The fog thickened as Jack moved ahead, each step swallowed by the spectral mists swirling through the narrow, crumbling corridor. The walls of this place—the last corridor before the Hollow's heart—felt alive with memory. Whispers brushed against his ears, voices too faint to name but impossibly familiar.
He slowed. The air had shifted again. Not just magic—but presence. Pressure.
Jack's breath caught as a figure emerged from the haze.
It glided, not walked. Shrouded in tattered robes that fluttered like torn veils. The cowl was deep, its face hidden, but there was something about the gait… the tilt of its head… the shape of the shoulders…
Too familiar.
Jack's heart thudded. "No…" he whispered.
The figure stopped ten paces ahead. The mist held still as if awaiting his reaction.
Then it spoke.
"Do you truly not recognize me, son?"
The voice was Thalon's.
But the warmth that once lingered in his father's tone—gone. It was hollow, a wind echoing through an abandoned house. A mimicry more than a memory.
"I've already seen you," Jack said, taking a slow step forward, fists clenched. "I already met my father."
The figure tilted its head.
"You met the version you wanted. The one who loved you. But I am the truth beneath the lies. The shadow left behind."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "No. You're not him."
"You carry me," the figure continued. "Not just his blood, but his burden. The same path. The same curse. The same Devourer."
The mist around Jack pulsed. He felt it then—inside him—the familiar coil of darkness, slumbering but watching.
He had always feared it. He had felt it stir after Aevareth. After the Mirror. After the sanctum.
But never like this.
"I'm not you," Jack said.
The figure's hood twitched.
"No," it said slowly, "You are me. Becoming me."
And in that moment, the mask cracked. The illusion wavered. The figure flickered—its form unraveling and twisting, warping into a hundred mirrored shards of Thalon's face—his voice—his smile—his betrayal.
And then Jack understood.
"You're not my father. You're the thing inside me," he said coldly. "The Devourer."
The shadows exploded outward, revealing not a man—but a shape. Featureless. Smoke and limbs and screaming mouths—shifting constantly, a creature of memory and madness.
It answered with a voice that was his mother's. Then Auren's. Then Nyssa's.
"You let me in," it whispered. "When you forged the Sigil. When you merged the artifacts. When you opened the Gate."
Jack dropped to one knee, clutching his chest as the force surged through him, the hunger, the power—it wanted out. It wanted form.
"You wanted this," it growled. "You asked for strength. You begged not to die. You let me in."
"No…" Jack's voice was tight.
"You sought the Mirror," it hissed. "And saw your truth. A vessel. A herald of the end. The Second Sundering begins with you."
Jack gasped, his mind straining against the tide of whispers in his skull. Was it true? Had he started this? Had his desperation doomed them all?
He staggered back, the shadows coiling closer, whispering in Thalon's voice, twisting every memory into poison.
Then—through the noise—
"Jack!"
A voice. Sharp. Real.
Nyssa's.
Light speared through the gloom, her blade glimmering with runes. Behind her came Marek, his axe held high. Lola, fingers glowing. Kael, silent but steady.
"We're here!" Nyssa called. "Don't listen to it. That thing isn't real!"
Jack fell to one hand, panting, the weight of the Devourer pressing down.
"You don't understand," he croaked. "It's in me. I can't—"
"Yes, you can," Nyssa cut in, stepping into the shadow's edge. "We've all seen darkness. But you're not alone anymore. You're not a vessel. You're Jack."
The creature roared, a dozen mouths screaming in unison.
"They will abandon you. They all do. Just like your mother. Just like—"
"Shut up!" Jack shouted, rising. "You're not my father. You're not me. You're just the parasite that wants to be."
The thing lunged, tendrils reaching for his chest—
But Jack stood firm.
He didn't run.
Didn't flinch.
He chose.
Light burst from his chest, not blinding, but resolute—runic threads of silver fire swirling around him. Auren's sigil pulsed across his arm. Nyssa's sword answered, singing as the darkness recoiled.
The Devourer shrieked and shattered like glass, fragments dissolving into mist.
Silence fell.
The chamber was still again. The fog peeled back to reveal the path ahead.
Jack looked at Nyssa, breathless. "Thank you."
She sheathed her blade. "You don't ever have to face it alone."
Kael stepped beside him. "You made the right choice. That matters."
Lola placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes shining silver. "But it'll come again. The Devourer isn't done."
Jack nodded. He felt it too. The presence within hadn't vanished—only been beaten back. But now he knew it. And it knew him.
"I'm not its vessel," he said aloud. "Not anymore."
And as the companions walked deeper into the Hollow's heart, the darkness watched. Silent. Waiting.
But Jack didn't fear it now.
He was ready.