Kael stood in a vast, golden hall, its walls covered in ancient carvings. The light of a thousand torches burned without fire, illuminating a single massive throne at the far end of the chamber.
And on that throne sat a shadow.
The figure was cloaked in darkness, its face obscured, but its presence was suffocating. It radiated power, hunger, and something worse—an endless void where light should be.
"The Lost Heir finally awakens."
The voice slithered through the chamber, neither loud nor soft, but absolute.
Kael felt a chill creep up his spine. He knew, without a doubt, that this was the Hollow King—the entity the Guardian had warned him about.
The shadowed figure leaned forward. "You think gathering the crown's fragments will bring salvation? Foolish boy."
Kael clenched his fists, gripping both fragments tightly. "You're afraid."
The Hollow King chuckled, a sound that sent cracks rippling through the golden walls. "Afraid? No. But I do admire your defiance. It will make breaking you all the more satisfying."
Kael's vision blurred again, and the golden hall shattered.
He gasped as he was pulled back into the real world, collapsing to his knees in the temple ruins.
Lyra rushed to his side. "Kael! What happened?"
He looked up, breathless, and met her gaze.
"We're not just searching for the crown," he said. "We're racing against something else."
Lyra frowned. "What do you mean?"
Kael clenched the fragments in his hands.
"The Hollow King knows I exist."
And now, he was coming for him.