Long before the Hollow Star, before even the rise of the Skyborn, the ancients spoke of a place beyond the known stars—a crucible where all celestial anchors were once formed: the Starforge.
Orin had seen glimpses in his visions. A place suspended outside time, built into the corpse of a fallen god-star. No maps marked it. No living soul remembered its location. But the Skybrand on Orin's chest pointed the way—not outward, but inward.
"We're not crossing space," Kaelen realized. "We're crossing memory."
They stood at the edge of the Iridescent Hollow, a tear in the world where dream and reality mingled. The gateway to the Starforge had to be entered from within the anchors themselves. And to survive that journey, they would need a vessel built from skyglass, echo-steel, and flame.
Mira looked down the shimmering ravine. "How do we build a ship that can sail across a memory?"
"We don't," Orin said. "We become it."
The three of them descended together.
At the bottom of the hollow, the air was thick with echoes—voices from the past repeating fragments of forgotten truths. Orin stood in the center, raised his hand, and let the Skybrand ignite.
Each point of the brand flared—Anchor of Flame, Root, Shard, and Heart—and the air around them bent.
Reality shimmered.
A shape began to form: not a ship, not a blade, but a vessel of light—a fusion of memory and will, woven from the anchors themselves. A doorway. A choice.
The vessel opened.
Orin looked back once at the world they had fought so hard to save. The scorched horizon. The stars above, trembling but still there.
"You don't have to come with me," he said quietly.
Mira grinned. "Like hell we're letting you face the Star alone."
Kaelen simply nodded and stepped in beside him.
As they entered the vessel, time unraveled.
They were no longer in the Hollow, or on any world at all. They were drifting between threads of existence—watching galaxies rewind, entire histories play in reverse.
The Skyforge lay ahead: a sphere of impossible architecture, orbiting the bleeding heart of a dead constellation.
Inside, something waited.
Not the Hollow Star. Not yet.
But its origin.
And it had already begun to awaken.