The forest thinned again at noon.The air grew warmer, and the snow underfoot turned to a shallow melt that soaked Kael's boots. The ground here was softer, mud layered over stone. Trees leaned away from the center of the valley as if bowing. It was the first time Kael had seen trees do that—bend not from wind, but reverence.
The girl slowed her pace. She lifted a hand and pointed through the mist ahead. Between the trunks, the fog parted for an instant, and Kael saw dark shapes: stone arches half-swallowed by roots, columns cracked with age, and at the center a faint red glow like a coal under water.
"That's it," she said.
"Where we're going?" he asked.
She nodded. "The Hollow Shrine."
The path twisted down into a hollow ringed by pillars. Moss and black ice covered the steps, and thin streams ran along the edges like veins. Each step Kael took sent ripples of vibration through the ground. The further he went, the more his skin tingled—as though his Lines were trying to listen.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"Old," she said. "Before the Empire. Before even the mountain tribes."
He ran his hand over one of the stones. It was carved with shallow lines that glowed faintly when he touched them—curves and spirals that matched the pattern under his own skin."They used the same kind of Lines."
"Not used," she said. "Became."
Kael looked at her, unsure he'd heard right. She didn't explain further.
At the center of the shrine lay a wide basin filled with still water. The red light came from beneath it, deep below the surface. When Kael knelt beside it, his reflection rippled faintly, distorted by something alive beneath.
"Don't touch yet," the girl warned. "It remembers whoever drinks. If you're not ready, it will take more than you give."
He sat back on his heels. "Why bring me here?"
"Because you need a place the Empire doesn't own," she said. "And because this is where my people learned the first breath."
Kael frowned. "Your people?"
She didn't answer. She slipped off her gloves, exposing hands lined with old scars that glowed faintly when the shrine light touched them. Then she knelt opposite him and placed her palms flat against the stone floor.
"Watch," she said.
Her breathing slowed until it was almost invisible. The glow from her scars pulsed in rhythm—small at first, then spreading up her arms. The air around her shimmered, and the water in the basin trembled. Kael felt pressure in his chest, a tug deep in his heart as if something inside him recognized her rhythm and wanted to match it.
When she exhaled, the entire basin glowed red. The carvings around the rim flared to life like veins waking after long sleep.
Kael swallowed hard. "How did you—"
"Your turn."
He hesitated, but the air in the shrine was thick with energy—warm, almost breathing. His Lines responded even before he moved. He pressed his hands to the stone, took a slow breath, and tried to follow the pattern she'd shown him.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.Then pain—sharp, quick, like a hot wire sliding under his ribs. He gasped, and the glow under his skin surged up his arm and into his chest. The basin flared, brighter this time, and the water began to boil without heat.
The girl's eyes widened. "Slow down!"
Kael tried, but the Lines refused to obey. The pulse inside him had found something deeper in the shrine, and both were feeding each other. His heart hammered; the floor vibrated. He could feel something pressing against his mind from below the water—curiosity, hunger, memory.
The girl reached across and gripped his wrist. "Breathe with me."
He met her eyes and matched her rhythm. In—hold—out—hold.Gradually, the light softened. The water stilled. The pressure eased.
When it was over, steam hung in the air between them. Kael fell back, exhausted, skin damp with sweat.
She watched him quietly. "You weren't supposed to wake it," she said.
"I didn't mean to."
"I know," she said softly. "It means you're close."
"Close to what?"
Her eyes flicked toward the basin. "To remembering."
They spent the afternoon inside the shrine. The girl gathered herbs that grew between the stones, crushing them into a paste she spread on Kael's hands to cool the heat burns. The scent was sharp—something between mint and iron.
When she finished, he said, "This isn't your first time here."
She shook her head. "It was my mother's place. She said the world forgets its makers, but the stone remembers their breathing."
Kael looked at the glowing carvings. "It's still breathing."
"Yes," she said. "It never stopped."
For a while, neither spoke. The forest outside murmured; the shrine exhaled.
By nightfall, the fog thickened again. Kael stood at the edge of the basin, watching the red light pulse like a buried heart. Every few seconds it flashed brighter, as though answering his own pulse.
The girl joined him. "Tomorrow we'll go deeper," she said.
"Deeper?"
She pointed to the far wall where the carvings curved downward into shadow. "There's a passage under the shrine. It leads to where the Lines grow."
Kael stared into the dark archway. He couldn't see where it ended. The air that drifted from it was warmer than the night.
He said, "You've been there?"
"Once," she said. "Long ago."
"And?"
Her expression changed—something between fear and respect. "It doesn't like being alone."
Kael looked again at the basin, the steady red glow, the faint hum in the stone that now matched the rhythm of his own heart.
He didn't know what waited beneath, but he knew they would go. He had followed her this far, through snow, hunger, and silence. Whatever lay under that ancient breath, he would face it.
The forest sighed outside, and the glow beneath the water pulsed once—slow and deep, like the world itself was listening.