The storm outside had faded, but the sky above the capital remained bruised—gray clouds swirling like a wound that refused to heal.
Word of the Hollow King's return spread faster than wildfire.
By morning, the outer districts were silent. No bells, no market chatter, no laughter. Only the heavy thrum of fear and uncertainty. Soldiers locked themselves behind barracks. Nobles packed their carriages and fled toward the coast. Priests burned their records in haste, and the royal court—once a proud nest of arrogance—was abandoned.
Auron sat on the broken throne, alone, the shattered crown at his feet.
He didn't smile.
He didn't speak.
He simply waited.
The system displayed its new state:
[Throne Claimed – Authority Status: Reinstated]
[Mask: Crown of the Hollow King – Fully Integrated]
[World State Changed: Political Vacuum Triggered]
[Warning: Dormant Factions Awakening – Threat Level: Rising]
Mira entered the hall quietly.
"You haven't moved in hours."
Auron didn't look at her.
"This throne is heavier than it looks."
She approached slowly. "We took back the capital. People are talking. Some already kneel. Some already plan to betray."
"Of course they do," he muttered.
"Because the throne doesn't rule the people," she said. "It traps the one who sits on it."
He finally looked up.
"I never wanted to rule."
"Then you're better than the last five who did."
He exhaled. "They weren't rulers. They were thieves with crowns."
"And you?" she asked.
"I'm just the shadow they couldn't bury."
In the plaza below, Jace coordinated with the remaining city guards.
Most had fled. The few who stayed swore themselves to Auron—not from loyalty, but fear. Whispers spread quickly: that the Hollow King wore the memories of every king before him, that he had killed the False Monarch with a look, that his mask could make traitors forget their own names.
Jace didn't confirm any of it.
He didn't have to.
Truth and legend were bleeding into each other now.
Later, a rider arrived from the east.
She wore silver armor, stained with road dust and blood. Her banner bore the mark of the Crimson Thorn—a rogue faction exiled from the capital two decades ago.
Mira met her in the courtyard.
The woman dismounted quickly.
"I bring word from the eastern provinces."
"Speak."
"The nobles are scattering. The old bloodlines are fighting each other for scraps. And the northern gate… it's broken."
"Broken?" Mira narrowed her eyes. "How?"
The rider hesitated.
"Something is coming. A marching silence. Entire towns vanished. Villages emptied overnight. No bodies. No signs of struggle."
She pulled something from her satchel.
A stone, smooth and black, warm to the touch.
Mira took it.
It pulsed faintly.
A rune glowed on its surface.
The mark of the Abyss.
That night, Auron stood atop the throne tower, gazing across the sleeping city.
The wind tugged at his cloak.
The stars looked different now—duller, as if dimmed by his very presence.
The system whispered again.
[Unknown Entity Detected – Far North]
[Signature: Voidbound – Class Ω]
[Advisory: Conflict Imminent – Assemble Loyal Network]
He turned as Mira approached.
"You felt it too?"
"Yes."
"It's waking."
Mira nodded. "And it's not coming for the throne."
"No," Auron said. "It's coming for me."
In a deep cavern beneath the Frostveil mountains, far from the capital, something stirred.
A heart.
Massive.
Unnatural.
Beating once every ten seconds.
Each thrum cracked the surrounding ice.
And within that frozen chamber, a voice rose like steam:
"The Hollow King has returned."
"So must the Abyss."
Back in the capital, Auron stood before the mirror chamber.
The same mirror where the False King once saw flickers of him… now reflected only truth.
He reached toward it.
The surface shimmered—not with his image, but with a dozen more behind it.
Figures cloaked in shadow.
Masked.
Waiting.
[Throne Network Reactivated]
[Other Heirs Detected – Status: Unknown, Hostile, Forgotten]
Mira read the message over his shoulder.
"There are more like you?"
"No," Auron said.
"There were."
The next morning, the Hollow King issued his first decree.
Not from a balcony.
Not through a scroll.
But through the Abyss itself.
His voice echoed across runes, across nightmares, across the hidden veins of the world.
"This is not a reign."
"This is a reckoning."
"To those who wore masks of gold while the people bled—I see you."
"To those who knelt to false crowns—I forgive you."
"To those who buried me—run."
And the world stirred.
From broken fortresses.
From ancient crypts.
From kingdoms that had forgotten his name.
Because the Hollow King was not just a ruler.
He was the reminder.
And now...
They would remember.