Dawn arrived in hues of blood-orange and lavender, casting long shadows over the Hollow. The village had not slept fully—not since the fire whispered the first warning. Dreams came heavy now, soaked with signs and sounds that didn't belong to the dreamers.
Chizzy stood at the highest point of the ridge, overlooking the valley. She clutched the thread Noma had given her, now woven into a band around her wrist. It pulsed faintly, like it breathed with her.
Behind her, Aerun approached quietly. "They'll begin soon," he said.
Chizzy didn't look back. "Who?"
"The Hollowed."
She turned to him. "What are they?"
"Souls drained of memory. Carved hollow by the Veil's silence. They exist between thought and obedience—used to spy, to sabotage, to... erase."
Chizzy's throat tightened. "Like the girl I saw in the fire?"
Aerun nodded grimly. "Exactly. That wasn't a vision. It was a warning—and a plea."
Chizzy stepped back from the ridge's edge. "Then we need to prepare."
They returned to the village together, where the morning hum had already begun. Children ran messages between huts, elders ground herbs, and those marked by the flame practiced in slow, precise movements.
Kiran met them in the square, holding a scroll. "Three scouts didn't return from their patrol past the stone field. One sent a whisper through the thread—then silence."
"Which direction?" Chizzy asked.
"The west trail."
Talia joined them, her brow furrowed. "That's near the broken cairns. The land there's thin. Easy for shadows to slip through."
"We go," Chizzy said. "Now."
—
The west trail was silent, the kind of silence that muffled even footsteps. Trees bent inward like watchers holding their breath.
Chizzy, Talia, Kiran, and Aerun moved in a diamond formation, eyes scanning every root and stone.
Then they saw it.
A figure stood in the clearing—still as death, facing away. Robes torn, hands hanging loose. A thread of blood ran down their forearm.
"Liora?" Talia whispered, stepping forward.
Chizzy caught her wrist. "Wait."
The figure twitched.
And then turned.
It was Liora—her eyes dark and unfocused, her lips moving, but no sound emerged.
Kiran stepped forward. "Liora, it's us. You're safe now."
She opened her mouth.
And screamed—but it was silent.
The sound never reached them. Only the pressure. Like the air had been punched out of the world.
Behind her, two more Hollowed stepped from the trees—scouts from the village. Their marks were blackened, like charred symbols on burnt parchment.
"They're not gone," Aerun whispered. "But they're fading."
Chizzy didn't hesitate. She stepped forward and unwrapped the thread from her wrist. It pulsed violently in her palm, reacting to the unspoken agony before her.
"Liora," she said softly, "if you remember anything—remember me. Remember the fire. The night we sang near the river. The time you helped me carry that broken lantern. That wasn't just light—it was you."
The thread glowed brighter, wrapping around her hand like a flame reborn.
One of the Hollowed flinched.
"Keep going," Aerun urged.
Chizzy took another step. "You aren't empty. You're full of memories the Veil couldn't understand. That's why they want to silence you."
Talia stepped beside her. "Remember the stories you told the children. The way you used to laugh when the soup boiled over."
Kiran's voice cracked. "Remember us."
Liora blinked. A tear fell.
Then—sound.
It came all at once. A gasp. A sob. The choking echo of a name—"Chizzy…"
And then the mark on her palm flared gold.
The Hollowed screamed as the silence shattered, and one by one, they collapsed to their knees.
The Veil had underestimated the fire.
Because even in silence, memory speaks.