Chapter 0035: The Hollow March – The First War of the Flameborn
Night had fallen over Valnora—but not the peaceful kind.
This night burned.
Ashes rained from a sky split in two.
The moon was veiled. The stars were silent.
And from the East… came drums.
Low, steady, hollow.
The Hollow King had begun his march.
The First Sign
Thorne returned from the outposts with blood on his armor and shadows in his eyes.
"Three villages gone," he reported. "No survivors. No signs of battle either."
Lyra tightened her grip on her blade.
"You mean they didn't fight back?"
"No." Thorne looked away. "I mean they vanished."
Raiden stared out toward the blackening horizon. He could feel it now—not just in his magic, but in his soul.
The Hollow March had begun.
The Gathering of Flames
Inside the throne hall of the Emberhold, Raiden stood before a growing assembly of warriors, mystics, exiles, and kings.
The hall was lit by torches that flared brighter as he spoke.
"The Hollow King feeds on silence. On our division. On our fear."
"But we are Flameborn. We do not bow. We do not vanish."
"We burn."
The crowd erupted in a roar.
Elaris stepped beside him, offering a map scattered with sigils.
"We need allies. And fast."
Raiden nodded.
"Then we ride. North, to the Wyrm Lords. West, to the Iron Monastery. South, to the Nomad Clans."
"And east..." his voice dipped. "To where the Hollow King waits."
Meanwhile… In the Hollow Realm
The Hollow King moved slowly, robes of mist trailing behind him. His army was not of men or beasts… but of emptiness.
Hollow knights with no eyes.
Creatures that walked with no footsteps.
And worst of all… souls he had stolen, shaped into weapons.
He stood before his generals—former kings and fallen gods—and smiled.
"The Flameboy wears his crown well," he mused, voice like cracking bones.
"Let us see how long he burns… when the world turns cold."
A Silent Infiltration
That night, as Raiden rested in the Emberhold, a whisper slithered through the walls.
A Hollow Shade crept into his chamber—formless, undetectable by most.
But not by Raiden.
His hand caught the shadow mid-air, and the Smoldering Blade ignited in golden flame.
"Send your master a message." His eyes burned. "The Flameborn doesn't sleep."
He slashed through the shade, which burst into silent smoke and vanished.
Outside, the wind howled louder.
The wind that swept over the Drakenreach Mountains was not of this world.
It smelled of brimstone and old blood. It howled with the voices of fallen warriors and forgotten dragons. Even the skies here bore scars—rips in the clouds where fire once split the heavens.
Raiden stood at the edge of the cliffs, his cloak whipping in the wind. Behind him rode a dozen of Valnora's best—Lyra, Thorne, Elaris, and others who had sworn their blades to the Flameborn.
Before them, carved into the jagged heart of the mountain, loomed the Gates of Sythryl—the sacred threshold of the Wyrm Lords.
A realm where no human king had walked for centuries.
The Wyrm Lords Awaken
A voice like a landslide shook the mountain as they approached.
"Flameborn… Why do you come to a place of fire with words of peace?"
From the cliffs above, massive shadows moved.
Eyes like glowing coals stared down.
Then came the dragons.
Six of them, each larger than castles. Scales like obsidian, wings trailing sparks. They spiraled down and landed with earth-shattering weight.
Upon their backs sat the Wyrm Lords—ancient warriors bound to dragon and flame.
The greatest among them was Vaeryx the Burned, her face half-melted, her armor forged from wyrmbone.
She stepped forward.
"You wear the Sigil of the Pantheon," she said. "But fire alone does not make a king."
The Test of Flame and Honor
Vaeryx demanded tradition.
"You will face our trial. Not just your blade, but your truth. No tricks. No armies. You… alone."
Raiden agreed without hesitation.
They led him into the Wyrm Crucible, a chasm of molten rock where dragons once clashed in ancient rites.
There, he faced three trials:
The Trial of Flame – A battle against a wyrm-spawned elemental made from pure fire.
Raiden endured its wrath, letting his own flame dance with it—not to destroy, but to sync. When the elemental bowed, the fire spirits whispered, "He burns with purpose."The Trial of Ash – He was shown a vision of Valnora destroyed, his friends dead, the Hollow King victorious. Would he still fight, knowing it could end in ruin?
Raiden stood tall.
"I fight not for a guarantee. I fight because I must."The Trial of Wing – A dragon named Syranthis descended, roaring fire and doubt.
Raiden stepped forward, unarmed.
"I don't seek to tame you," he said. "I seek to stand beside you."
The dragon lowered its head.
The trials ended.
An Ancient Pact Renewed
Vaeryx stood once more before the gathered lords and wyrms.
