Chapter 23

The cavern swallowed us whole.

Beyond the shattered iron doors, the space stretched into a vast hollow of jagged stone and timeworn ruins. Stalactites hung like the fangs of some slumbering beast, their tips wet with condensation, while the uneven floor was littered with broken mining tools and rusted chains. The air smelled of damp earth and something else—something older. Beneath the usual scents of decay and dust, there was a faint, metallic tang, like blood left too long in the cold.

Skarnvalk's runes pulsed faintly in my grip, the hammer's light swallowed by the oppressive darkness beyond. My breath curled in the frozen air as I scanned the cavern, my mind sharpening, cataloging. The Path was here, had been here for some time. That much was obvious.

But something else had been here long before them.

I stepped forward, boots crunching against loose gravel. Karvek flanked me, his grip white-knuckled on the hilt of his newly-forged sword, his eyes darting to every shadow. Lisett moved with the careful grace of a woman who understood all too well what kind of things liked to hide in places like this. And behind us, Karvek's men limped along, their breath labored, their bodies barely holding together.

We were running out of time. If the Path didn't kill them, the cold and exhaustion would.

"Look there," Lisett murmured, her voice barely louder than a breath. She pointed past a collapsed support beam toward the far end of the cavern.

Torchlight flickered between the ruins.

Figures moved through the gloom, distorted by distance and shadow. The Path. They were deep in their work, hauling crates, shifting rubble, dragging chains. But what caught my eye wasn't the labor—it was the altar.

It loomed at the center of the cavern, a slab of black stone streaked with veins of silver that pulsed faintly, as though light lived inside them. The surface was scarred with ancient runes, deep carvings filled with something dark and viscous, something that shimmered unnaturally even in the dim torchlight.

I didn't recognize the language, but the meaning was clear.

Containment. Suppression. Sealing.

And the Path was trying to break it.

I exhaled through my nose, the sound lost beneath the cavern's stillness. The hair on my arms prickled under my armor. I'd seen old things, cursed things. I'd worked metal so ancient it resisted even the hottest flames. But this—this felt different.

This felt alive.

Karvek shifted beside me. "They don't look like they're expecting company."

"They wouldn't," I muttered. "They think they're alone down here. That whatever the dwarves left behind is too dead or too broken to stop them."

Lisett's fingers tightened around her staff. "Are they wrong?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I crouched lower, keeping my steps light as I moved toward the crumbling edge of a mining cart rail. From this vantage, I could see them more clearly—seven, maybe eight Path operatives. Not just foot soldiers. These weren't the usual brigands and mercenaries they threw at their problems. These were ruin scholars, alchemists, handlers of things that should've been left in the ground.

And they were close. Too close.

I felt Skarnvalk hum in my grip, its weight shifting subtly as if it, too, knew the balance was about to tip. Whatever the Path was after, they were almost done unearthing it. And if they succeeded, we wouldn't be dealing with just another faction war.

We'd be dealing with something worse.

Karvek's voice was low, urgent. "We take them now, while they're focused."

"We don't know what they're dealing with," Lisett hissed.

"Doesn't matter," I said, straightening. "If we wait, they'll finish their work. And I'm not keen on finding out what happens when they do."

Karvek nodded once. "Then we hit hard, fast, and leave nothing standing."

Lisett let out a slow, controlled breath, shaking her head. "I swear, you dwarves and your need to hammer everything into the ground."

"It works," I muttered.

And then I moved.

The first guard never saw me coming.

Skarnvalk's head crunched into his ribs, the force lifting him off his feet before slamming him into the cavern floor. A sickening snap echoed through the hollow, and his torch spun wildly before extinguishing in the dirt.

Before the others could react, Karvek and his men were on them, blades flashing in the dim light. The clash of steel rang through the cavern as the Path scrambled, caught between fight and flight. But they weren't soldiers. Not these ones.

They were scholars and handlers, people who dug up power and expected others to wield it.

That made them easy prey.

I swung Skarnvalk in a brutal arc, the hammer's runes flaring as it caved in another operative's skull. Bone crunched. He dropped like a sack of ore.

Lisett moved with purpose, her staff jabbing hard into a third man's throat before he could finish drawing his weapon. He collapsed, choking, his fingers clawing at his crushed windpipe.

But the moment of control didn't last.

From the far side of the altar, a figure emerged—a woman clad in heavy robes, her face obscured by an iron mask carved with intricate, angular runes.

The moment I saw her, I knew.

Ruin master.

She didn't flinch at the sight of her men dying. She didn't call for reinforcements. She simply raised one hand, fingers curling into a fist.

The altar pulsed.

And the world shifted.

A wave of force slammed into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs and sending me skidding backward across the stone. My head rang, my vision blurred.

Karvek swore, barely keeping his footing. One of his men wasn't so lucky—he flew backward, smashing against a pillar with a wet, sickening crack.

Lisett had her hands up, her expression one of fierce concentration. Whatever magic the ruin master was wielding, she was fighting it, barely keeping it at bay.

And then I saw the cracks.

The altar was breaking.

Whatever the Path had been trying to unearth, they had just succeeded.

The ruin master turned her masked face toward me, and though I couldn't see her expression, I could feel her satisfaction.

"You are too late, dwarf," she said, her voice smooth, almost amused. "The seal is broken. The Hollow wakes."

The ground beneath us trembled.

From within the cracks in the altar, something stirred. Something deep. Something hungry.

