Chapter 844 - 846
A fruit stand had apples still gleaming under the gray sky. Nyra picked one up, turned it in her hand. "Fresh." "They didn’t leave," Jude said. "They were taken." The air shimmered faintly, like heat rising off stone. It wasn’t magic in the traditional sense, it was memory. Strong, layered, recent. The Tear pulsed harder, reacting to the weight of what lingered.
They moved deeper into the city. Churches stood empty. Schools locked mid-lesson. In one house, a meal still steamed on the table, untouched. "This isn’t natural," one of the scouts whispered. Jude didn’t respond. His attention was drawn to the center of the city, the old courthouse, once used for trials and citywide announcements. A strange light glowed from within. Without waiting for consensus, Jude moved toward it. Nyra followed, blade drawn.
Inside, the courtroom was filled with figures. Dozens. All standing. All still. At first glance, they looked alive, but a second look revealed the truth. They were frozen in time, eyes wide in terror, mouths mid-scream or prayer. Every face bore the same expression, recognition followed by horror. Jude stepped carefully among them. No blood. No breath. Just presence. "They’re trapped," he murmured. "In memory." At the far end of the room, on the judge’s bench, sat a figure draped in a cloak of ash and light. Its face was featureless, smooth like porcelain, but its voice rang clear the moment Jude drew closer.
"You carry the Tear," it said. Jude stood still. "Who are you?" "I am the echo," it replied. "The first to breach the gate. The one who remembers what the world has tried to forget." "You did this to them?" "No. They did this to themselves. They clung too tightly to truth, and when it was taken, they became hollow." Jude stepped closer. "Why show me this?" "Because you are the last who can choose," the echo said. "The Tear responds to memory. But memory is not always truth. Sometimes, it is what we need to believe in order to live. The gate will open. That is inevitable. The choice is whether it opens to hope... or despair."
Jude stared at the figure. "And if I refuse to choose?" "Then you choose silence," it said. "And silence is a song the Hollowed already sing." Without another word, the figure dissolved into ash. The light dimmed. The room returned to stillness, but the frozen people did not move. Nyra stepped beside Jude. "What now?" He looked around, the weight of thousands of memories pressing against his ribs. "We find the gate. And we seal it."
They left Leonork that night. Behind them, the city remained quiet, waiting. Jude didn’t know if the people could be saved. But he knew the gate would not stop unless someone made it. They followed the old river route south, deeper than any road dared go, into the valleys of the lost kings and the lands marked forbidden even by those who didn’t believe in curses. The scouts thinned out, some staying behind to warn others, some simply disappearing. In the end, only Jude, Nyra, and one young scout named Elren remained.
The final descent came at dusk, when the sky bled red and the stars refused to shine. They stood at the edge of a vast crater, spiraling downward in steps of carved stone. At the center stood the door from Jude’s dream. Black. Breathing. Waiting. "This is it," Jude said. The Tear throbbed violently in his chest. Nyra placed a hand on his shoulder. "If we go down there, " "There’s no coming back," Elren finished. Jude nodded.
They descended.
Each step hummed with pressure, time folding and unfolding around them. Visions flickered at the edge of their sight, moments not lived, choices not made. Jude saw a version of himself standing beside a family he never had, a peaceful life he never chose. Nyra gasped beside him, her hand trembling. "They’re trying to rewrite us." "Don’t let them," Jude said through clenched teeth. "Hold on."
At the bottom, the gate loomed.
It pulsed in time with Jude’s heart, calling the Tear like a siren. The air was thick with memory, not just his, but the world’s. The Hollowed were there too, surrounding the chamber, silent and watching. Dozens of them. Maybe more. The moment he stepped forward, they moved, not to attack, but to kneel. Jude stood before the gate and raised the Sorrowsteel. The blade shimmered with light that wasn’t fire, wasn’t magic. It was truth, raw, unfiltered, dangerous.