They come at noon, when the sun is highest.

You barely have time to react before the first wave hits—shadow creatures pouring from the roads, more than you’ve ever seen in one place. Behind them, walking with terrible calm, comes a figure in black armor.

Not Varek. Something else. Something that was once human.

“A Hollow Knight,” Wren breathes. “Varek’s lieutenants. I thought they were legends.”

“Legends don’t swing swords,” Mira snaps, already nocking an arrow. “Move!”

The battle is chaos.

Mira’s arrows fly with deadly precision, each one finding a shadow creature’s core. Theron fights with unexpected skill—a merchant’s blade, quick and precise. Wren calls on the shrine’s ancient power, vines bursting from the ground to entangle the attackers.

And you—you have the relics.

The Quill traces lines of light in the air, revealing the shadow creatures’ weaknesses. The Scales judge each enemy, tilting to show which threats are greatest. The Seed pulses with life energy that burns the darkness.

But the Hollow Knight keeps coming.

Its blade crashes against yours with enough force to drive you to your knees. Behind the visor, you see nothing—no eyes, no face, just swirling shadow.

“THE MASTER SENDS HIS REGARDS,” it says in a voice like grinding stone. “HE KNOWS YOU COME. HE WELCOMES IT. HE HAS WAITED SO LONG FOR A WORTHY OPPONENT.”

“Then he’ll be disappointed,” you gasp.

You call on all three relics at once.

Light explodes. The Hollow Knight stumbles back, its armor cracking, its form destabilizing. For a moment, just a moment, you see something inside the shadow—a face, twisted in agony, mouthing words that might be “help me.”

Then it’s gone. Retreating. Taking its army with it.

The shrine falls silent.

“They know where we are,” Mira says, lowering her bow. “They let us live.”

“A message,” Theron agrees. “Varek wants us to come. He’s confident.”

“Then we make him regret that confidence.” You gather the relics, still warm from the battle. “But we can’t stay here. We need to move.”

“Where?” Wren asks.

You think of the vision. The founders’ chains. The heart of the gem.

“Eldermoor. It’s time to go home.”