A sound rumbled up from the earth—not a roar, not a voice, but something between them. It was a presence, thick and suffocating, as though the cavern itself had drawn breath for the first time in an age.

I forced myself to my feet, shaking off the ache in my chest. "I've spent my whole damn life sealing cracks," I growled, rolling my shoulders. "I can seal this one, too."

The ruin master tilted her head. "You truly don't understand, do you?"

A fissure split open beneath the altar.

And from the darkness below, something began to rise. 

The cavern lurched beneath my feet. Dust rained from the ceiling, small stones rattling loose as the earth itself trembled. I gritted my teeth, tightening my grip on Skarnvalk. The hammer's runes burned bright, their faint blue light swallowed by the growing darkness crawling up from the fissure.

Then, the thing rose.

A grotesque limb—scaled, massive, and wreathed in black mist—emerged from the depths. The talons sizzled against the stone, hissing like molten iron meeting ice. The air grew thick, suffocating, pressing into my chest like a forge's bellows held too long against a dying ember.

The ruin master watched in silence, her masked face unreadable. But I could feel her satisfaction, radiating through the cavern like a sickness.

"The Hollow does not forget." Her voice was smooth, untouched by the chaos. "The Hollow does not forgive. It only devours."

The words were not a threat. They were a promise.

Then she raised both hands, fingers twisting in the air, and the thing in the darkness responded.

The cavern erupted into motion.

The force of its emergence tore the cavern apart. Stone cracked, pillars crumbled, and the Path's scholars scattered, their torches blinking out like dying stars. Karvek cursed, dragging one of his remaining men out of the way of a collapsing beam.

Lisett's hands moved in a blur, a shimmer of protective magic flaring in front of her as a boulder slammed down, inches from crushing her outright. She threw a look at me, her expression carved from steel.

"We need to stop this!"

"No shit!" I bellowed, wrenching Skarnvalk up and charging.

I had one goal—reach the ruin master. End her.

But the Hollow had other plans.

As I surged forward, the thing's head rose from the chasm—or at least, something resembling a head. A twisting mass of blackened bone, its eye sockets empty pits, yet somehow I knew it was watching.

Then it screamed.

A sound like splintering rock and grinding steel, a wail that crawled into my skull and scraped against my bones. Karvek and his men staggered, one of them dropping to his knees, clutching his ears.

Lisett recoiled, gasping, her spell faltering.

And me?

I kept running.

My boots pounded the trembling ground, the hammer's runes flaring brighter with every step. The ruin master saw me coming, but this time, I was ready.

She lifted one hand to weave her magic—too slow.

I swung.

Skarnvalk met her ward with a deafening explosion of energy.

Her defenses shattered, the force ripping the mask from her face, sending her stumbling backward. I caught a glimpse of ashen skin, of wild, silver eyes filled not with fear, but exultation.

"You don't understand," she gasped, "You are just a smith—"

I cut her off with another swing.

She dodged at the last second, but Skarnvalk caught her shoulder, sending her spinning.

I went to finish it, but the Hollow moved.

The ground cracked open beneath me.

A shadowy tendril whipped out, latching around my leg. Cold. So cold. It wasn't just gripping me—it was pulling something out, something deeper than flesh or bone.

Memories flickered in my mind—the forge, my father's hammer in my hands, the smell of burning coal, the weight of loss when I buried my clanmates under a collapsed ruin.

It was trying to take me.

No.

With a roar, I slammed Skarnvalk down onto the tendril, the runes flaring so bright it cast harsh shadows against the cavern walls.

The thing shrieked, recoiling as I tore myself free.

But the Hollow was waking.

More tendrils slithered from the fissure, more limbs clawed at the stone, and the ruin master, bleeding, her robes torn, only laughed.

"It knows you, dwarf," she whispered, grinning through the pain. "It knows your blood. And it wants you."

Lisett's voice cut through the chaos—a sharp, desperate cry.

"Doran! The altar!"

I whipped around.

The black stone pulsed violently, the runes flickering like a failing forge flame. The seal was breaking, but it wasn't gone yet.

A chance.

If we could destroy the altar, we could stop this.

I moved.

I sprinted through the crumbling battlefield, weaving between collapsing pillars. Karvek fought to keep the remaining Path operatives off me, his blade a blur of steel and vengeance. Lisett chanted, sweat dripping down her face as she tried to reinforce the breaking magic.

And me?

I lifted Skarnvalk high, its runes blazing—

And I brought it down.

The impact rippled through the cavern.

A shockwave of force cracked through the stone, splitting the altar in two.

The Hollow screamed.

A sound like a dying star, collapsing in on itself, a hungry wail filled with pure rage and agony.

The fissure shuddered—then began to collapse.

The ruin master's eyes widened. "No—!"

The ground swallowed her whole.

The Hollow recoiled, tendrils flailing as the magic binding it failed. It sank back into the chasm, dragged down, its massive form losing cohesion, unraveling like thread pulled from an ancient tapestry.

And then—

Silence.

When the dust finally settled, I was on my knees.

The cavern was ruined—broken stone, collapsed tunnels, the bodies of Path operatives littered across the battlefield.

Karvek staggered, his blade bloodied, his breath ragged. One of his men lay still, unmoving.

Lisett was swaying, barely standing, her magic burnt out.

We had won.

But the Hollow had seen me.

Whatever that thing was, it had reached into me, into something deeper than flesh or bone.

I had felt it.

And I knew, even now, as I stood among the ruins of Brugath's Hollow—

It wasn't finished with me.

Not yet.