The Hollow Prism Part 3: The Hollow Rewrite

March 15, 2025

A World Out of Sync

Xander was seeing double.

No—worse.

He was seeing too many versions of the world at once.

The rooftops of Astralis lagged and desynced, flickering between shapes—crystalline spires, twisting obsidian towers, floating arcane rings. It was like the city couldn’t decide which version of itself to be.

NPCs on the street stuttered mid-step. Some glitched into different outfits. Some simply disappeared.

Something was rewriting reality.

And the worst part?

No one else noticed.

Not Lazul. Not Orrin. Not the High Arcanist.

Only him. Alone again.

Xander closed his eyes, steadying himself. The moment he did, he saw something even worse.

A shadowed version of himself, standing just behind his shoulder.

Watching.

"What d1d h3 ch4nge?" Xander hissed.

No one answered…

But—in his visor, new glyphs flickered—symbols he didn’t recognize.

The Whisper in Lazul’s Bones

Lazul’s necrocrafted arm wouldn’t stop twitching.

Ever since she had slashed Nyxalith, something had changed. The arm had always whispered—old duels, lost knowledge. But now?

Now it was saying things she didn’t understand.

And worse—it was moving on its own.

Not much. Just subtle adjustments. But to the Blade-Witch, that was too much.

The grip tightening before she thought to do it. The flicker of energy at the edge of her vision.

She looked at her palm. For a second—just a second—it wasn’t her own.

It was someone else’s hand.

Orrin Remixes the Glitch

Orrin tapped a single note on his keytar.

The air rippled.

He frowned.

He tried again. A somber chord, deep and rich.

This time, the sound came twice. Echoing back from somewhere it shouldn’t be.

Like there were two versions of reality—slightly out of sync.

Lazul saw him stiffen. “You hear it too?”

Orrin nodded slowly. "Something is wrong with the song of the world.”

Xander looked at them, knowing too much, and not sure where to start. At least, maybe, he wasn't as alone as he thought… He replied, hopeful, “Th3n w3 need to f1nd out wh4t ch4ng3d…”

The Hollow King’s Mark

They moved through Astralis, searching for anything out of place.

It didn’t take long.

A new sigil had burned itself into the city’s floating temple.

Not just any sigil.

Nyxalith’s.

Before today, it had never been there.

The High Arcanist’s face paled. "That’s impossible."

Xander's exhaled, "Not 4nym0re..."

The Temple of the Hollow Prism

Inside, the temple wasn’t a temple anymore.

It was a library.

A massive, glitching archive of books that didn’t exist. The shelves stretched into infinity, looping back on themselves in impossible ways. Some books had titles that flickered between languages. Some were blank until you tried to read them.

At the center of the chamber was a pedestal.

And on the pedestal sat a single book, waiting to be opened.

A book with a cover made of mirrors.

Lazul’s arm itched violently.

Orrin’s keytar rumbled like a storm before the thunder.

Xander knew what this was before anyone said it.

It was the record of what had been rewritten.

And it had his reflection in it.

The Hollow Duel

Before anyone could move, the reflection stepped out of the book.

And there he was.

Xander—but not Xander.

A remix with no visor. With no hesitation.

A version whose movements were already predicting his own.

Lazul drew her sword, but her necrocrafted arm twisted sharply—forcing her to drop it.

Orrin strummed a chord—but his music warped, playing sdrawkcab?!

They were out of sync.

And Xander’s other self smiled.

"I’v3 4lre4dy won th1s f1gh7."

The Best Moves Weren't Written

Xander didn’t attack.

He didn’t move.

Instead, he did the one thing his reflection wouldn’t expect—

He turned off his visor.

And in the darkness, his two eyes sacrificed to the void, his one eye saw the true version of the fight.

A thousand Xanders.

A thousand versions of this moment, playing out at once.

All ending the same way.

With him losing.

Except—

One.

One version hadn’t ended yet.

Because he hadn’t made a move.

So he did what his reflection couldn’t predict.

He made no move at all.

Version Control

For a moment that stretched into eternity, nothing happened.

Then—everything did.

The false Xander lagged. Twitched. Stuttered.

The Hollow Rewrite broke apart, the mirror shattering into mist and light.

And with it, so did Nyxalith’s sigil on the temple.

Astralis snapped back into focus.

Xander opened his eyes. Took one controlled breath. Activated the arcane visor…

It was clear.

Orrin played a single note, and the echo was gone.

Lazul flexed her necrocrafted arm—and this time, it obeyed.

Nyxalith’s mark was gone.

But that didn’t mean he was.

The Lagging Whisper

As they stood in the empty temple, a distant, impossible, breathless whisper echoed from nowhere.

"CL3\/3r."

The air hummed with Nyxalith’s presence.

"8U7 1 |-|4V3 41r34DY \/\/121773N 7H3 N3X7 P4127."

Then—finally—silence.

Orrin sighed, slinging his keytar back over his shoulder. "That’s not ominous at all."

Xander controlled his breath, unsure whether to speak and dispel the moment.

Lazul sheathed her blade. "If he’s still out there, we’ll find him."

She looked at her necrocrafted arm where the Godcore had embedded itself in the back of her palm. She literally carried a burden she didn't ask for, didn't understand, and wouldn't drop until she'd made things right.

Xander shook his head.

"C4n't y0u s33?" He looked down at his reflection in the temple floor.

"H3’s 4lre4dy f0und u$."

And in the reflection—

A different version of Lazul was staring back.

Her sword bloody. Her necrocrafted arm glowing. Her cruel face smiling.