They had camped near the edge of Blackthorn Forest — a dead region where nothing grew, where the soil was thin and brittle like old bone. It was a place few dared to tread, but they needed secrecy now.

The Hollow was no longer hiding its reach.

Elian sat with Cray and Lysara while Calen slept nearby, his strength returning, though not quickly. Warding glyphs burned softly in a circle around them.

"Tell me about them," Cray said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"About who?" Elian asked.

"The Fracture Cults. The new ones."

Elian exhaled. "They’re not new. Merely... awakened."

He stared into the fire, the reflection of its flames dancing in his tired eyes.

"When the Hollow Veil fractured, it didn’t just touch our world. The Old Masters reached across layers of existence. Every fracture leaks into another, feeding off fear, ambition, desperation."

He gestured toward the journal they’d recovered.

"Malrek was building bridges between these realms. And those touched by the fractures… they change. Some lose their minds. Some become conduits. Others form new cults."

Cray’s voice dropped. "How many?"

"Dozens," Elian said. "Maybe more. Each with their own patron fracture. Each carrying a shard of the Hollow’s will."

Lysara spoke up then, her voice sharp. "And each one willing to bleed this world dry for power."

She wasn’t wrong.

The Deep War wasn’t just Malrek anymore.

It was spreading like a disease.

The air shifted.

Elian stood immediately, his hand moving to the Memory Blade. Cray followed, already drawing a talisman from his coat.

"We’re not alone," Elian said.

The wards flickered.

A low chant rolled through the darkness — a language not spoken, but bled into the air.

Figures emerged from the treeline.

First six. Then twelve. Then more.

Their robes were not crimson like the Hollow Veil’s original cult. These were black, stitched with strips of silver bone. Their faces hidden behind masks made from polished onyx, carved into crude imitations of smiling faces.

Their leader stepped forward, his mask cracked down the center. In his hand, he held a crooked staff, pulsing faintly with Hollow energy.

"The Warden," the masked man spoke, voice warped as though several voices spoke at once. "We have found you at last."

Elian’s stance tightened. "Who are you?"

"We are the First Shard," the leader answered. "Born of Malrek’s vision. The Hollow has many children now."

Lysara’s hands began weaving quiet sigils behind her back, preparing.

"You shouldn’t be here," Elian warned.

The leader tilted his head. "We are everywhere. The fractures have already spread beneath your feet. You cannot stop what has already begun."

Cray muttered under his breath. "You lot are like weeds."

The First Shard leader’s mask twitched, as if amused. "No. We are roots."

And then they struck.

The cultists moved unnaturally fast.

Two surged toward Cray, claws extending from beneath their robes. He rolled back, releasing a blast of wardfire that ignited one of them mid-air. The burning figure screeched but kept moving until a second blast reduced it to ash.

Lysara whispered a binding incantation — silver chains erupted from the ground, snaring two more attackers, twisting their bodies unnaturally until their masks cracked and their forms dissolved into dust.

But for every one they cut down, more emerged from the shadows.

The First Shard leader raised his staff, slamming it into the earth.
A shockwave rippled outward — cracking the ward sigils, distorting the very ground beneath them. Black veins crawled like living serpents, trying to grasp at Elian’s legs.

He sliced them apart with a single sweep of the Memory Blade, its silver glow humming louder.

"You’re borrowing power you don’t understand," Elian said coldly. "The Hollow always consumes its own."

The leader laughed — a hollow, grating sound.
"We are willing sacrifices, Warden."

Then, from the darkness behind them, came a second force.

The Watchers.

Pale figures draped in translucent robes, their eyes black voids, faces featureless but for faint spirals carved into their skin. They moved silently — not servants of Malrek, but of an older fracture still.

Lysara froze as she saw them. "They’re not with the Shards."

Cray swore. "We’ve got multiple factions now?!"

The First Shard leader turned sharply, even his mask betraying unease.

The Watchers moved swiftly, tearing through both Shards and allies alike with long, jagged limbs, their presence radiating raw corruption. The ground around them turned to liquid shadow.

"Fall back!" Elian ordered.

They sprinted toward a break in the trees, dodging the chaos behind them as cultists and Watchers clashed, their inhuman screams echoing through the forest.

As they ran, Calen — weakened but awake — stumbled beside Elian.

"Was that... another cult?" Calen gasped.

"No," Elian said. "That was something worse."

They reached a clearing an hour later, lungs burning, hearts racing.

The forest behind them still pulsed with unnatural light — the battle between factions raging without them.

Lysara doubled over, breathing hard.
"The fractures are competing now."

"They were never unified," Elian said, scanning the horizon. "The Hollow was always... fragmented. Each piece pulling reality in different directions. Malrek was trying to control them, but without him—"

"They’re evolving," Cray finished grimly.

Calen sat heavily on a rock.
"How do we fight this? It's spreading like wildfire."

Elian stared up at the broken sky, voice quiet.

"We can’t fight them all."

He looked down at the Memory Blade — its glow flickering faintly now.

"But maybe… we can stop their source."

Lysara’s eyes narrowed. "The First Fracture."

Elian nodded.

"We end this at the root."

Far away, deeper within the folds of the Hollow, Malrek watched through a pool of shifting glass. His eyes glimmered unnaturally, his form now far less human than before.

He saw the First Shard battle the Watchers.
He saw Elian escape.

And he smiled.

"Good," he whispered to no one.
"Let the world burn itself hollow."

Behind him, the Old Masters stirred, waiting.