The sea boiled.
Not with heat, but memory distortion. Where water should churn, it remembered something else—calm, silence, or fire. The result was chaos, and it gave rise to the Hollow Fleet.
They came not in ships, but in constructs—half-vessels, half-specters—each shaped from fragments of reality. Rusted hulls sewn with starlight. Sails that shimmered between existence and story. And above them, banners fluttered bearing no sigils, only voided script that made eyes ache.
Eryssa pulled Ember behind her. "Run inland. Now."
Orin's hand hovered over the Skybrand's dormant hilt. It hadn't sparked since the fall of the Sovereign—but its warmth had begun to stir the moment Ember appeared.
"She's the key," he said. "And they know it."
Ember didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the nearest Hollow ship.
"I know them," she whispered. "I've heard their names in my dreams."
The first ship landed without a sound. Its hull peeled open like a mouth, and from within spilled figures—tall, cloaked in half-light, faces hidden behind masks of broken mirrors.
One stepped forward.
It bowed, not to Eryssa, not to Orin… but to Ember.
"Child of spark and song," it said, voice distant yet loud. "You are requested by the Flamebound Court. Come willingly, and your unmaking will be merciful."
"Flamebound Court?" Orin muttered. "That was just a myth…"
"Most truths begin that way," Eryssa said grimly.
Ember took a step back. "I'm not going with them."
The Hollow figure tilted its head. "Then you choose resistance. We are allowed to burn three cities for every breath you draw beyond this moment."
And the wind grew still.
Orin stepped between them, raising the Skybrand. Its blade flickered—just once—but it was enough.
The figure paused.
"You carry the Flame of Origin," it said. "Then we are not yet ready."
It turned and vanished back into the ship.
Then, like breath withheld, the Hollow Fleet withdrew—sinking once again beneath the sea, leaving no trace but a chill in the wind and a question in the soul.
"What now?" Ember asked.
Eryssa looked north. "We run. We hide. We learn. Because if the Flamebound Court is real…"
Orin finished her thought. "Then the Forgotten Sovereign wasn't the end. It was the prologue."