The house loomed in the stormlight.
Twisted. Blackened. Cracked.
Like it had been waiting for centuries to be noticed again.
Aarohi stood at the gate, barefoot, the wind slicing across her skin like knives.
"This is it," she whispered. "It began here. And it will end here."
Veer said nothing. He held her hand tighter.
They stepped through the iron gate.
And the wind stopped.
Like the house was holding its breath.
Inside, the air was colder than death.
Paint peeled in strips from the walls.
Shadows moved in corners without a source.
The floorboards wept.
And at the center of the living room—where the fireplace once stood—was a hole.
Not just in the floor.
But in the world.
A spiral of bones and ash, still smoking.
Veer's voice cracked. "This wasn't here before."
Aarohi stepped closer.
And the hole spoke.
In a voice made of many mouths:
"Welcome home, Gate."
The walls began to bleed.
Not red—but black.
Thick, tar-like shadows oozed from the wallpaper, crawling toward Aarohi.
Veer swung a blade, but it passed through them like smoke.
The house laughed.
Aarohi dropped to her knees.
Something was inside her again. Stirring. Screaming.
The real one.
The true god.
The thing the Hollow God had kept caged.
Not a deity.
Not a devil.
But a thought so old it never needed a name.
The cults were wrong.
The Hollow God wasn't evil.
It was a doorstop.
Keeping this from slipping through the cracks of time.
And now…
It was free.
The walls melted.
The air turned thick.
And Aarohi began to scream—not from pain—but from remembering.
She saw herself not as a woman—but as a vessel, forged by ancient rituals and bloodline pacts.
Her great-grandfather hadn't cursed the house.
He had bound it.
With her bloodline.
She was always meant to be the final gate.
From the spiral, it rose.
No face.
No form.
Just a mouth of teeth and eyes, endlessly shifting.
And it spoke in Aarohi's voice.
"Step aside, Veer. This is between me… and what I once was."
Veer cried, "You're not it! You're stronger!"
The thing laughed, using his voice now.
"You were always mine, too."
Veer grabbed the blade of salt.
Ran toward the spiral.
The monster surged.
Aarohi screamed—and unleashed it all.
Silver light.
Memories.
The love she'd buried.
The pain.
The god's voice roared.
But it began to burn.
Not from the salt—
From her humanity.
Love.
Loss.
Regret.
It had never known these things.
And it couldn't withstand them.
Veer grabbed Aarohi.
Pulled her back.
Together, they spoke as one:
"You are not our god.
You are our prisoner."
And they stepped into the spiral.
The house exploded with light.
The land cracked.
The sky bled silver.
And the god screamed—
Not in power—
But in fear.
Because the gate had closed.
Not sealed…
Buried.
By two souls.
One broken.
One reborn.
When the smoke cleared…
The house was gone.
Only ashes remained.
But in the center of that ruin stood a woman.
Alone.
Hair like fire.
Eyes like storms.
Aarohi.
Alive.
Changed.
Veer was gone.
But not lost.
He lived inside her now.
As light.
As strength.
As memory.
Years later, locals said the ground where Hollowridge once stood grew nothing.
No grass. No flowers. No birds.
Just silence.
But sometimes…
At night…
If you stood very still…
You could hear her voice in the wind:
"Some doors should never be opened.
And some love is strong enough to close them forever."
The End.