The Hollow Oath

The Deadlands – Fortress of the Hollowborn

Where once there were cities, now there was rot.

The Hollowborn did not build.

They infested.

Their fortress was carved into a withered mountain, pulsing with dark marrow. Spires made of bone jutted skyward like broken teeth, and the skies above churned with ash and shadow. No sun had touched this place in centuries.

Inside, King Malric walked the halls alone, followed only by his shadow.

He had come to make a deal with monsters.

The Queen of Hollows

She sat on a throne of stitched flesh and bone glass, cloaked in darkness that moved like smoke.

Her name was lost to time.

Now, they called her only The Hollow Queen.

She regarded Malric with eyes that had no light—just pits of hunger and memory.

"You come without soldiers. Without your Forgebound. That speaks either of arrogance… or desperation."

Malric bowed slightly, just enough to be respectful—never submissive.

"I come with purpose. The flame-born child has stirred the North. He carries the Frostblade now. He walks with prophecy."

"Delicious," the Hollow Queen purred. "So you want us to kill him."

"No. I want you to unmake him."

The Bargain of Blood

The Hollowborn did not kill the way men did. They consumed essence. They turned memory into weapon and soul into puppet.

To fight Ashren meant to risk being erased.

But Malric offered something rare.

"The Binding Chalice," he said, revealing a blackened goblet wrapped in soulsteel thorns.

The Hollow Queen hissed. "You would give that to me?"

"In exchange for your Oath. Not just to destroy him—but to erase his legend. Burn his name from prophecy. Leave only ash."

The Queen stood. Her form unraveled slightly—part woman, part nightmare.

"Done," she whispered.

And the chalice vanished into her hand.

The Hollowborn Stir

In the depths of the fortress, the Hollowborn awoke.

Not men, not creatures.

Memories given shape.

Each one bore a face someone had once loved—and eyes that could steal time.

They marched not with drums, but with silence.

Toward Ashren.

Toward vengeance.

Toward the prophecy they were born to break.

Far Away – Ashren Feels It

That night, camped in the Vale's outer glade, Ashren woke choking on ice and smoke.

Seris jolted upright beside him.

"What is it?"

Ashren touched the hilt of Nyssir. It throbbed with cold fire.

"They're coming," he said, voice hoarse. "Something ancient. Something wrong."

Seris paled.

"The Hollowborn?"

Ashren's eyes blazed with fire and frost.

"Let them come."