It's a dead town, but it doesn't feel quiet.
The wind moves weird through Hollow Reach—like it's avoiding certain streets. Buildings lean in like they're listening. The sky above is grayer than it should be, even at midday. And under Grim's boots, the cobblestone hums. Not life… memory.
"Okay, so… not to panic you, but this place is cursed."
Grim rolls his eyes. "You said that about the last town."
"And who didn't get turned into a grief statue last time? Oh right, you. You're welcome."
He pushes forward through the broken archway of what used to be the marketplace. Dust swirls as they pass frozen figures—petrified people mid-movement, their faces locked in emotion.
A woman laughing.
A man reaching for her hand.
A child screaming—silent.
"These people weren't attacked," Sparks mutters. "They felt too much."
Grim stops. "So they were taxed?"
"Taxed and maxed. The Court siphons emotions as Lume. When it gets too intense, your core… combusts. You freeze, but your memory gets stored."
He kneels beside one of the statues, brushing ash off the base. A nameplate: ELRAINE.
"Friend of yours?" Sparks asks, quieter now.
"She was a teacher. She used to sneak food to me. Said I reminded her of her brother." Grim swallows. "He got drafted into the Blank Court's Peaceforge."
"Yikes. That's the emotional equivalent of being recycled into a toaster."
Grim's lips twitch. Almost a smile. Almost.
🌀 Deeper Into Hollow Reach
As they head toward the center tower, the buildings shift from crumbled stone to slick, blacked-out metal. The old Emotion Refinery.
Grim places a hand on the entry panel. Sparks crackles from his core.
"So, this is either going to open… or kill you instantly. Fun gamble."
"Always inspiring," Grim mutters, pushing the panel.
The door hisses, sliding open. They step into darkness that doesn't quite feel… dark. It's too still. The kind of stillness that feels like something's holding its breath.
"I hate this. I hate this with all ten of my simulated kidneys."
"You don't even have one."
"Then who's been screaming when you eat those burnt root pods?"
Grim rolls his eyes. "Focus."
"I am focused. I'm focusing on how fast we can get out of here without accidentally waking up some ancient Lume ghost that wants to wear my body like a coat."
They move through the central chamber. Sparks glows faintly from Grim's chest, casting blue light on the walls. Etchings. Memories. Stolen echoes. One is still playing, like a glitch:
A voice: "They'll erase us. One memory at a time—until we forget how to fight."
Then—a noise.
Metal scraping. Not behind. Not ahead. Above.
Grim's body tenses. Sparks hisses.
"Sooo, remember how I said 'ancient ghost'? Yeah. Update: plural."
Something drops from the ceiling—a creature built of twisted metal and frozen Lumes, its chest a hollow cage leaking white smoke.
Its head tilts.
Grim steps back, fists sparking.
"Friend of yours?"
"Nope. That's a Warden Echo. They patrol ruined cores. And we just broke into one."
The thing lunges.