The sanctum beneath the ruins of Vaelmir was steeped in shadows, lit only by the violet pulse of old wards and the shimmer of Nyssa's failing magic. Dust curled in the air like ghost smoke, and every breath she drew tasted of stone and memory. The mural still loomed behind her—roots of the World Tree encircling the realms, and at the center, a hollow boy lost in its heart.
Marek paced nearby, rubbing his arms as if trying to shake off the Herald's words. "So… just to be clear—we're chasing a myth? A compass that may or may not exist, to find a breach no one knows how to reach, to rescue someone who sealed himself in a living void?"
Nyssa didn't look up from the Shattered Sigil. "That's about right."
"Well," Marek muttered, "I've risked my life for less noble causes. But this still feels like a fool's errand."
Nyssa ignored him. The sigil—once a sunlit disk of silver and ember—was cracked now, its glow flickering like a dying star. And yet, it pulsed in rhythm to something. A tether. A call. Somewhere beyond the veil of their realm, Jack was alive. She could feel it in her blood, in the thrum behind her ribs every time she slept.
The Herald's words hadn't shaken her—they'd confirmed it.
"You said there's a sanctum vault deeper down?" Marek asked after a moment. "One of the old archives?"
Nyssa nodded. "The Ashen Compass was last seen in the hands of the Hollow Saints—priests of the first Sundering. They kept their relics sealed beneath the temples that survived the fracture. This is one of them."
"Fantastic," he said. "Why is it always temples and crypts and sanctums? Why can't powerful relics ever be hidden in nice, open meadows?"
"Because meadows don't hold back gods," she replied, stepping toward the sealed stairwell at the sanctum's rear. She whispered a few words, etched a mark with her thumb into the stone. The ancient binding shivered—and slowly opened, stone grinding against stone.
Cold air burst from the dark beyond.
Marek drew his curved blade. "Ladies first."
They descended slowly. The steps spiraled, and the deeper they went, the more the air thickened—heavy with old magic, like walking through a river of memory. The torches flared to life on their own, igniting in blue flame that cast shifting shadows on the walls.
Etchings lined the corridor: scenes of celestial wars, starborne beasts, and kings who'd turned to ash in their pursuit of immortality.
Finally, they reached a vast circular chamber. A pedestal stood at the center, floating slightly above the ground, surrounded by a ring of broken sigils.
And atop it—suspended within a lattice of faint light—was the Compass.
It was smaller than Nyssa imagined. Not a disk, but a sphere of obsidian glass, cradled in a setting of ivory and silver. Symbols churned slowly within its core—maps of places that no longer existed.
"Is that it?" Marek whispered. "It doesn't look like much."
"It's older than the Sundering," Nyssa said softly. "It was carved from a shard of the Hollow Star. It doesn't just show maps. It shows wounds in reality."
She stepped forward carefully.
That was when the shadows in the chamber stirred.
Figures emerged from the stone. Tall, faceless beings wrapped in tattered robes—Guardians of the Old Seal. Their forms flickered, as if half-formed, bound to the magic of the room. And in unison, they raised their arms.
"Who seeks the path to the Hollow?"
Nyssa stepped into the light. "I am Nyssa of Vaelmir. Shieldmaiden of the Bound Flame. I seek the Compass to find one who was lost beyond the breach."
The figures said nothing for a long moment. Then one of them extended a hand. "To walk the Hollow, one must surrender what binds them to the Light."
Marek leaned in. "Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means."
Nyssa stepped closer to the pedestal. Her heart pounded. She could feel it—the pull of the Compass. It recognized her. But the seal would not break unless she gave something in return.
A sacrifice.
She took a breath, then reached into her satchel and pulled out the last remnant of the Heart of Elandir. A crystal sliver, still glowing faintly.
The Guardians reacted instantly. The chamber thrummed with power.
Nyssa stepped forward and placed the shard into the hollow atop the pedestal.
The Compass glowed.
The pedestal shattered.
The chamber erupted in light.
Marek shouted. Shadows screamed. Nyssa's vision filled with stars—and then she was falling. Through realms, through memory, through fire.
When the light faded, she stood alone on a sea of glass.
Above her, the stars wheeled wildly in a sky without a moon. Below, the Compass hovered—glowing like a miniature sun. And all around her… silence.
Then a voice:
"Nyssa."
She turned.
And there he was.
Jack.
But not as he had been.
His form was cloaked in shadow and light, torn between presence and absence. His eyes were not his own—they were silver, filled with endless storms.
"Jack," she breathed.
He smiled—just for a moment. Then the Compass shuddered, and he stepped back.
"You shouldn't have come."
She ran forward—but he was already fading.
The Compass dimmed.
And then she was back in the chamber.
Collapsed. Gasping.
The Compass hovered in her hand—warm now. Alive.
Marek rushed to her side. "What happened?! Are you—are you glowing?!"
She blinked, tears in her eyes. "He's alive."
"What?"
"I saw him," she whispered. "He's trapped. He's losing himself. But he's alive."
Marek's face paled. "Then we're already too late."
She shook her head.
"No. Now… we fight to bring him back."
And the Compass pulsed again, showing the path to the next breach.
To the Hollow.
To the end—and the beginning—of all things.
"""