The corridor outside Boo's den swallowed them in low light and the quiet hum of runes embedded in the stone. The scent of incense faded quickly, replaced by the familiar cocktail of Serath'Kai's lower veins—rust, alchemical coolant, and oil-thick rainwater that never seemed to dry.
Perseus said nothing at first, but his grip on the shard was tight. The faint glow from the data crystal pulsed with idle life as if counting down toward something inevitable.
Nyxia adjusted the new armor across her shoulders. It molded to her like it had been waiting for her all along. Every joint moved smoothly, the shadow-thread lining flexing with her breath. Each step felt cleaner, quicker. Her body felt… sharp. Like her own reflexes had been tuned ever so slightly toward violence.
And she liked it.
"You're quiet," she said after a few strides.
Perseus's eyes flicked toward her. "Just thinking."
"That's dangerous."
"Yeah, well. You're wearing mystery armor gifted through a back-alley goblin auction house, and we're hunting someone who's dealing in Hollow-crafted relics."
She grinned faintly. "So you're thinking about how good I look in black."
Perseus gave a choked laugh, and for a moment, the tension cracked. "That's not all I'm thinking about," he admitted. "But… it's up there."
They passed through a narrow causeway strung with colorless lanterns, then descended a spiral ramp that echoed beneath their boots. Below, the Drainpipe District stretched like a web—part tunnel, part sewage reclamation, all danger. Pipes twisted overhead like petrified serpents. Echoes bounced down corridors even when nothing moved.
Loque padded ahead, ears twitching. He stopped abruptly at a corner, sniffed, and gave a soft rumble.
Perseus held up the shard. "Waypoint says they passed through here less than an hour ago. Caravan team of five. Moving crates under fake textile manifests. Hollow-bloom residue marked one of the carts."
Nyxia's expression tightened. "Any idea what's inside?"
"No. But Switch said deliveries. That means someone's buying."
They followed the path deeper, the city changing around them. Here, the walls bled. Not in the literal sense—but in subtle ways. Rust wept from seams. Pipes breathed. Glyphs shimmered just below the surface of the metal, as if the whole district had been cursed into remembering every foul thing ever whispered in its dark.
Then they heard it—wheels on metal. The low groan of a wagon axle. Voices.
Perseus held up a hand. Nyxia dropped into a crouch behind a stack of collapsed conduit drums. Loque disappeared into shadow.
The caravan emerged.
Two wagons. Rust-choked, pulled by gutted engine-snails—golem beasts powered by steam and misery. Three drivers. Two guards walking ahead, rifles slung across their backs.
And one more trailing behind them.
He didn't look like a fighter. More like a scribe—robes, goggles, thin gloves stained with oil and ink. He held something clutched to his chest. A box. Simple. Carved.
But it pulsed with that same unwholesome throb that had lived in Ves'Sariel's garden.
Perseus muttered, "That's our mark."
Nyxia's bow was already in her hands.
"No killing the cargo," she reminded him.
"Noted."
They moved in tandem—Perseus stepping out onto the road like a paladin who owned it, and Nyxia vanishing into the gloom until only her footsteps could be heard.
"Halt," Perseus barked, voice sharp and steady.
The guards turned—half-interested, half-amused.
One of them sneered. "You lost, bright-eyes?"
"Actually," he said, "I'm here to make sure you don't get anyone else lost. Like your informant friend."
The robed figure froze.
Before the guards could raise their rifles, Nyxia dropped from the shadows.
Her arrow struck the muzzle of one gun, snapping it upward with a force that cracked bone. She rolled under the second shot and came up with a knee to the guard's throat. The man collapsed in a heap.
The wagon screeched as one of the snails reared, squealing with steam. Perseus lunged, shield raised, and slammed into the remaining front guard like a falling star.
The robed figure dropped the box and ran.
"Go!" Nyxia shouted.
She sprinted after him, feet skimming over the cracked stone. Loque tore past her, faster than thought, howling like a wraith. He tackled the man into the side of the tunnel, not biting—just pinning.
Nyxia reached them a breath later.
"Don't move," she hissed, bow drawn.
"I'm just a courier!" the man squeaked, pressing back into the wall.
"Carrying cursed artifacts across city lines."
"I—I didn't know—Skelva said it was just salvage—!"
Nyxia kicked the box. It popped open.
Inside: not salvage. Not even close.
A lump of something that might have been bone, fused with glyph-wrought metal. A piece of something. A fang. A horn. A shard of the Hollow.
It throbbed with heat. And cold. And hunger.
Perseus arrived beside her, jaw tight.
"We're taking him," he said. "And this."
