The Silverwood thickened as they ran, its trees growing older, gnarled, and impossibly vast. Moonlight barely touched the forest floor here; what little light there was gleamed faintly on moss that glowed with a ghostly sheen. The air pressed close, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older than time.
Isolde's chest burned with exhaustion, but Kael urged her onward, every stride driven by instinct and the echo of the horns behind them. The hunters were not far.
"They won't follow forever," Kael muttered between breaths. "This part of the forest is forbidden, even to soldiers."
Isolde glanced at him, sweat slicking her brow. "Why?"
He hesitated, his jaw tight. "Because it is cursed."
Her steps faltered, but he gripped her wrist and pulled her forward. "Cursed or not, it is our only chance."
The ground sloped downward, leading them into a hollow where the mist thickened like milk. Strange carvings marked the stones here—circles, crescents, and spirals etched deep as if by claws rather than chisels. The symbols pulsed faintly in the gloom, breathing with the same rhythm as her power.
Isolde slowed, her hand brushing one of the stones. It was warm to the touch, vibrating softly. A shiver coursed through her. "This place… it knows me."
Kael turned sharply, sword already drawn. "Then be wary. If the Silverwood claims you, not even I can—"
A sudden whistle cut him off. An arrow whizzed past, burying itself in the glowing stone. The air shuddered, the carvings flaring brighter, and the ground trembled beneath their feet.
The hunters had followed after all.
"Move!" Kael shouted, pushing Isolde forward just as a second arrow flew. They sprinted deeper into the hollow, shadows moving swiftly between the trees.
But as the hunters closed, the forest itself seemed to rouse. The symbols blazed, roots writhing from the earth to coil around armored legs. Cries of alarm rang out, steel clashed against wood, and the hunters found themselves ensnared.
One broke free long enough to cry out, "This is sacred ground! We should not—" His words ended in a scream as the roots dragged him into the soil, the earth swallowing him whole.
Isolde stumbled to a stop, terror in her eyes. "Kael, what is this place?"
He swallowed hard, scanning the glowing stones. "The Hollow of Whispers. Where, it is said, the Shadow King himself was first bound."
The carvings flared brighter, a low hum filling the hollow. The mist thickened, shapes shifting within it—faces, voices, shadows.
Isolde clutched his arm. "We shouldn't be here."
Kael's sword gleamed in the strange light, his stance ready though his voice was grim. "No. But neither should they."
Around them, the hunters screamed as the Hollow claimed them. And through the mist, a deeper voice rose—not of man, not of beast, but of something long imprisoned.
A whisper that slithered into their bones.
"At last… the flame returns."
---