"You faced fire without fear. You bore truth without faltering. You honored us."
She drew her blade—a relic of dragonbone and flame—and knelt before Raiden.
"We ride with you, Flameborn."
And so the Wyrm Pact was renewed after 400 years.
Across the mountains, dragons cried out—ancient voices rising in fiery song. The world trembled.
Meanwhile… in the Hollow Realm
The Hollow King sensed it.
He stood in silence, watching through a mirror of ash as the Wyrm Lords bowed.
His smile vanished.
He turned to his Shade Generals.
"Bring me the Death Wyrm. If the Flameborn gathers dragons…"
His eyes flared with black fire.
"…then let's remind the world what happens when dragons fall."
The sky had become a battleground.
As Raiden and his army rode alongside the Wyrm Lords, their mighty dragons soared in formation above them, black wings cutting through the clouds like thunderclaps. The wind was alive with power, fire, and the promise of the coming storm.
Vaeryx led the charge, her dragon Syranthis roaring with every beat of its wings, sending ripples of fire across the heavens. Raiden sat atop Rhaegar, his own dragon—smaller but no less fierce, its golden scales glinting as it flew in perfect synchrony with the other dragons.
Behind them, the Flameborn Army marched, ground troops riding warbeasts and chariots, their weapons gleaming in the light of the sun.
The Hollow King's influence had spread too far, too fast. They could not waste time. The battle to reclaim Valnora—and the fate of the world—would soon begin.
A War Begins
As they neared the horizon, the massive Valnora citadel came into view, its once-proud walls now defiled by the creeping tendrils of darkness. The air around it hummed with a strange, otherworldly energy.
The Hollow King's forces had taken root in the heart of Valnora.
But they had not yet captured the entire city.
The Death Wyrm Awakens
In the distance, beneath the blood-red sky, the ground cracked open, sending a tremor through the earth. Raiden's eyes narrowed. From the deep rift, something colossal began to rise.
A creature of nightmares.
The Death Wyrm, a dragon older than the gods themselves, its scales a nightmarish blend of decayed bone and blackened flesh. Its eyes burned with the Hollow King's curse, and its roars echoed with a terrifying promise.
It slithered across the land, its shadow swallowing the light.
Raiden's heart sank. This was not just an ancient wyrm—it was the embodiment of destruction, a creature born from the depths of death itself.
It was unstoppable.
Raiden's Command
Vaeryx's voice cut through the chaos.
"We will not fight alone. Raiden, you must lead us. The Hollow King's forces are vast, but we have fire. We have the gods."
Raiden nodded, his eyes burning with the power of the Flameborn. He could feel the fire inside him, growing stronger with each passing moment. This was his destiny—to protect his people and restore balance to the world.
"We move as one," he commanded, his voice a powerful roar that shook the skies. "Dragons, take to the skies! Flameborn, charge! We bring the storm to their doorstep!"
With a mighty cry, the dragons unleashed torrents of fire upon the Death Wyrm, while Raiden and his army charged toward the city, the ground shaking beneath their feet.
The Battle for Valnora
The battle raged on, an epic clash of flames and shadows.
Raiden rode Rhaegar into the fray, his sword blazing with the divine power of the Flameborn. He cut through the Hollow King's soldiers with ease, each strike imbued with the strength of a thousand warriors. Lyra fought beside him, her blade an extension of her will, while Thorne's axe cleaved through enemies with brutal precision.
But the Death Wyrm loomed above them, its twisted form sending shockwaves through the battlefield. It released a blast of dark energy, and the earth trembled beneath the weight of its fury.
The Final Strike
Raiden knew they couldn't defeat the Death Wyrm with brute strength alone.
"Vaeryx!" he shouted as he rode towards the Wyrm Lord. "We need to combine our strength!"
Vaeryx understood instantly. "Syranthis, let us unite our flames!"
With a deafening roar, the two dragons flew in tandem, their flames intertwining, creating a fiery storm that enveloped the Death Wyrm. Raiden's sword ignited with the power of all the flames, and he leaped into the air, riding the surge of fire and energy. With one final strike, he pierced the heart of the Death Wyrm.
The creature howled in agony, its massive body writhing in pain as the flames consumed it. But the battle was far from over.
The Hollow King's Final Move
From his throne, far beyond the battlefield, the Hollow King watched.
His hands trembled with dark power as he reached into the very fabric of existence, ripping open the veil between worlds. "If fire is your weapon, then let darkness be mine."
With a wave of his hand, the sky darkened. The winds howled, and shadows bled into the world, consuming the very light of the sun.
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(To be Continue...)