The mist thickened around Kael and Isolde, clinging to their skin, seeping into their lungs. Every step seemed to pull them deeper into a world that had no right to exist outside of legend. The Hollow of Whispers was alive—not merely with the forest, but with a presence that seemed to watch, to wait, and to hunger.
A low, vibrating hum filled the air. The carvings on the stones now glowed with a sickly, silver light, casting long, wavering shadows that crept along the forest floor like restless fingers. Shapes moved within the mist: fleeting, human-like, yet distorted, as if reality itself struggled to hold them together.
"Kael… do you hear that?" Isolde's voice trembled, almost lost beneath the whispering. The sound was like a chorus of hundreds of voices, but also like one—a deep, resonant voice, old as the bones of the world.
Kael's grip on her hand tightened. "I hear it. Stay close. Do not speak unless I tell you."
The shadows gathered, twisting into forms reminiscent of men and beasts, their edges blurred. And then the voice came, clear, cutting through the mist like a blade:
"So… the flame comes. And she follows."
Isolde froze, heart hammering. The voice… it was inside her head, yet all around them. Her power responded instinctively, a flare of warmth she could not control, spilling from her palms and dancing across her skin. The carvings pulsed violently, the mist writhing as if stirred by her magic.
Kael stepped in front of her, sword raised, eyes scanning the shifting silhouettes. "Do not fear it," he murmured, though his own voice betrayed unease. "The Hollow tests all who enter. The Shadow King's echo is cunning, but he is not yet whole."
From the mist, a figure began to emerge—tall, cloaked in shadows, its face a void. Its presence pressed against Kael's chest, against Isolde's mind, whispering secrets she could not fully hear, stirring memories that were not hers.
Isolde staggered, clutching her head. "I… I can feel him… inside me…"
"Yes," the figure replied, its voice a sibilant echo that slithered around their bones. "You carry the spark, girl. And the flame must either burn… or be extinguished."
Kael's sword glimmered in the dim light, a sliver of hope in the suffocating darkness. "Isolde! Focus on me!"
She drew a trembling breath and let his presence anchor her, letting her golden magic rise and coil outward, a luminous pulse that cut through the mist. The shadow recoiled, its form momentarily flickering, before reassembling, more solid, more dreadful.
"This… is only the beginning," it hissed, the sound vibrating in the earth beneath their feet. "The Shadow King's chains are many, and one spark is not enough to free him… yet."
Kael tightened his grip on her hand. "Then we keep moving. Stay with me. Whatever this Hollow throws at us, we survive together."
And as the figure dissolved back into the mist, leaving only the whispering carvings and a cold, lingering presence, Kael and Isolde pressed onward—deeper into the Hollow of Whispers, where danger was no longer just a threat, but a living, breathing shadow waiting to claim them.
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