The Hollow Star loomed before them, no longer a singular entity but a shattered constellation—a swirling mass of gods long forgotten, each one a fragmented memory of divine beings, each a piece of the whole. It pulsed and writhed in the cosmic void, its pieces scattering across the heavens like broken constellations.
Orin felt the weight of it press into his chest, where the Skybrand glowed with five burning stars. But even with the anchors complete, even with the Flame of Origin alive within him, he could feel the enormity of what stood before them. This was no mere foe to be slain. This was the very embodiment of loss.
Mira's voice cut through the silence. "We're not just facing a star. We're facing... everything that was taken from the universe."
Kaelen's eyes flickered with understanding. "A star isn't a single being. It's a collection of memories—pieces of those who lived before the stars themselves were born. And those pieces… they want to be whole again."
Orin stepped forward, his body trembling under the weight of the Five Anchors. He could feel the Hollow Star's pull, its ancient pain wrapping around his heart. It called to him, not as an enemy, but as a sibling—an echo of something lost.
The fragmented pieces of the Hollow Star began to converge toward them, swirling and shifting, taking on the forms of gods long forgotten—each one bearing their own celestial scars, their bodies woven from starlight and void. They whispered in voices older than memory.
> "You... you hold the Flame of Origin, child of Skyborn. The fire that can heal us. But what will you do with it?"
Orin's voice was steady, despite the swirling chaos around him. "I'm not here to destroy. I'm here to remember. You were once whole, but you were shattered. I can help you return."
One of the gods—its form made of molten stars—extended a hand toward him. "We were born from the first breath of creation. But we were forsaken. Cast into the void to fade, forgotten by the very worlds we helped create. We do not seek to return, child. We seek to unmake."
The Hollow Star flickered.
Its pieces twisted in agony. The anguish of eons echoed through the heavens.
Orin felt the Fifth Flame within him surge. "You don't have to unmake the universe to heal. You just have to remember what you were before you became this. Before you fell."
The gods of the Hollow Star wavered.
The memory of their original forms—beings of pure light, creators of worlds—began to surface, their broken bodies flickering like stars in the dying night.
One by one, they began to fade.
Their true faces, not twisted by the hunger of the void but brilliant in their beauty, emerged from the darkness. They had been gods, creators, guardians of the stars. And they were ready to return.
Orin stepped forward, holding the Fifth Flame high. "I offer the Flame of Origin to you—not to burn, but to rekindle what was lost. Not to destroy, but to renew."
The Hollow Star's fragmented form swirled, and for the first time in millennia, it paused. The eyes of the gods focused on him. There was a silence that stretched across the void—a moment of understanding, of remembrance.
Then, together, the gods spoke as one:
> "We remember. We return."
The flame of the Fifth Anchor surged, bright as the birth of a new star. It wrapped around the Hollow Star's broken body, stitching the fragments back together, not in the shape of hunger and void, but in the shape of creation.
The Hollow Star began to heal.