The assault hits like thunder.

From four directions at once, the resistance pours into the streets. They carry torches, weapons, anything that can hurt. Their battle cries echo off the walls—the names of the lost, the names of the fallen, the name of the city they’re fighting to reclaim.

The shadow creatures respond instantly. They flow from alleys and rooftops, dark shapes converging on the sudden chaos. But they’re scattered, disorganized. The pre-dawn patrol change left gaps, and the resistance hits those gaps hard.

“Move!” Mira shouts, loosing arrow after arrow. “While they’re distracted!”

Your group runs.

Through streets you’ve known since childhood, now made alien by shadow and corruption. Past buildings where friends once lived, their windows dark and empty. Toward the central square, where the Purple Gem blazes with sickly light.

The fighting is everywhere.

Resistance fighters clash with shadow creatures in every alley, every intersection. You see the blacksmith swinging a hammer that burns with borrowed light. The librarian casting books aside to draw a hidden blade. Ordinary people, doing extraordinary things.

Some of them fall. You see it happen—a shadow creature’s claw, a Hollow Knight’s blade, the darkness taking another life. But for every one who falls, two more take their place.

“Keep moving!” Theron pulls you forward as you hesitate. “We can’t help them by dying!”

He’s right. The gem looms closer.

And standing at its base, waiting, are the three Hollow Knights.

They don’t move to engage. They don’t call for reinforcements. They simply wait, black armor gleaming, empty visors fixed on your approach.

“They knew,” Wren says quietly. “They were expecting us.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You draw your weapon, feel the relics pulse with readiness. “We expected them too.”