The path twisted like a serpent through the void, each step heavier than the last. Kael's breathing was steady, but his knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword. Behind him, Lysara moved silently, the Seed in her hand pulsing in rhythm with the floating shards that lit their way.
The whispers grew louder.
"He was the weakest of us…"
"Why did he survive?"
"You left us, Riven."
The voices weren't just Riven's memories—they were the ghosts of the Hollow Plane, feeding on doubt, on guilt.
Suddenly, Kael staggered. A memory not his own pierced into his mind.
—Riven kneeling in a burning village, bloodied hands trembling, his eyes hollow.
"I failed them… I failed everyone…"
Kael gasped, clutching his head. Lysara caught him.
"Kael!"
"I… I saw him. He's breaking."
"We have to reach him before he shatters completely."
The path ended at a towering gate—black obsidian etched with runes that shifted like living script. At its center, a sigil pulsed—three circles intertwined.
"The Trinity of Grief," Lysara murmured.
She raised the Seed. The gate responded, groaning open. Cold wind rushed out, carrying a scream that didn't sound human—but it was Riven's voice.
They entered a vast chamber shaped like a cathedral, with pillars of bone and light. In the center, floating above a pool of ink-black liquid, was Riven.
Or what remained of him.
His body hovered, wrapped in chains of light and shadow. His eyes were open but empty, his soul stretched thin across the room, fracturing into fragments that flickered in and out of existence.
Lysara stepped forward, tears in her eyes. "Riven… it's us. You're not alone."
One of the chains snapped—then another. The chamber shook. The darkness recoiled and screamed.
Kael raised his blade.
"He's still fighting. Let's help him finish it."
As they approached, the remnants of the Hollow Plane coalesced into a monstrous figure—dozens of arms, hundreds of eyes, a mouth that whispered every fear they'd ever known.
It spoke one word:
"Leave."
Kael smiled grimly. "We've come too far."
He charged.