Nyxia nodded. "You good to carry it?"
Perseus looked at the shard and said grimly, "No. But I'll manage."
By the time they dragged the courier back to Boo's den, he was pale and shaking, muttering to himself in fragments of dialects he probably didn't even speak. The artifact had been wrapped in six layers of void-silk and sealed in a reinforced pouch Perseus had begged off one of Boo's attendants.
When they entered the den, Boo was still lounging.
She raised an eyebrow at the disheveled state of their prize.
"Effective," she said. "And messy. My favorite kind."
Nyxia shoved the courier forward. "He's got more names."
"Good." Boo gestured to one of her shadows. "Put him in the listening room. I'll hear him scream later."
Perseus dropped the pouch on her table. "And this?"
Boo leaned close.
The moment she saw the shard, her face stilled.
Then she smiled. But her eyes did not.
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "You've just made this city… a little safer."
Nyxia didn't believe that for a second.
But she nodded anyway.
"You're not done," Boo said, rising at last.
Perseus frowned. "There's more?"
"Oh yes," she purred. "This was just the appetizer. Now we find out where they were sending it. And who wants it badly enough to keep feeding the Hollow from below."
She looked at Nyxia's armor again—just for a breath longer than was comfortable.
Then turned.
"Get some rest," she said. "You'll need it."
And with that, the next hunt began.
They left Boo's chamber in silence, the thick scent of incense clinging to their skin like smoke. Somewhere behind them, the courier was already screaming.
Or maybe it was just the echo of memory.
Nyxia said nothing as they crossed the long hallway back toward the guest quarters. Her stride was sharp, deliberate, but the edge of adrenaline had dulled. Every step echoed like a drumbeat inside her skull. Her armor flexed soundlessly with each motion, but beneath it, her muscles trembled with the residue of Hollow magic.
Perseus kept pace beside her, one hand braced against the wall as if steadying himself. He didn't speak, didn't glance her way—but she knew his silence wasn't from fatigue alone. He'd carried that shard for most of the walk back. Even now, she could see the faint shimmer of runes beneath his gauntlet, pulsing like a heartbeat he hadn't asked for.
They reached their door. The moment it clicked shut behind them, it was like the tension drained from the room itself.
Nyxia pulled her bow free and set it gently on the table. Her fingers lingered at the grip longer than they should've, as if still bracing for one last attack.
Perseus leaned his shield against the far wall, then turned and sat heavily on the edge of the divan. His armor creaked with the motion, and when he exhaled, it sounded like he'd been holding his breath for miles.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Eventually, Loque curled up at the base of the couch with a soft, spectral chuff. His ears twitched toward the walls, toward nothing, before he stilled completely—his watch begun once more.
Nyxia moved to the basin in the corner and peeled off her gloves. The leather stuck to her palms, soaked through with sweat and tension. The water was still warm, a minor miracle. She splashed some across her face and neck, hissing at the sting where the Hollow's energy had touched her too closely.
Perseus's voice was soft. "You okay?"
She looked over her shoulder. His eyes met hers. Unflinching. Honest.
"Tired," she admitted.
He nodded once.
"I'll do the first watch," he said.
"I wasn't planning on sleeping."
"Me neither."
She crossed the room and sat beside him. Close enough that their arms brushed. Close enough to feel the tension still coiled in his spine. The armor didn't shift under her—Skivv's masterpiece molded to her body like a second skin, like it had known her longer than it should have.
Perseus glanced down at her again. Then leaned slightly, his voice dropping.
"There's something wrong with that shard."
She nodded. "I felt it too. Like… it wanted to speak."
"More than speak," he muttered. "It knew me. Just for a moment."
Nyxia shivered.
"You think it was meant for her?" she asked. "Ves'Sariel?"
He didn't answer.
She didn't expect him to.
Instead, they sat there in the half-dark—two warriors wrapped in silence, scars, and armor made by things neither of them fully understood.
The false-sky of Serath'Kai's dome began to dim outside the windowless walls, a subtle cue embedded in the glowstones that threaded Boo's sanctuary. Somewhere in the distance, metal birds chirped on a schedule, pretending dawn was near.
Nyxia leaned back into the cushions, legs curled beneath her, head tilted to rest lightly on Perseus's shoulder.
He didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Only set his hand atop hers where it rested against her thigh, fingers brushing knuckles in a gesture more comforting than intimate.
And for a moment—just a breath—they were allowed to be quiet.
No Hollow. No Boo. No shattered priestess or corrupted faith or weapons that wanted to sing.
Just two souls.
Breathing.
Resting.
Waiting for the next war.