The storm had passed.
The Maw no longer roared.
The Hollowed were ash.
But no one moved.
Jack stood at the edge of the chasm, looking down into where the rift had closed. His hand was still trembling—not from fear, but from weight. The weight of what had been broken. Of what had been set loose.
There was no Blade now. Only the memory of it, etched in scorched air.
Behind him, Nyssa, Kael, Marek, and Lola waited. None of them spoke. Not yet.
"What do you see?" Nyssa asked, finally.
Jack didn't answer. He didn't know how.
Because what he saw wasn't real—but it was. It shimmered over the world like a reflection in water—skies that didn't match the stars, ruins where there had never been cities, blood on his hands he hadn't spilled yet.
A new Echo.
A future that hadn't happened.
Or one that would.
Lola stepped beside him. "Your soul's casting shadows now."
He looked at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're out of step. Something is echoing you now."
A gust of wind passed over them, cold and clean.
Kael adjusted his grip on his blade. "What's next?"
Marek scoffed. "You're asking him? He just cracked the sky open."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Yes, you did."
Jack turned. "Enough."
They fell silent.
He took a breath—and it sounded like a wind passing through a hollow mountain. He blinked hard. "I saw something before the Blade shattered. A door. No—a gate. Sealed in chains. Something behind it, watching."
"The First Flame mentioned something would notice you," Nyssa said.
Lola frowned. "Maybe something already has."
The First Flame had vanished without another word. Her presence had lifted like morning mist. But her final glance at Jack—half wonder, half dread—still lingered in his mind.
"Let's leave this place," Jack said. "There's nothing left to fight here."
They turned from the Maw and began their descent back through the burnt ridges of the Hollowlands. But the land had changed. Trees that had never stood before now bent away from them. Stones wept oil. The sky blinked twice, like something massive had just turned its head.
Reality was cracking.
And Jack could feel it happening because of him.
They made camp near the edge of the Ashen Wastes that night. No fire. Just silence.
Jack sat apart from the others, watching the stars shift like unearthed memory.
Lola joined him.
"You okay?" she asked.
"No."
She nodded. "Didn't think so."
He glanced at her. "You said something's echoing me now. Can you explain it?"
"I can try." She drew a line in the dirt with her finger. "Every soul leaves a trace. Even a candle leaves smoke. When you broke the Blade and the chain to your other self, you didn't erase what was. You just unmoored it."
"So now… I echo myself?"
"No. Something else is echoing you. Something saw your break from fate—and it's repeating you in the dark, like a shadow behind the sun."
Jack frowned. "What is it?"
Lola looked up.
Her eyes weren't glowing anymore—but the fear in them glinted like glass. "There's a name that was forbidden even among the Guardians. One we never spoke."
Jack leaned closer. "Say it."
She hesitated.
Then, whispering so low even the wind strained to hear, she said:
"The Hollow King."
Jack's heart skipped.
"Was that… a god?"
"No," she said. "Worse. He was the first soul to ever break free of the Pattern. The first to echo before creation began. Before time. Before the Veil. He didn't walk through the world—he rewrote it."
Jack's hands clenched. "Why haven't we heard of him?"
"Because he wrote himself out," she said, eyes wide. "He hid inside the places where even memory won't go."
Jack sat back. The stars above shimmered—and for a split second, one of them blinked.
Kael approached from the other side of the camp. "Scouts from the northern pass," he said. "They saw something. A figure walking the Black Horizon. Alone. No footsteps. No shadow."
Jack rose slowly. "When?"
"Tonight."
Lola went pale. "He's coming."
Marek grunted. "Who is?"
Jack looked toward the stars—no longer trusting them to be stars.
"The Hollow King."
Kael scoffed. "Sounds like a myth."
"So did I," Jack muttered.
And the air grew still again.
Somewhere beyond the Wastes, something turned. Something patient. Something ancient. Something that had been watching Jack for a very long time—and was now echoing him back.
Not to destroy him.
But to become him.
And in the heart of the dark, a voice without a mouth whispered:
"Let us see what freedom truly costs."