Herald of Rot

The light around them pulsed.

And suddenly the stars grew brighter, closer, then settled.

The ground beneath them shivered with purpose.

The Watcher stepped back, her luminous robes flickering like distant galaxies. She began to fade.

"Others will come," she said. "Not all who pass the gates are bearers. Some are broken. Some seek only refuge. Some hunger for power…"

Her voice thinned like starlight drawn into the void. "But remember, some will remember what has been forgotten. And they will be older than you can fathom."

Her final words echoed like bells across a frozen sky.

"When the sky sings, do not answer alone."

Silence followed.

The gate behind them shimmered faintly, folding in on itself. For now, sealed.

But ahead, across the Hollow's infinite expanse, shadows stirred, columns of drifting shape, constellations collapsing into silhouettes.

Kalavan's hand drifted to a dagger at his belt, the echo of his vision still clawing at the back of his thoughts.

Yan stepped closer to Ryu, her stance calm, but her eyes sharp. "We're not alone anymore."

"No," Ryu said quietly.

He looked down at his hand. The mark spun slowly, like a star trying to remember its orbit.

"We never were."

Behind them, the Hollow rumbled, like a vast, unseen beast disturbed by footsteps too bold.

The stars trembled. Ryu felt it in his chest.

It was time to leave.

He gave the Hollow one last glance, then stepped back into the light. Yan followed, hand brushing his. Kalavan trailed behind, wordless and watchful. Elyra was last, her eyes scanning the horizon, wary of what might follow.

And then the Hollow vanished.

They returned to Mount Veylun in a rush of soundless compression. The cold struck like a hammer, windless and clean. Their breath fogged instantly. The stone beneath their boots felt too real, too sharp.

Behind them, the Gate of Echoes shimmered once… and sealed.

Ryu staggered slightly, one hand against the stone wall. The mark on his palm still glowed, no longer pulsing with warning, but resonating, like a song he didn't yet know the words to.

Yan placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "We're back."

He looked at her and smiled faintly. "We are."

They descended quickly, silent but alert.

Elyra said nothing the entire way down. But when they stopped at a frozen spring to rest, she finally broke the quiet.

"What we saw in the Hollow…" she began slowly, "that wasn't just a vision or a place. It was an interface. A bridge for something larger to speak through."

Kalavan tilted his head. "And you've seen one before?"

"Not exactly," she said, brushing frost from her sleeve. "But I've felt echoes. Flashes. Not like that. Not this clear. And whatever watches us through those gates… it's not fully awake yet."

She paused. "Even I've never met one of the beings from the other side. So what we met, might not have been one at all. Just a fragment."

Ryu exhaled slowly. His breath curled in the cold. "Then we speak carefully from now on."

Seven weeks had passed.

The journey, from Phoenix City to the Hollow and back, had left its mark on them all.

But it wasn't just the team that had changed.

The city had changed too.

As they crossed the final ridge and descended into the valley, Phoenix City rose in the distance, its towers sharper, its gates fortified. The streets were cleaner. The Qi in the air flowed freely now, untainted, steady.

At the outer gate, guards stood tall, their armour polished and pristine. The crest on their shoulders gleamed: the Phoenix, wrapped in flame, flanked by twin wings.

Their posture stiffened as the group approached.

"Halt! State your business."

Yan stepped forward, her cloak falling open, her stance regal but unforced.

"I am Princess Yan Phoenix."

The guard blinked; eyes wide. He looked from her to the others, then back to her.

He bowed, quickly. "P-Princess Phoenix. The General is expecting you."

The other guard's voice quivered. The memory was still fresh, etched behind his eyes like ash.

Yan nodded once. "Then open the gate."

They passed into the city without delay.

Inside the palace, General Oliver Phoenix stood at the centre of the Flame Hall.

His crimson and gold armour shone under flickering torches, and the great sword strapped to his back gave off a faint heat. That blade, older than the walls themselves, had been forged with Qi and fire, carried by the Phoenix bloodline for over 38,000 years. Nearly a greatsword to most, but in the General's grip, it moved like a longsword.

He hadn't slept, but his mind was sharp. Every strategist in the court knew one truth: Oliver Phoenix was never caught unprepared.

When Yan entered, he approached and pulled her into a brief embrace, not as a general, but as a grandfather.

"You made it back."

Yan smiled softly. "I always do."

His gaze moved past her, landing on Ryu.

"You're the boy with the mark."

Ryu bowed. "Yes, sir."

Oliver's face didn't shift, but his tone softened. "Walk with me."

He led Ryu into a quiet chamber, no banners, no nobles, just a table and a continental map spread wide across its surface.

Three locations were marked in red.

"We've tracked three energy pulses matching what you did in Veylun," he said, pointing. "One near the coast of Vesta. One in the southern waters. And this…"

He tapped the eastern sea.

"A ship drifted in a week ago. No flag. No signal. One survivor. A girl."

He paused.

"She carried a mark. Same as yours. Inverted."

Ryu's pulse spiked. "Did she say anything?"

Oliver shook his head. "No message. She collapsed before she could."

His face grew grim.

That night, Ryu stood beneath the phoenix statue in the palace gardens, where Yan once played as a child.

The stars had not returned to their proper places. The sky was still crooked, like the world had twisted just slightly off its axis.

He looked down at his hand. The mark still burned softly.

Then, in the distance,

Thunder.

Not the kind born of storms or summoned Qi.

This was older.

Heavier.

It rolled across the ground like a drumbeat of war, thousands of clawed feet striking in perfect rhythm.

The guards atop Phoenix City's southern wall turned at once. At first they thought it was a quake.

Then they saw the dust.

Black. Churning. Alive.

When the wind shifted, they heard it clearly.

Screaming.

Not beast.

Not man.

Something else.

Inside the Flame Hall, General Oliver stood at the centre of the command floor.

A messenger burst through the doors, his armour scraped, blood across his chest.

"Sir! It's not raiders, it's beasts! Twisted! Mutated! They're "

He choked on his breath. "They're not natural."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "Where?"

"S-South ridge. Civilians are evacuating the lower district. But we won't hold long."

The General turned on his heel. "Full lockdown. Mobilize the Flame Guard. Archers to the towers. Warding circles around the inner gate!"

Another officer stepped forward, pale. "Sir. There's someone leading them. A figure. Cloaked. He walked ahead of the beasts."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "A cultivator?"

"We believe so."

"Then this isn't a stampede."

He turned.

"It's an invasion."

From the southern ridge, the horde came into view.

Dozens. Then hundreds. Twisted beasts, some the size of carriages, others spider-limbed and shuddering with corrupted Qi. Their bodies twitched, spasmed, like energy too volatile to be contained tore at their nerves.

At the front strode a man in robes of black green.

His skin was pale, near grey. Hair hung like threadbare cloth over a face half-hidden by a cracked mask.

A broken phoenix crest dangled from his neck.

But it was his Qi that made the soldiers tremble.

Not just rot.

Strength. Enough to command monsters, and more.

He raised a single hand.

The beasts stopped instantly.

Then he spoke, his voice low but carrying on the wind:

"Come then, flame. Let rot show you what strength truly means."