Ethan ran until his lungs burned, the codex and locket heavy in his backpack. Dawn bled across the hills, painting the sky in bruised purples and golds. Valenmoor's estate vanished behind him, but its shadow clung like a curse.
They're coming.
The words hissed in his mind, sharper than the morning chill.
Hollow's End was a corpse of a town. Weathered buildings slumped under sagging roofs, their windows boarded up like closed eyes. The only sign of life was a flickering neon sign.
'The Restless Raven Inn'.
A raven mural, wings spread around a seven-pointed star, glared above the door.
Not a coincidence.
Ethan slipped inside. The air reeked of stale beer and desperation. A few gaunt faces glanced up, then away.
"Looking for answers, Veyra?"
He turned. A woman leaned against the bar, auburn hair streaked with gray, eyes sharp as the dagger at her hip. Her voice was low, threaded with a challenge.
"Who are you?"
"Mara Ravenscroft." She flicked a photo onto the counter—a younger version of herself beside a woman with Ethan's eyes. His mother. "She vanished protecting you. Now you're dragging her ghost out of the grave."
The attic room reeked of mothballs and betrayal. Mara spread maps across a splintered table, their edges marked with spirals and ravens.
"The Order's been hunting Veyra blood for decades," she said, tracing a scarred finger over a symbol—a shattered mirror. "They think your family's 'sins' birthed the Thirteenth Star. They're not wrong."
Ethan gripped the locket. "What's the Star?"
"A mistake. Your ancestors tried to cage it, but it's hungry. And it's awake."
The codex hummed in his bag. Mara's gaze snapped to it.
"You shouldn't have that."
They came at twilight.
Black-robed figures materialized in the street, masks gleaming like polished bone. The inn's patrons scattered.
"Give us the codex, Duskheir," their leader intoned, voice distorted. "Or we'll carve it from your corpse."
Ethan backed into the alley, Mara at his side.
"Got a plan?"
"Die screaming?" She tossed him a dagger. "You first."
The Order surged. Ethan's blade clashed with theirs, sparks flying. The codex burned against his back, symbols burning through leather.
Let go.
A voice. Not Mara's.
He grabbed the codex.
Light erupted.
Reality peeled back.
He stood in a memory not his own. Liora Veyra, young and trembling, hiding the locket beneath the inn's floorboards.
"The anchor must hold," she whispered. "Or the Star will feast."
The vision snapped.
The Order lay unconscious, masks cracked. Mara stared at him, blood trickling from a cut on her cheek.
"What the hell was that?"
Ethan's hands shook.
"Power."
The figure from the estate flickered into existence beside a dumpster, edges fraying.
"Cute trick," the Keeper sneered. "But the Star's waking. And it wants you most of all."
A roar split the night. The ground trembled.
Mara grabbed Ethan's arm.
"We need to move. Now."
Too late.
A shadow loomed at the alley's mouth—tall, broad, features twisted into a familiar sneer.
"Hello, nephew." Cedric Veyra stepped into the light, void-black veins crawling up his neck. "Miss me?"