The convoy rumbled across the wasteland, engines coughing against the storm.
Ash swirled in the air — fine as snow, bitter as bone.
Lucien sat at the front of the lead transport, staring through the cracked windshield. The glow of the Skywall shimmered faintly behind them — a trembling blue scar on the horizon.
Isaac sat in the back, blindfold damp with the heat of his own aura. He hadn't spoken since they left the wall. The soldiers gave him space, pretending not to notice the faint burn marks his presence left on the metal floor.
When the convoy halted, the silence was deafening.
The outpost lay ahead — or what remained of it. Watchtowers had collapsed inward, walls warped and blackened. Runes etched into the ground sputtered weakly, bleeding red light into the mist.
Lucien stepped out first. "This was supposed to be a forward observation camp," he muttered. "No one was supposed to be here."
Isaac tilted his head. "No one ever is when the cult moves."
They advanced cautiously through the ruins. Charred corpses in crimson robes littered the courtyard, hands frozen mid-prayer. Their blood traced spirals in the dirt, all converging toward a single glowing rune — massive and unstable, pulsing like a dying heart.
Lucien started to speak. "Get the techs—"
But Isaac was already moving.
He walked around the rune, his boots crunching over scorched stone. The sigils pulsed brighter with every step as the curse within him stirred. He could feel it — the hunger — pressing against his ribs, whispering at the edge of thought.
He let it feed. Just enough.
As per their contract, it would not take his body so long as he offered it fragments to devour.
A low hum rippled through the air. Every rune trembled in answer to his presence.
Then the whispering began.
A lone cultist knelt at the rune's center, veins split open with crawling black veins. His mouth twisted into a grin.
"The Crown… remembers its kin…"
Lucien drew his sword. "Stop him!"
Isaac didn't move. "Too late."
The rune flared violently. A wave of light erupted outward as Hollowborn silhouettes emerged from the mist — twisted, shrieking, drawn by the rune's call.
"Fall back!" Lucien shouted. Soldiers scrambled for cover, but Isaac stood still, coat whipping in the storm.
"You can't fight them all!" Lucien barked.
Isaac turned slightly. "Who said I'm fighting?"
He stepped into the burning rune. The light twisted around him, divine energy clashing against his curse. The air screamed.
For a heartbeat, his reflection appeared in the glowing surface beneath his feet — smiling faintly, cruelly.
The cultist's eyes widened. "Monster—"
Isaac's voice was calm, almost bored. "Monsters don't follow orders."
The rune shattered. The Hollowborn wailed as the surge consumed them, the outpost swallowed in white flame.
When it cleared, ash fell like snow.
Lucien stood at the edge of the ruin, eyes wide, throat tight.
Isaac remained in the center — blindfold fluttering in the wind, his aura dimming back to silence.
The air seemed to whisper again, faint and satisfied.
"You fed me well."
Isaac exhaled softly. "Don't get used to it."
The ash swirled once more, then fell still.