When Sylvera closed her eyes, she didn't feel brave.
She didn't feel anything heroic.
She felt sick.
Like her body knew she was about to be thrown somewhere else and it didn't want to go.
Her stomach dropped. Hard.
Her tongue went dry instantly. Like all the saliva just vanished.
She swallowed but it didn't help.
And her hand—because of course it did—grabbed Lorian's.
Too tight.
Her nails almost dug into his skin.
Not because she wanted comfort.
Because she didn't trust the world not to split open.
God. Stop clinging. Stop it.
She didn't let go though.
Then the air changed.
Cold hit her face like someone slapped her.
Not the castle cold. Not that damp, dirty cold that smelled like wet stone and old rot.
This one was clean.
It stung when she breathed in. It burned the inside of her nose.
She opened her eyes.
The castle was gone.
For a second she just stared because her mind didn't catch up.
Like it was waiting for the walls to come back.
But no.
They were under an old stone archway. Cracked. Leaning a little. Vines crawling over it like the earth was trying to swallow it whole.
Beyond it was the Hollow.
Sylvera took a slow breath.
The air tasted empty.
Not in a good way.
Empty like something had been scrubbed clean on purpose.
It was quiet.
Not calm quiet.
Not the kind of quiet where you can relax.
This was the kind where you think, something is about to happen.
Wind moved through the trees in soft little sounds. The leaves were silver. Actually silver. They shimmered under the moonlight like they were wet.
It was too pretty.
It made her uneasy right away.
Pretty always meant danger. Pretty always meant somebody was lying.
Her boots sank slightly in damp grass. Dew soaked the edges. Cold seeped into her toes.
She hated that.
She hated that she noticed that.
Her brain was always grabbing stupid details when she was scared.
They were standing in a circle.
A ring of statues surrounded them.
Stone bodies. Old. Ancient. Faces rubbed away by time until they were smooth blanks. Some had hands folded. Some reached inward, palms open.
Those ones bothered her the most.
She couldn't explain why. They just did.
It felt like if she stepped closer, those stone hands would grab her hair.
Her skin prickled.
Even without faces, she could feel them staring.
The whole Hollow felt like a room where she wasn't welcome.
Lorian let go of her hand.
The emptiness hit fast, like a sudden drop in her chest.
It was stupid.
It made her angry.
She didn't want to miss his hand. She didn't want her body to react like that.
What is wrong with me?
Lorian walked across the clearing without a word.
He headed to the tallest statue. It was cracked down the head, like it had taken a blow once and never recovered.
He knelt.
Pressed his palm against the moss-covered base.
Sylvera watched his fingers sink into the moss. It looked soft. Wet.
For a second nothing happened.
She almost thought… maybe it wouldn't.
Then the ground trembled.
Not violent.
Just a low shiver that ran through her boots.
Sylvera froze.
Her heart jumped so hard it hurt.
The statue base lit up.
Runes.
Thin gold lines, faint at first, like someone had drawn them with a dying candle.
Then they brightened.
The glow spread.
It crawled through the stone slowly.
Sylvera's hands turned clammy.
She wiped them quickly on her pants, like she could hide the fear in her skin.
Lorian stood up like it was normal.
"This place remembers," he said.
Sylvera wanted to snap at him.
How could he sound so calm? How was he not shaking?
He glanced at her. "Look."
The runes flared.
And the air thickened.
Gold haze rolled out, like fog, curling around the statues, wrapping around their feet.
Sylvera felt her arms break out in goosebumps.
Not cold goosebumps.
The other kind.
The kind you get when something unseen stands too close.
Her breath caught.
The world split open.
Morning.
That's what it became.
Morning light. Warm. Soft. The kind of light that makes you forget bad things exist.
It almost hurt to look at.
There was a small cottage.
Not a palace. Not anything grand. Just… a house.
Wood. Stone. A roof that probably leaked when it rained.
Lorian stood outside it.
Younger.
Shirtless.
Chopping wood.
His hair was shorter and messy. Wind pushed it into his face and he didn't even look annoyed.
And his eyes—
His eyes weren't the same.
That's what got her.
They weren't cold. They weren't hard.
