The wind changed when they left the desert.
It no longer carried heat or sand but something colder, sharper — a soundless current that pulled at the edges of thought. The black dunes gave way to pale stone, and the air became unnaturally still, as though the world itself held its breath.
Ethan knew they had reached the border of the Ruins of Silence long before Ashen said the words.
"Don't speak beyond this point," the immortal warned, voice almost reverent. "Here, sound feeds the Hollow."
Lyra frowned. "The Hollow?"
"The remnants of the fourth god," Ashen replied, gaze fixed on the shifting veil of mist ahead. "Amun-Tel, the Mind that Dreamed. When its consciousness shattered, its thoughts lingered. They devour echoes now."
Shadowfang gave a low rumble, uneasy. The dragon's flames dimmed, their light smothered by the heavy stillness around them.
Ethan tightened his grip on his blade. He could feel the Warden's mark burning faintly on his palm — a soft, golden pulse, as though warning him that truth held no sway here.
"Then we enter quietly," he said.
Ashen inclined their head. "Quietly… and with an empty mind."
---
The mists parted like curtains, revealing ruins that floated above an abyss.
Bridges of fractured marble hung suspended in air, crumbling into nothingness at their ends. Massive statues of faceless beings towered above, each with cracks where eyes should have been. The air shimmered faintly, as though alive with invisible currents.
Every footstep they took left no sound. Even the rustle of fabric, the scrape of metal, the breath in their throats — gone. The silence was total, oppressive, divine.
Ethan's thoughts grew louder to compensate. He could hear his own heartbeat in his skull, could almost see words forming behind his eyes. The silence didn't just swallow sound — it reflected thought, turning it into weight.
Lyra stumbled slightly, clutching her head. Her serpent hissed silently, writhing in confusion. Ethan steadied her, but even touch felt dulled, as though the air between them resisted connection.
Ashen walked ahead without hesitation, their steps light, expression unreadable. For a moment, Ethan envied their calm.
Then he saw the first of the Hollowed.
---
It was a man once.
Or what was left of one.
He sat upon a broken stair, eyes wide, lips moving in eternal silence. His face was pale as wax, and strands of his memory flickered around him — ghostly fragments of images that bled into the air: a home, a woman's smile, a sword gleaming under sunlight.
Then they vanished.
Ashen's voice brushed their minds directly, not through sound but through will.
> Do not pity them. Every thought you dwell on becomes bait.
Ethan's jaw tightened. What do they feed on?
> Memory. Intention. Anything that has shape in the mind.
Lyra swallowed hard. Then what are we supposed to think about?
Ashen's answer came like ice.
> Nothing.
---
They crossed the bridges one by one. Time felt meaningless — hours, minutes, they all bled into one another. The further they went, the heavier the silence became, pressing down like gravity.
Ethan began to see things at the edges of his vision. Shapes, faces, moments that didn't belong to him. A woman's laughter. A child's cry. Blood on marble.
He tried to push them away — but every time he rejected one image, another took its place.
When he blinked, he was no longer standing on stone.
He stood in a room. His room. The Guild dormitory from years ago. The same cracked window, the same cot, the same rusted blade hanging above his bed.
Except… this wasn't memory.
It was reconstruction.
> Why do you fight?
The voice came not from outside but inside his head — soft, calm, impossibly vast.
Ethan turned. A figure sat in the corner. Human in shape, but faceless. Its skin shimmered like smoke, and its presence made the walls breathe.
> What are you if not your thoughts, Hunter? What remains when the noise ends?
Ethan's hand went to his sword, but the blade wasn't there. Neither was Shadowfang. The air itself refused him.
> You seek gods, the voice continued. But you have already become one of them — blind, burdened by meaning.
"Then take it from me," Ethan said, his voice echoing though there should have been none. "If power is all that corrupts, I'll bear it until it burns me."
The faceless being tilted its head.
> A noble lie.
And then, the world cracked.
---
Lyra's scream — silent but desperate — snapped him back.
