The air in the Black Waste was unnaturally still, thick with the silence of something ancient and broken. Orin, Mira, and Kaelen trekked across the glittering sand, their feet sinking slightly into the strange, obsidian-like dust. The inverted tower of Nahl'Karai loomed ahead, a jagged spire reaching impossibly toward the fractured sky.
Orin couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. It wasn't just the figure from earlier—the Remnant—it was something deeper, something wrong with the very ground beneath them.
"It's here," Kaelen murmured, his voice tight. "The threshold."
They reached the base of the tower, and a sense of vertigo gripped Orin. The city should have been below them, but it was upside down, floating in mid-air, its twisted spires and crumbling streets hovering above the ground, as if gravity itself had been bent. The broken city stretched outward in all directions, a labyrinth of inverted architecture.
Mira scowled. "This is insane. How are we supposed to even—"
"Follow me," Kaelen interrupted. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small crystal, its core glowing faintly. He held it out in front of him, and the crystal pulsed in the air. The ground beneath them vibrated, and a low hum filled the silence.
A narrow passage appeared at the base of the tower, a jagged crack in the ground that led downward. Orin looked into it and saw nothing but blackness.
"Is this… safe?" Orin asked, eyeing the dark hole with unease.
"The city's time is fractured," Kaelen explained. "What remains of it lies between moments—shifting in and out of existence. If we enter, we may have only a brief window to move before the city fully unbinds again."
Mira frowned. "Great. Just great."
Kaelen stepped forward. "We don't have a choice. The anchor is inside, and we need it before the Hollow Star awakens."
With no other option, Orin followed him into the passage, the others close behind. The air grew heavier with each step, as if the very atmosphere was saturated with the weight of time.
They emerged into a vast chamber, one that seemed to pulse with a strange, liquid light. The walls were covered in ancient markings—runes and sigils that glowed faintly in the dim light.
At the center of the chamber stood a massive, black stone obelisk, its surface covered in intricate carvings. Orin could feel it—a hum in the air, a pulse that matched the beat of his heart.
"This is it," Kaelen whispered. "The anchor."
Orin took a step forward, drawn toward the obelisk. His hand reached out to touch the surface, but before he could make contact, a voice echoed through the chamber—a voice as old as the city itself.
> "Turn back, Skyborn."
The ground trembled. Orin jerked his hand back, his pulse quickening.
From the shadows of the chamber, a figure emerged—a tall, cloaked being, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Its presence radiated power, and Orin felt a deep sense of foreboding.
"You should not be here," the figure intoned. "This place is not for the living."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "The Watcher. I should have known you were still guarding this place."
The figure's lips twisted into something like a smile, though its eyes remained cold. "I am not a guardian, Skyborn. I am the Remnant. The last of Nahl'Karai's fall. And I will not allow you to tamper with what should remain forgotten."
Orin stepped forward, his voice steady. "We're not here to destroy. We're here to repair. The Hollow Star is waking, and if we don't fix the anchor, everything will be unmade."
The Remnant's eyes flickered with something—curiosity, perhaps. "You think you can stop it? The Hollow Star is not a force to be controlled. It is the end of all things."
Kaelen moved to stand beside Orin, his hand on the hilt of his blade. "We don't have time for philosophy. This anchor needs to be fixed, and we need it now."
The Remnant stared at them for a long moment, then sighed—a sound like wind through cracked stone. "Very well. But know this: once the anchor is re-bound, it will be bound to you. The Hollow Star will follow its path, whether you wish it or not."
A cold shiver ran down Orin's spine, but he didn't flinch. This was the only way.
He stepped toward the obelisk, his hand outstretched once more.