They looked… normal.
Alive.
Sylvera's throat tightened like her body didn't like seeing that.
Like it made something in her chest shift.
Bird song filled the air. Gentle, distant.
Then the cottage door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Long dark hair. Bright eyes. A tray in her hands.
Wild strawberries.
A mug steaming like warmth still existed in the world.
"My mighty king," she teased, smiling like she didn't know fear.
Lorian lifted the axe and swung it toward her feet in a mock attack.
She jumped back laughing.
He dropped the axe and grabbed her waist.
Pulled her close like it was natural.
"I already have," he said, stealing a strawberry. "This one's got strawberries."
She swatted at him, still laughing.
But she leaned into him too.
They kissed.
Slow.
Easy.
Like love didn't cut you open.
Sylvera felt her chest twist.
Because this wasn't the man she knew.
This wasn't the man who'd locked her up.
This was someone else.
And it made her uncomfortable, like she'd accidentally looked into someone's diary.
Noon.
The memory shifted.
Now Lyria stood in a meadow.
Children surrounded her. Loud. Messy. Dirty knees. Tangled hair.
They looked real. Like actual kids, not fairytale ones.
Lyria laughed.
She lifted her hands.
Magic spilled from her fingers.
Soft and glowing.
It didn't hurt to look at.
It didn't feel sharp or dangerous.
It felt… kind.
Threads of light curled through the air, shaping into charms.
Flowers bloomed where the light touched.
The children squealed and clapped, reaching out like it was the best thing in the world.
Sylvera's stomach went tight.
Her magic had never been like that.
Her magic always felt like it was tearing her apart.
Lyria's magic looked like it was healing the world.
Lorian stood nearby, leaning against a fence, watching her.
He smiled.
Small.
Private.
Like nothing else existed but her.
That smile bothered Sylvera.
Because it meant he'd been happy once.
And now he was… this.
Dusk.
Fireflies blinked in the dark.
Lorian and Lyria sat on the porch.
Her head on his shoulder.
Fingers laced.
Quiet between them. Not awkward quiet. Comfortable quiet.
"Someday," Lyria whispered, voice barely there, "we'll build a kingdom where no witch hides her power."
Lorian kissed her hair.
"I'll crown you myself."
Sylvera swallowed.
That didn't sound like a line.
That sounded like truth.
The vision flickered.
The warmth dimmed.
And then—
Midnight.
The fire cracked once and died.
Cold rushed into the room.
Lyria bolted upright.
Lorian sat up instantly.
"Lorian—"
The door exploded inward.
Men poured in like a nightmare.
Silver masks.
Dark robes.
Chains glowing red with runes.
Sylvera's stomach dropped.
Those symbols.
She knew them. She'd seen them in the castle.
Lyria stood, hands raised.
Magic flared gold.
It didn't work.
The spells fizzled against the chains like they were nothing.
Lyria cried out when one snapped around her wrist.
Lorian lunged—
Stopped cold when a blade pressed to her throat.
Sylvera froze.
She couldn't breathe.
"By decree of the High Temple," one masked figure said, "the witch is sentenced to purge."
"No!" Lorian shouted. His voice cracked. "She's not—"
"Come quietly," the inquisitor cut him off, "or we burn the village with her."
Lorian stopped moving.
His hands clenched.
Magic bristled around him like a storm.
But he didn't attack.
Because he couldn't.
Lyria turned to him.
Tears on her cheeks.
She mouthed one word.
Live.
Then they dragged her away.
The memory shattered.
Gold light broke apart like glass.
The clearing snapped back.
Moonlight again.
Grass.
Statues.
Sylvera stood there like she'd been hit.
Her throat burned.
Her chest felt tight like she couldn't breathe properly.
She still saw Lyria's face.
Still saw the chains.
Still saw the blade.
Lorian was still kneeling at the statue base.
Hand against the stone.
Head bowed.
Like he was waiting for something.
Like he was begging without saying it.
Sylvera took a step forward.
"You loved her," she said.
Her voice came out quieter than she meant.
Lorian didn't look up. "More than anything."
Silence.
The Hollow felt closer now.
