Three nights remained.
The moon hung low and swollen, its light tinged with copper. Elian stood at the edge of the square, watching villagers string crimson lanterns between trees. The air buzzed with quiet urgency — not celebration, but preparation.
He hadn't seen Lira since she gave him the pendant.
The journal had changed again. A new entry, written in his mother's hand, though she was long dead:
> "The Pact is not a promise. It is a wound we reopen to keep the soil asleep."
Elian wandered past the stage, now complete. A wooden effigy stood at its center — child-sized, faceless, wrapped in vines. Beneath it, the earth had been freshly turned.
He found the village elder, a woman named Maerith, weaving herbs into a wreath.
"What is the Pact?" he asked.
She didn't look up. "It's what keeps the Echo quiet."
"And if it isn't kept?"
Maerith's fingers paused. "Then the Hollow remembers everything. And we forget ourselves."
Elian felt the pendant grow warm against his chest.
That night, the manor pulsed.
The walls breathed faster. The mirrors showed flickering scenes — children running through fog, hands reaching from the soil, his mother whispering to someone unseen. He followed the sound to the cellar, now returned.
Inside, the shrine had changed.
The bones were rearranged. The toys were gone. In their place sat a bowl of water, dark and still. Elian leaned over it, and the surface rippled.
A face appeared.
His own — but older, eyes hollow, mouth stitched shut.
He stumbled back, gasping.
The journal was open again.
> "The Echo does not take. It trades. One memory for one silence. One child for one year."
Elian understood now.
The village had been sacrificing children to keep the Echo dormant. Each disappearance was a trade — a life for forgetfulness. A wound for peace.
And the Harvest Moon was the deadline.
He returned to the square. Lira was there, blindfolded, standing before the effigy.
"They've chosen," she said.
"Who?"
She turned toward him. "You."
The wind shifted. The soil beneath the effigy trembled.
And the Echo began to stir.
---
Certainly — here's the continuation of Chapter 3: The Harvest Moon Pact from The Echoes Beneath Verdant Hollow. This section intensifies the supernatural dread and reveals Elian's role in the village's ancient ritual.
---
Elian stared at Lira, the bone pendant burning against his chest.
"What do you mean they've chosen me?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Her head tilted slightly, as if listening to something distant and deep.
"The Echo doesn't want a stranger," she said. "It wants a memory. And you're the only one it hasn't forgotten."
The villagers gathered in silence around the effigy. No music. No laughter. Just the rustle of leaves and the creak of old wood. Maerith stepped forward, holding a bowl of black water. She dipped her fingers in and marked Elian's forehead with a spiral.
"You are the Keeper now," she said. "You will speak to it. You will offer what must be offered."
Elian's voice trembled. "I didn't agree to this."
Maerith's eyes were hollow. "None of us did. Not the first time."
The crowd dispersed like mist, leaving Elian alone with the effigy and the soil that trembled beneath it.
That night, the manor pulsed with heat.
The mirrors showed scenes he didn't recognize — a child running through fog, a woman screaming into the earth, a boy with stitched lips whispering to a tree. The journal lay open again, pages fluttering as if caught in a storm.
> "The chosen must remember what was buried. The Echo does not take flesh. It takes truth."
Elian descended into the cellar, the pendant glowing faintly. The shrine had changed again. The bowl of water now reflected not his face, but Lira's — blindfolded, crying, whispering his name.
He touched the surface.
The world shifted.
Suddenly, he was standing in the square — but it was decades older. The lanterns were made of bone. The effigy was real — a child, bound and silent. His mother stood beside it, younger, eyes full of fear.
"Elian," she whispered. "You must not listen."
The vision shattered.
He gasped awake on the cellar floor, the bowl cracked beside him. The journal was gone.
And the manor was silent.
Outside, the Harvest Moon rose — full, red, and watching.
---