The stairwell beyond the echo chamber opened into a hall so vast it could have housed a kingdom. Great statues lined the walls—kings, queens, gods, and monsters—each missing their heads. Their thrones were carved from obsidian, but all were cracked or toppled.
Lucien whispered, "This… this is a tomb."
"No," Serenya corrected, her eyes flicking between statues. "This was a court."
They walked slowly beneath the vaulted ceiling, their footsteps echoing like intruders in a forgotten cathedral. The air had weight—sorrow and judgment soaked into stone.
At the hall's far end stood a single intact throne, unlike the others. It was made not of stone, but root-like veins of petrified silver that pulsed faintly. Above it, a sigil glowed: a twin spiral pierced by a sword.
Haruto's chest tightened.
The sigil—he knew it. Not from this life, but from fragments that clawed at his dreams.
Serenya exhaled. "That's the mark of the Concordant. The pantheon before the current gods. They were exiled—just like you."
Lucien stepped forward, blade lowered. "Then this city wasn't just a ruin. It was a refuge. A kingdom for the forgotten."
Haruto approached the throne. As he reached out to touch it, a ring of faint blue fire flared to life around it. Then a voice, soft and feminine, drifted from the walls.
"The Hollow Court remembers its sovereign."
A shadowy figure formed on the throne—not solid, not ghostly. A projection. A woman clad in armor woven from starlight and ash. Her eyes were empty voids, her voice echoing in layered tones.
"Haruto of no name. Bladebearer of the Null God. You were not meant to return."
Haruto stared. "Who are you?"
She did not answer. Instead, her gaze passed over Lucien and Serenya.
"The past is heavy. You carry it blindly. But there is still time to choose what shape it takes."
Haruto stepped closer. "Tell me what I lost."
The projection flickered. "When the time comes, remember this: thrones are not just seats. They are burdens. And this world does not forgive kings who rise too early."
The flames died. The throne went still.
Behind it, a new staircase revealed itself, winding deeper—lit by pale crystal veins.
Lucien muttered, "You feel that?"
Haruto nodded. "Yeah. We're being pulled toward something."
Serenya's voice was quiet. "No… toward someone."