Sylvera forced the words out. "Why did they take her?"
Lorian rose slowly.
His eyes looked darker.
Not angry.
Just… broken.
"The High Temple declared her bloodline cursed," he said. "Said her magic was too old. Too wild. They feared her because she didn't answer to them."
"She was free," Sylvera whispered.
"Yes," he said.
"But you were a king," Sylvera said, pushing because she couldn't help it. "You had power."
"Not enough," he replied.
He walked to the edge of the circle.
"I tried to follow," he said. "But they vanished. No trail. Nothing." His jaw tightened. "I searched for years."
Sylvera's pulse jumped. "And?"
He looked at her.
"They purged her."
Sylvera stepped back like the word hit her.
Her stomach twisted.
"But she wanted…" Sylvera's voice shook. "She wanted a kingdom. Where witches wouldn't hide."
"She did," he said quietly.
"And so I did."
Wind rolled through the clearing.
Lorian lifted his hand.
"I built the castle on their ashes," he said. "I tore the High Temple down. Buried their lies."
Sylvera's jaw clenched. "And replaced them with yours."
Lorian turned sharply.
"What would you have done?" he asked. "Begged people to stop hating witches?"
"I would've let us be free," Sylvera snapped.
Lorian stepped closer.
"You don't understand," he said. "Hatred burns everything." His voice got rough. "I watched it erase her."
Sylvera's voice shook. "So you locked us up instead."
"I protected you."
"You imprisoned me!"
The wind sharpened.
Lorian's fists clenched.
"I marked you," he said. "Because the First King's magic has returned. The same curse is waking."
Sylvera flinched.
"You felt it," he said. "The shadow. The thing that chased us."
Sylvera hesitated.
Then whispered, "Yes."
Her throat went dry again.
"It called to me."
Lorian nodded. "Then it's already found you."
"I don't know what to believe anymore," Sylvera whispered.
Her voice cracked.
"You lied. You marked me. You kept me trapped." She swallowed hard. "Now you're saying I have to stop him? I don't even know how."
"You'll learn," Lorian said. "I'll teach you."
"Why should I trust you?"
His eyes didn't flinch.
"Because I failed her," he said. "And I won't fail you."
Sylvera shook her head. "You don't get to decide that."
"No," he said quietly. "You do."
He held out his hand.
It looked wrong. Too gentle.
"Come with me," he said. "Let me help you finish what she started."
Sylvera stared at his hand.
Her mark burned.
Hot.
Hotter.
Far off, the wind shifted.
And the whisper slid through the trees.
"Little witch…"
Sylvera froze.
Her heart slammed.
She should run.
She should—
But her body moved first again.
She took his hand.
And they walked into the night.
They left before dawn.
Lorian walked in silence.
Sylvera followed close.
Her boots were damp. Her legs hurt.
After a while, she whispered, "Where are we going?"
"Ashwood," Lorian said. "Where the seal was carved."
"And if it finds us first?"
"Then we fight."
She nodded.
Even though her hands were shaking.
They walked until the trees turned black with old fire scars.
The forest smelled burnt, faintly, like it never healed.
"This place is dead," Sylvera whispered.
"It's waiting," Lorian replied.
In the heart of it, they found the altar.
Ancient stone half-buried in ash and moss.
Symbols carved into it, worn down.
Her mark reacted instantly.
Hot.
Cold.
Pulsing like a heartbeat.
Lorian said, "This is where they bound him. Seven witches died to trap the First King in the Void."
Sylvera touched the stone.
A whisper met her fingers.
Not sound.
Memory.
Pain.
Fire.
Screams.
Her vision blurred.
Then darkness bloomed.
A shriek ripped through the trees.
Lorian spun, sword flashing out.
"Behind you!" Sylvera cried.
The shadow lunged.
Chains of black mist.
Screaming.
It slammed into Lorian, throwing him into a tree. He hit hard and dropped to one knee.
Sylvera stumbled back.
But the thing turned to her.
It knew her.
"Child of the hollow flame," it hissed. "Breaker of chains. Blood of the lost queen."
Sylvera raised her hands. "Stay back!"
It surged forward.