the truth?"
Cain's fingers curled at his sides. The weight in his chest felt unbearable.
Something inside him—something old, something waiting—answered before he could think.
"Yes."