The path to Black Hollow was not marked on any map.
They followed a trail that had been buried in myth and blood—twisting through the Silverpine Vale, across the Ridge of Wails, and finally, into the mouth of the Hollow itself. A land drenched in perpetual twilight, where light bent wrong and shadows whispered the names of the long-dead.
Liora stood at its threshold, wind biting into her cheeks, the new power humming beneath her skin like a second pulse. Her newly bleached strands of hair danced in the wind. Every step into this place felt like being pulled into a memory that wasn't hers.
"We shouldn't be here," Calen muttered, gripping the hilt of his dagger tighter. "There's something wrong with the air."
"Good," Liora said. "Means we're close."
They passed shattered statues half-buried in thorny roots—faces worn down, eyes gouged out. Liora couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched—not by a person, but by the Hollow itself.
Tessa flinched as a shadow darted across the path.
"Did you see that?"
"Ignore them," Liora said. "They want you to look. That's how they draw you in."
A faint voice called out from behind.
"Sister…"
Liora stopped.
"Don't," Dareth said, grabbing her arm. "You know that's not real."
She nodded, swallowing the chill. But her heart betrayed her. That voice—it had sounded too close to him. Too much like Alric.
That night, they camped near a broken monolith covered in old runes, its surface scorched by long-dead fire. Liora didn't sleep. Instead, she walked deeper into the Hollow, alone, drawn by a pull in her chest like a tether on her soul.
She found it in a glade of silver ash.
A door.
Not wooden, nor stone—but something in between. Organic. Breathing. Covered in chains made of bone. And at its center—a handprint. Her handprint.
Liora stepped forward.
"If you open that, there's no going back."
She turned.
The voice belonged to an old man. Hooded. His beard was tangled with moss, his eyes two pinpricks of blue flame.
"Who are you?"
"I was the last to walk through it," he said. "The door feeds on bloodlines. Yours opened it once before."
"My father?"
"Your brother."
The Hollow groaned.
"He passed through. Willingly. He was chosen. But the cost—" The man reached into his robe and tossed a small, hollowed-out skull at her feet. It was too small to belong to an adult.
Liora stared at it, her face unreadable.
"What did he do?"
"He fed the Hollow. Made a deal to protect you. It twisted him."
The man began to fade, as though the truth itself was too fragile to remain solid.
"If you go through, you won't come back the same."
"I already haven't."
She placed her hand on the door.
The chains broke like cracking ice. The door sighed open, revealing darkness deeper than any shadow she'd known.
And she stepped inside.
The world beyond was not a world at all.
It was memory.
She stood in a fragmented version of her childhood home. Her father sat at the table, eyes blank, carving a piece of bone like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her mother danced in the kitchen—but her shadow moved out of rhythm with her body.
And Alric… he stood in the doorway. Older. Taller. Wearing robes stitched with veins of silver and black. He looked like a prince from a nightmare.
"Liora," he said, smiling gently. "You finally made it."
Her throat clenched. "You're alive."
"Alive? No. But not gone either."
He stepped toward her, eyes glowing faintly.
"You're not supposed to be here yet."
"You left," she hissed. "You let them think you were dead."
"Because the truth is worse."
"Tell me."
"I made a pact. To keep the White Circle from tearing you apart. I gave them me. In exchange, they erased all records of your lineage. Buried you beneath lies. They couldn't find you—but they could find her."
Liora's fists clenched. "Eliane."
He nodded. "They thought she was you. I couldn't stop them."
The room shook. His image flickered.
"There's no time. They're coming for the Hollow. If they take it, they'll control the veil between life and death."
"How do I stop them?"
Alric looked pained. "You can't do it alone. The Veil-tier magic you unlocked—there's one more level. Requiem-tier. But it needs two souls, bonded by blood."
"You mean…"
"I'm yours. But it'll destroy what's left of me."
"You think I care?" she whispered, voice cracking. "You think I wouldn't trade everything to make this right?"
He smiled.
"Then take my soul."
Back in the waking world, Liora gasped as she reappeared by the monolith.
The runes lit up around her, and the air cracked with power.
Dareth was at her side instantly.
"Where were you—?"
"He's alive. Alric. But not for long."
"What happened to you? You look—"
"Ready."
She turned toward the horizon, where war drums had begun to echo, slow and heavy like a giant's heartbeat.
The White Circle was moving.
And so was she.