Jace's pulse still hadn't settled by the time they reached the surface.
His skin itched. His veins burned. Every breath came with a weight—like he was inhaling smoke that didn't exist. The Hollow pulsed on his back like a second heartbeat, in sync with something ancient now lodged inside his soul.
Veyra.
She wasn't speaking. Not in words. But he could feel her—coiled in the depths of him like a storm gathering in silence.
Reya watched him closely. Her steps were slow, deliberate.
"Your aura shifted," she said quietly. "It's darker now. Deeper."
Jace rolled his shoulders. "Feels like I'm carrying a third lung full of ghosts."
Lena snorted. "Yeah, well… you look like shit."
He gave her a half-smirk. "Still better than your hair."
"You wish."
The banter felt hollow—filler against the weight of what had just happened.
They stepped out into the city's underbelly, where old train tunnels met forgotten shelters. It was quiet here—too quiet.
No hum of magic in the air.
No vibration of watchers.
They were alone.
But not for long.
Jace stopped.
He dropped to one knee.
The Hollow glowed.
A low hum began to build around them, vibrating through the stone.
Lena pulled her blade. "What now?"
Reya's eyes widened. "He's drawing it out."
"Drawing what out?" Lena asked.
Jace gritted his teeth. "The Hollow wants to change. To evolve. But it needs a memory. A core. Something I've tried to bury."
He pulled the blade free from his back.
It didn't feel like drawing a weapon.
It felt like opening a wound.
The blade was no longer steel—it was liquid shadow, rippling with tendrils of red lightning. It pulsed, alive, hungry.
But it wouldn't complete the transformation alone.
Not without pain.
Not without cost.
"Reya," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need you to anchor me."
Reya stepped forward immediately, placing her hand on his back. Her power flared—subtle, cool, grounding.
Jace shut his eyes.
And let go.
Memory surged.
The field was burning. Screams echoed through smoke and ruin.
A boy—no older than sixteen—stood in the center, clutching a blade made of broken iron.
Blood dripped from his fingertips.
He wasn't crying.
He wasn't begging.
He was smiling.
Across from him, a woman fell.
Veyra.
Her chest was caved in, her expression unreadable.
But her eyes…
Her eyes never left his.
"You chose wrong," she had whispered. "You chose the blade over me."
And he had.
Because power was the only thing that ever gave him freedom.
Because love never protected him.
Because gods don't fall in love.
Jace screamed.
Not in pain—but in defiance.
The Hollow flared with red light.
The blade reshaped itself in his hand—longer, thinner, crueler.
Runes carved themselves down its length—shifting constantly, like memory refusing to settle.
Lena took a step back, shielding her eyes.
Reya gritted her teeth. "Hold on, Jace. Just hold on—"
Crack.
A shockwave blasted outward.
Reya was thrown to the ground. Lena caught herself mid-roll.
Jace stood in the center, surrounded by floating embers of black flame. The new Hollow was still. Silent.
Until it spoke.
But not aloud.
Straight into his head.
"You remember now."
"You gave her up for me."
"And you would do it again."
Jace opened his eyes.
They were red—not glowing. Bleeding.
Lena raised her blade. "Are you still you?"
Jace looked at her.
Then gave a sharp grin. "Yeah."
He held up the sword. "But I'm not the same."
Reya stood slowly, shaking. "What's it called now?"
Jace looked at the blade.
It pulsed once—like it knew.
"Remembrance."
Lena gave a low whistle. "Sounds poetic. What's it do?"
Jace twirled it once. "Cuts through time."
She blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"I can slice into a moment. Step into a memory. Use the version of myself that existed then."
Reya's eyes widened. "That's… That's not just evolution. That's divine-level augmentation. Jace, that shouldn't even be possible."
Jace sheathed the sword on his back.
"Apparently, the past doesn't want to stay buried."
Later that night, they camped in an abandoned high-rise.
Rain tapped against broken windows. The fire crackled low.
Lena leaned back against a concrete pillar. "So… what now?"
Jace looked out over the city.
The Order would feel the shift.
He knew that now. The Vault had been locked for a reason.
And Remembrance wasn't just a weapon.
It was a key.
"I think I know where the next shard is."
Reya looked up from sharpening her blade. "Where?"
Jace turned.
"Inside one of the Order's strongholds."
Lena's face lit up. "You mean we're finally going to stop sneaking around in sewers and punch one of these bastards in the teeth?"
"Not quite."
He stood.
"They're hosting a cultivation gala. Invitation-only."
Lena frowned. "We have to sneak in?"
"No," Jace said.
He grinned.
"We're going to get invited."