The storm rolled in with unnatural fury.
Rain didn't fall—it lashed. Winds didn't howl they screamed.
Chizzy stood at the edge of the village square, hair plastered to her face, the Blade of Oath glowing steadily in her grip. Around her, the villagers scrambled to reinforce their homes and fortify the temple ruins with salt, sigils, and chants that hadn't been spoken aloud in generations.
But none of it would hold.
She could feel it—something was coming. Something stronger than wards or rituals. The Hollow was rising. And it wanted Talia.
Inside the healer's hut, Chizzy found her sister curled on the floor, drenched in sweat, trembling, her eyes flickering between violet and black. Her body convulsed as if battling something within.
"Talia," Chizzy whispered, kneeling beside her. "I saw it… in the Vale. I saw what happens if we don't face this together."
Talia let out a broken gasp. "It's inside me… trying to tear me apart."
"You're not alone," Chizzy said, taking her sister's hand. "You never were."
A flicker of light sparked between them. Not from the sword—but from their joined palms.
The bond.
It wasn't just magical—it was familial, spiritual, ancestral. It had always been there, running beneath their skin like a forgotten river. They had been born not as tools, but as conduits. Chosen not just to hold the Hollow back—but to change it.
"I don't want to be a weapon," Talia whispered.
"You won't be," Chizzy replied. "We'll be something new."
Outside, a thunderclap shook the earth.
A figure stood at the village gate. Cloaked in shadow. Tall. Unmoving.
The Seer.
Only this time… it wasn't alone.
Creatures spilled from behind it—twisted things with elongated limbs and hollow eyes, dragging dark mist as they moved. The villagers screamed and scattered, torches blown out by the force of the storm.
Chizzy rose, stepping into the rain, Talia staggering behind her.
Elder Noma shouted from the temple steps, "We can't hold them back!"
"No," Chizzy said calmly. "You don't have to."
She and Talia moved as one, their feet bare on the wet earth. The mark on Chizzy's arm ignited, and Talia's chest glowed with the same symbol—now fully awakened.
The Seer raised its hand.
Chizzy raised her blade.
And then they spoke—together.
"We are not your vessels. We are not your doorways. We are your end."
The creatures lunged.
But the sisters didn't move.
Instead, they clasped hands once more—and the storm itself bent around them.
A vortex of energy exploded outward, a blinding halo of light and violet fire. The wind screamed, not in rage—but in fear. The Hollow recoiled.
The Seer staggered back, its form flickering. The creatures froze, their shapes unraveling like parchment in flame.
Chizzy felt herself rising—not in body, but in spirit. Her consciousness stretched outward, brushing the edges of something vast, ancient… and alive. The Hollow wasn't evil. It wasn't even a singular being. It was grief. Loss. All the forgotten pain of the ancestors, coiled into shadow.
"We can't destroy it," Chizzy murmured. "We have to heal it."
Talia nodded, her eyes glowing. "Let's give it a new shape."
Their energy surged, entwining in a spiral of color and heat. The Seer let out a final wail before it disintegrated, its body collapsing into a rain of ash. The rest followed, dissolved in the light of their bond.
Then silence.
The storm broke.
The rain slowed to a drizzle.
And the village—still standing—breathed again.
Chizzy turned to her sister. For the first time in weeks, Talia smiled.
"Still think we're just keys?" she asked.
Chizzy laughed, exhaustion and wonder in her voice. "No. We're the locksmiths now."