The air in New Haven was heavy with the scent of scorched wood and healing salves. Though the Hollowmere threat had been subdued, the city bore the wounds of war. Burnt banners, broken shields, and bloodied armor littered the courtyards as repair crews moved like ghosts, trying to return a sense of order to a shaken realm.
Alex had barely slept since returning from the Hollowmere disaster. Nightmares haunted his every attempt at rest—visions of writhing tendrils, echoing laughter, and the infinite gaze of the Hollow King. Yet, there was no time to succumb to fear. The scroll Naomi had retrieved spoke of something deeper. Something older.
The Throne of Ash.
It wasn't a place marked on any current map. It existed in legends and cautionary tales told by hushed voices in candlelit halls. Mira had spent every waking hour translating the scroll, cross-referencing it with every ancient tome she could get her hands on. The result was a new map—fragile parchment inked with hope and dread.
Alex stood at the War Council chamber, the new map spread before him. Naomi, Mira, Captain Rael, and the High Mage Varion stood at his sides.
"We march in three days," Alex declared.
Naomi raised an eyebrow. "That soon?"
"Every moment we delay, the Hollow King regains strength," Alex said. "This time, we take the fight to him."
Varion cleared his throat. "You understand, General, that this Throne of Ash is deep within the Wyrmwood Expanse. It's a cursed forest, one even the Ashen tribes avoid. If the legends are to be believed—"
"They aren't legends anymore," Mira interrupted. "We've seen what sleeps beneath the earth."
Rael folded his arms. "How many men are you taking?"
"Thirty elites. Ten mages. Light, fast, silent. No banners. No horns. We slip in and strike before he knows we're coming."
Silence followed.
Finally, Rael nodded. "I'll hand-pick them."
---
Three days later, the expedition departed New Haven. No fanfare. No farewells. Just grim resolve.
The journey to the Wyrmwood Expanse took a week. The land changed as they traveled—green fields gave way to gray wastelands, then to dense, twisted forests where no birds sang and no wind blew.
The Wyrmwood lived up to its name.
The trees were gargantuan, their trunks blackened and split like ancient scars. Some bled sap that hissed when it touched skin. The soil was thick with rot and decay. The very air felt heavy with old curses.
Their first night in the forest, a soldier named Terek vanished without a sound.
The next day, his armor was found nailed to a tree trunk, arranged like a warning.
No one slept after that.
Mira kept magical wards active at all times. Naomi rarely sheathed her axe. And Alex, ever the sentinel, patrolled the camp like a man possessed.
It took five more days to reach the coordinates Mira had pinpointed. What they found defied reason.
A city.
A ruin, half-sunken into the earth, its buildings choked with ash and black vines. Obelisks stood like gravestones, etched with symbols that hurt the eyes to look at. At the heart of it all, atop a ziggurat of basalt and bone, stood a throne—vast, obsidian, and untouched by time.
The Throne of Ash.
As the group approached, a low hum filled the air. The ash stirred. And from the base of the ziggurat, shadows began to rise.
Shades again.
But these were different. Bigger. Faster. Armored.
Alex didn't hesitate.
"Form ranks! Protect the mages!"
The soldiers moved instantly, shields locking, spears forward. The mages began chanting, weaving barriers of light.
The battle began.
The new shades were unlike anything they had fought. Some bore weapons forged of bone and fire. Others moved like smoke, slipping through armor to claw at flesh beneath.
Alex fought like a whirlwind, his blade singing as it cut down foe after foe. Naomi was a hurricane, her axe cleaving enemies in two. Mira unleashed arcane fire, her voice rising in incantation.
But the shades were endless.
Until Mira screamed.
A new figure stood atop the Throne of Ash.
It was humanoid—barely. Taller than any man. Skin the color of storm clouds. Eyes like dying stars.
The Hollow King reborn.
He raised one hand.
The ground split.
A chasm opened beneath the ziggurat, swallowing half the soldiers.
Alex shouted orders, but the voice that echoed across the field wasn't his.
"You dare tread upon my sanctum?"
The Hollow King's voice wasn't sound. It was pressure. Thought. Madness.
"You who banished me. You who sleep in towers of lies. I have returned. And I will unmake you."
Mira unleashed her strongest spell.
A comet of pure magic struck the Hollow King square in the chest.
He didn't even flinch.
With a gesture, he shattered the barrier protecting the mages.
Naomi threw her axe.
The Hollow King caught it midair, crushed it in his fist, and hurled the shards back.
Rael fell.
Alex charged.
He met the Hollow King at the base of the throne.
Steel clashed with shadow.
Their battle shook the ruins.
But Alex was only mortal.
And the Hollow King was not.
Alex fell to one knee, his sword broken.
The Hollow King raised his arm for the killing blow—
And was blasted back by a surge of golden light.
From the treeline, a figure emerged.
Clad in gleaming armor. Wielding a spear of sunlight.
The Sunborn.
The mythical protectors of the old realms. Thought long dead.
The Sunborn warrior knelt beside Alex.
"Rise, Guardian. The light has not abandoned you."
And together, they turned to face the Hollow King.
---
The battle was not won.
But the tide had turned.
With the Sunborn's aid, the Hollow King was forced to retreat.
Back into the depths of the earth.
The Throne of Ash cracked.
And the city began to collapse.
Alex ordered a retreat.
They escaped with less than half their number.
But they lived.
And now, they had hope.
The Sunborn had returned.
And with them, a chance to end this war.
---
Back in New Haven, the tale spread like wildfire.
The Hollow King was not defeated.
But he had bled.
And now, the true war could begin.
And at its center would be Alex.
The swordless general.
The last Guardian.
And the man destined to sit upon the Ashen Throne.