They returned to Verdant Hollow under a sky the color of old parchment. The journey back was quiet, not because there was nothing to say—but because too much lingered between them.
Kael kept to the rear, the bottle tucked deep within his pouch. It hadn't pulsed since the spire had risen. It hadn't spoken through thought or memory. It simply… waited.
The others moved like separate islands.
Sariel led, her steps sharp and unyielding.
Mero followed, one hand never far from the blade at his hip.
Vetch stumbled more than once, his face pale and eyes sunken.
No one spoke of the thing they had seen. No one dared.
The Hollow's gates creaked open without ceremony.
No fanfare.
No greetings.
Only the faint scent of burning herbs and stone dust drifting through the corridors.
Gatekeeper Neral met them at the inner bridge. Her gaze lingered a beat too long on Kael but she said nothing. Simply motioned them onward toward the central hall.
A council had been called.
And they were late.
Inside, the senior disciples gathered in tight clusters.
Whispers snaked between them.
Words like contamination and awakening floated just loud enough to sting.
Elric was there, seated on a low bench against the wall. His robe looked heavier, darker somehow, and though he didn't move, Kael could feel the man's focus—sharp as a blade just before it falls.
Varra stood near the front, speaking quietly with a man Kael didn't recognize.
Not Gray Division.
Not Hollow-born.
Someone else.
Someone heavier.
Councilor Marren—a withered figure with ink-stained fingers and the Hollow's official Keeper of Records—banged a staff against the stone floor.
"Step forward."
They obeyed.
Kael's boots echoed too loudly.
He hated it.
"You bring reports of anomalies," Marren said. His voice was the scrape of leaves across stone. "Diseased earth. Altered plants. Disrupted spirits. And now… the emergence of an entity not sanctioned by the Order."
Sariel bowed her head slightly.
Mero grunted something that might have been agreement.
Kael said nothing.
Marren turned his gaze fully onto him.
"And you, Kael. What have you to say?"
Kael considered lying.
Deflecting.
Saying he saw what they saw and no more.
But the bottle pulsed against his ribs.
Just once.
A warning.
Or a reminder.
He straightened.
"I believe the source was ancient. Not natural. It responded to… artifacts unknown."
Marren's lips thinned.
"Artifacts?"
Kael nodded.
"Possibly predating the Hollow's founding."
Murmurs spread like fire through the chamber.
Elric stirred for the first time.
His voice cut through the whispers.
"Predating?" he said quietly. "Or surviving?"
Kael hesitated.
Then answered:
"Both."
Marren leaned back.
"The Order will dispatch a retrieval team. Until then, you will not leave the Hollow grounds. None of you."
A pause.
"You will also submit to evaluation."
Another pause.
"And artifact inspection."
The words dropped like stones into a still pond.
Kael's chest tightened.
Evaluation meant mind probes.
Artifact inspection meant—
The bottle.
Varra smiled faintly.
As if she had been waiting for this.
Dismissed, they filtered out.
The others drifted toward their quarters.
Kael moved slower.
He felt Elric's gaze on his back but didn't turn.
Didn't run.
Didn't speak.
Only when he reached the narrow hall leading to the outer gardens did he find a shadow waiting for him.
Not Elric.
Vetch.
"You're not going to submit it," Vetch said.
Not a question.
Kael looked at him.
"What makes you think I have anything to submit?"
Vetch's smile was broken.
"I saw you. I felt it. Back in Emberfen. You think they didn't?"
Kael said nothing.
Vetch stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"They'll tear it out of you if you don't give it freely."
A beat.
"Or worse—make you use it."
Kael tightened his grip on the pouch.
The bottle was warm again.
Vetch backed away, hands raised.
"Whatever that thing is… it's not from this world. It's not from their world either."
He turned and disappeared into the misty corridor without waiting for a reply.
Kael stood there for a long time.
Listening to the silence.
Feeling the weight of the bottle against his ribs.
Knowing the walls were already closing in.
Knowing choices would soon run out.
He didn't move for a long time.
Because deep in the bottle's core, something had stirred.
Not a memory.
Not a voice.
A hunger