The path wasn't marked on any of the maps the group had brought with them. No compass, no trail sign, no faint suggestion of where it might lie. It simply wasn't there. To the eye, it looked like no more than a small break in the dense underbrush, a natural gap that the trees had formed over time. But this wasn't a trail created by footsteps or human hands. It was just a narrow crack between thick trees—an unintentional opening that hadn't been present the day before. Or perhaps, like so many mysterious things in Hollowmere, it had always been there, hidden in plain sight. Waiting patiently, silent and still, for someone like them to notice and step into its quiet secret. The forest around it seemed unchanged—still and silent—yet somehow alive with anticipation.
Mira was the one who discovered it. She had been following a rough sketch she'd drawn that morning, a rough map of her own making, without realizing it. Her pencil had traced a faint trail—sketchy and imperfect—through the thicket. The trail wound around gnarled roots and thick patches of moss, almost invisible to anyone else. It led her to a place where seven broken stones stood in a loose crescent shape. They seemed out of place, old and weathered, half-covered in moss and dirt. Seeing this, she froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened as her mind quickly recalled the visions she'd seen—the stones, the crescent, their significance. And then she realized—this was no coincidence; she had been here before in memory. Her voice trembled as she softly whispered, "I've been here before," the words barely more than a breath in the silent forest.
A few minutes later, the others arrived quietly behind her. They moved into the grove with careful steps, weapons and words held close. No one spoke loudly; instead, every glance and gesture carried weight. Rylan felt a strange sensation crawl up his arms as he stepped beneath the arch of branches overhead. The air felt different here—cool and damp, heavy with the scent of old moss, wet earth, and whispered history. It was not a place of noise or bustling life. Instead, its silence seemed to pulse with something unseen. Not with the hum of living creatures, but with presence. An unmistakable sense that they were being watched, followed, remembered. The grove was quiet, but it was not vacant. It thrummed with a quiet power, a feeling of something deeply aware—alive with memory or maybe lingering spirits.
At the center of the grove, the stones formed a rough half-circle around a small, sunken pit. The grass within the circle was sparse—trampled or unable to grow in the disturbed earth. Nothing grew there now, only packed soil and cracks spreading out like veins across the dirt. The space felt sacred—like a holy site—or scarred by something darker. There was a heaviness in the air, as if something had happened here long ago. Mira softly said, "This is where they stood," her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes reached out to the stones, trembling slightly. She looked at the seven standing stones, each bearing a symbol, some worn and faint from time but still recognizable. "The seven from the visions," she added, almost to herself.
Ash knelt beside one of the stones. Carefully, he brushed dirt and moss away from its surface. Underneath, a symbol was faint but still visible—a jagged, angular flame, etched and weathered by years. It was a recognizable sign—something that seemed to flicker in memory, perhaps a symbol of fire, change, or a guiding spirit. He looked at Rylan and pointed to the stone. "Rylan," he said softly, "this one's yours." Rylan nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. Meanwhile, Lina moved over to another stone. She reached out, her fingers brushing the bark-like surface, and as she did, vines wound around her hand—gently, almost as if they recognized her touch. The vines curled in a slow, affectionate way, as if happy to be noticed. "They left these," she said quietly. "Or maybe… we did. Maybe they're meant for us now." Her words lingered as she stared at the overgrown stone, tasting the mystery of what had been left behind.
Varyon stood back, arms crossed, his gaze flickering from stone to stone, restless and alert. His expression was focused, the tension in his posture clear. He seemed uneasy, as if he was searching for something missing. "If these are our past selves," he said slowly, "then where's the seventh?" His voice carried the question deeper than the words themselves. Mira moved closer to the pit and slowly circled it, her eyes scanning the dark earth. "It's gone," she whispered, voice trembling. It was as if nothing should have been disturbed. "It's not just hidden—it's vanished." Ash looked at her sharply, seeking clarification. "Destroyed?" he asked. She shook her head, hesitating. "Or erased," she replied, hinting at something more complex than simple destruction.
Then, a sudden movement disrupted the stillness. The wind caressed the leaves, but it was not just a gentle breeze. It felt like a breath—something alive and sentient. The canopy above groaned loudly, shadows shifting and flickering like restless spirits passing through the branches. The grove seemed to breathe, the darkness deepening as shadows lengthened unexpectedly. Rylan knelt at the center of the circle, directly over the cracked earth. He closed his eyes and laid his palm flat on the ground, silently focusing. He wasn't trying to summon anything; he was just listening. Waiting. And beneath the surface, something responded—an echo from the deep soil. It wasn't spoken words but a feeling, a ripple of emotion passing through him: grief, fire, and the weight of choices made long ago. He pulled his hand back slowly, gasping as a faint glow appeared on his palm. His sigil pulsed faintly, a heartbeat in his hand that told him something was stirring beneath.
"This is where they buried something," Rylan said softly, his voice rough with awe. "Or someone." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meanings. Varyon's eyes narrowed sharply. "A body?" he asked, voice cold. Rylan hesitated before answering. "Or a memory," he said quietly, more certain than not. Their pause was interrupted by a shudder in the earth. The ground trembled briefly, enough to shake dust from the treetops and make the group tense. Everyone froze, alert and cautious. Ash moved beside Rylan, his eyes scanning the treeline. "Tell me that was a squirrel," he said, trying to lighten the moment. Lina shook her head, her face grim. "It wasn't," she answered flatly. Rylan rose, brushing dirt from his hands. His eyes remained fixed on the forest. "Something down there moved," he said, voice steady but cautious. "Or shifted." Ash frowned. "I thought you said it was buried," he pointed out. Rylan nodded slowly. "It still is," he said, "but it doesn't want to stay buried. Not anymore." Varyon drew his blade, the metal glinting in the dim light. "We should leave," he said, voice firm. "Now. No hesitation." But Mira stepped forward, her expression calm but determined. "No," she said, voice steady. "We came here for a reason. The stones called us. The book led us. And I believe that this grove is trying to remember something. Or someone." Lina nodded, adding, "It's waking up through us." A quiet understanding passed between them. From the shadows, something clicked—a slow, grating sound, like bone scraping against stone. The noise echoed softly, chilling their skin. Mira turned toward the sound, eyes searching. For a moment, she saw nothing. No movement, no shape. Only silence. But she whispered, "It's not attacking." Ash looked at her, voice tense. "Why not?" he asked. Mira's gaze held steady. "Because it's watching." The moment stretched long and tense, filled with unspoken questions.
That night, words about the grove remained unspoken among them. Yet all of them dreamed of it—each with a strange, vivid vision. To their surprise, this night's dreams reflected a different truth. The circle was complete now. In the space where the missing stone once stood, there was a figure shrouded in flames. It radiated heat and light, cloaked in an aura of power and mystery. The figure flickered with an intense energy, silent yet watchful. Rylan awoke just before he saw the face behind the flames—his mind caught between waking and dreaming, caught in a moment of anticipation. The image faded before his eyes, leaving him with only the echo of an unseen presence.