A lone figure walks along a shoreline of bleached sand, the salted earth beneath her feet seemingly orange under the dim crimson light of the now-shattered Blood Moon.

  As she moves through the sand, in the sand a line draws, in her wake. She drags a lone blade, single-edged with inscriptions etched into every inch.

  As she walks through the coarse underfoot, she reaches a destination. Her footfalls end as she steps into an open shrine of a deity long dead. Runia, Keeper of Knowledge and Sanctum.

  There, she finds a journal. Only a single page inscribed.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "To the one who resonates with the very essence of these lands' makers; long after I write these words will you read them. The prophets foretell of you. Not for millennia will you come, but these words will reverberate through the sands of time through to you. As it began before, so will it begin again. You will end this depravity and release these lands. Or so it is said."

  — Archivist of Ruin, Year 0 of The Hollowing

  She does away with the journal, having gleaned all she can, and sets forth for a shattered cathedral in the horizon.