The illusion shattered around him, fragments of his false room scattering like glass. He stumbled back into the real ruins, lungs heaving as though he'd been drowning. Shadowfang crouched protectively beside him, eyes glowing fiercely.
Lyra was on her knees, her serpent constricting wildly, as though suffocating from invisible chains. Ethan lunged, grabbing her shoulders. Her eyes were blank — white, vacant, lost.
He slapped her hard. "Lyra! Look at me!"
No response.
Ashen appeared behind them, placing a hand over her forehead. A flicker of light — soft, silver — flowed through their fingers. Lyra gasped, drawing her first real breath in what felt like hours.
Ashen's voice resonated faintly. "The Hollow tried to rewrite her memories. She resisted too strongly."
Ethan's hands shook. "Then we need to finish this now."
---
At the center of the ruins, they found it — the Core of Mind.
A great sphere of crystal floated above a cracked dais, its surface rippling like water. Within it, fragments of thought swirled endlessly — light, shadow, faces, dreams. The echoes of every being who had ever entered this place.
And inside, suspended like an afterimage, slept Amun-Tel.
Its form was fluid — neither flesh nor energy, a mind given shape.
Ashen approached first, stepping into the circle of runes. Their expression, for once, betrayed hesitation.
> To wake the Mind is to risk erasure, they said silently. Even a single misplaced thought can unmake you.
Ethan moved beside them. "Then I'll think of nothing but purpose."
Ashen gave him a faint smile. "Purpose is a dangerous thing to think about."
But Ethan was already placing his palm against the crystal.
Light flared.
For an instant, the world folded inward. Thoughts burst like stars, memories unraveling — his mother's voice, his first hunt, the fire that consumed his unit — all torn apart and rearranged in impossible order.
He was everywhere and nowhere. Past, present, and possibility collided.
Then, within that storm, eyes opened.
> Who dreams me awake?
Ethan could not speak. His voice had no meaning here. Instead, his thoughts answered.
I am Ethan Vale. I seek the truth that was silenced.
> You are noise.
Then let me become meaning.
Silence. And then — a ripple of amusement that felt like an entire sky laughing.
> So be it.
The crystal shattered.
---
The explosion of thought threw him backward. Lyra caught him before he struck the ground. The ruins shook, pillars fracturing as the air filled with whispers — not the devouring murmurs of the Hollow, but the return of memory itself.
A figure emerged from the shards.
Tall, luminous, its form half-transparent — like starlight shaped into human outline. Its eyes gleamed with calm intelligence, galaxies spiraling within.
> Hunter of the Bound… your mind is loud, but your will is clear. You seek the end of gods, yet you carry their fire. Curious.
Ethan straightened. "Are you Amun-Tel?"
> What remains of it. The being looked skyward. The world trembles with awakening. Storm, Sea, and Sun have risen. Mind now joins them. But beware, mortal — thought is more dangerous than divinity.
A symbol formed upon Ethan's temple — a faint sigil of interlocking circles. His vision blurred, then sharpened again — clearer, sharper than before. He could hear thoughts now, faint whispers brushing the edge of consciousness.
> You bear my echo. Guard it well, or it will unmake you.
And with that, Amun-Tel dissolved — a sigh of starlight fading into the void.
---
The silence lifted.
Ethan could hear again — the sound of the wind, the faint clink of armor, the whisper of Lyra's serpent. It was strange how precious sound felt after its absence.
Ashen looked at him, eyes unreadable. "You've awakened four gods now. The balance of the world is shifting. The others will come — drawn to you, or to destroy you."
Ethan exhaled, feeling the mark on his palm and the new one burning faintly at his temple.
"Let them come," he said quietly. "If the gods want a war, they'll find I'm already fighting one."
Shadowfang spread his wings, roaring — a sound that shattered what was left of the silence.
And in the distance, far beyond the ruins, the sky cracked open — revealing a rift of silver light, vast and waiting.
The next path had revealed itself.
---