The cold mist rolled across the surface of the Hollow Sea like silent hands reaching from the unknown. Jason stood on the rocky shore, his boots soaked, his breath ragged. Behind him, the tunnel that had taken hours to crawl through collapsed with a dull, echoing thud. He was trapped—but not alone.
Elias emerged beside him, leaning heavily on his carved wooden staff. His cloak was torn, but his eyes glowed with that same eerie clarity Jason had come to both fear and trust.
"This is it," Elias said quietly. "The Hollow Sea. Where time breaks and memories breathe."
Jason's gaze scanned the black waters. Faint lights shimmered beneath the surface—ghostly flickers like lanterns carried by invisible hands. A haunting groan echoed across the sea, not from the wind, but something deeper… older.
"Where do we go from here?" Jason asked, shivering.
Elias didn't answer. Instead, he knelt by the water, brushing his hand across a set of stone symbols barely visible along the shoreline. They pulsed dimly in response.
"The giants sleep beneath this sea," Elias murmured. "Their bones form the pillars of this realm. To cross, we need to awaken a guide."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "A guide? Like a boatman?"
"No. A memory," Elias replied cryptically. "One drawn from your bloodline."
Jason's breath caught. "My father?"
Elias nodded slowly. "Or what remains of his memory. But calling it comes with a cost."
Before Jason could respond, the sea shivered. Waves swirled in unnatural patterns, and from the dark emerged a shape—huge, ancient, and bone-white. It looked like a boat carved from the ribcage of a giant, the oars controlled by no visible hands. The boat glided silently to shore.
Jason stared. Inside the boat, a single figure materialized—hooded, cloaked in mist, and radiating familiarity.
Jason stepped forward. "Father?"
The figure didn't reply. But its head turned toward him, and in the silence that followed, Jason felt thoughts press into his mind—memories not his own. Blood. Fire. A gate of silver burning. Whispers calling his name long before he was born.
Elias spoke softly behind him. "It's a fragment. Not truly him. But his purpose lingers."
The boat's passenger extended a hand.
Jason hesitated. "What happens if I take it?"
Elias answered grimly. "You'll see what he saw. You'll walk where he walked. But beware—some truths are buried for a reason."
Jason stepped forward—and took the hand.
The world vanished.
---
He stood in the ruins of a forgotten city.
Dark towers leaned under the weight of ages, and in the sky, the moon was cracked like shattered glass. Fires burned in stone cauldrons, illuminating a battleground soaked with blood. Watchers fought in silent rage, blades flickering with ancient runes.
Jason wasn't alone. Kael stood beside him—but younger, cleaner, dressed in robes bearing the symbol of a serpent coiled around an eye.
Kael's voice was calm. "We were brothers in purpose. Not yet enemies."
Jason realized this wasn't just memory—it was the past itself.
Another figure approached—a man who looked like Jason, but older. Hardened. Scarred. This was his father.
"Kael," the man said. "You don't understand. If we open the Bloodline Gate now, the Fold won't bend—it will break."
"You fear change, Eryndor," Kael replied. "But we were born to reshape the end."
Jason's father—Eryndor—looked toward the horizon, where a black tower began to rise from the sea. "Then let the Fold decide. We'll mark the Anchors. And if the Gate opens again… it will be by blood's will."
Lightning cracked the sky. Jason's mind reeled. He felt the memory slipping.
---
He fell back into his body like crashing through water.
The boat had stopped in the middle of the sea. Elias stood within arm's reach, eyes wide.
"You saw it," Elias said. "The beginning."
Jason nodded slowly, still trembling. "Kael and my father… they were allies once."
"They were," Elias confirmed. "But ambition is a shadow. It bends even the brightest heart."
Jason looked toward the distant shore—a cliff lined with stone statues, each shaped like a Watcher.
"We're close," Elias said. "The Third Anchor lies beyond that shore. Guarded. Forgotten."
Jason's heart pounded. He remembered the vision—his father's warning, the war that nearly unmade the Fold.
As they disembarked, Jason's boots sank into black sand that whispered beneath his steps.
Suddenly, the mist parted—and a creature lunged from the shadows.
It had no face, only a swirling void where features should be. Long arms, fingers like spears. A Guardian of the Anchor.
Elias raised his staff and barked an incantation. Light erupted.
Jason dodged the strike and rolled behind a fallen statue. He reached for the mark on his arm—it burned, pulsed.
Instinct guided him. He thrust his palm forward—and the void creature shrieked as red light exploded from his veins, striking it in the chest. The Guardian faltered.
"Now!" Elias shouted.
Jason leapt, blade drawn, and drove it into the creature's heart—or what resembled one.
The monster screamed and dissolved into wind.
Silence returned.
Elias stumbled forward, blood on his cheek. "That was the Sentinel. Each Anchor is watched. And each trial will be harder."
Jason helped him up. "So what now?"
Elias pointed to a door carved into the stone wall of the cliffside. Upon it, the same serpent-eye sigil.
"You open it," Elias said. "With blood."
Jason stepped forward, cut his palm, and placed it on the door.
The stone glowed red—and slowly opened.
What lay beyond was not a room, but a spiraling staircase descending into darkness… and whispers.