Rhyssa had her bow up before the old woman even finished speaking."Back away. Slowly."
Kain didn't move. He stared into those solid black eyes. No whites. No iris. Just an endless, lightless void.
The woman chuckled softly. "Don't look so surprised, dear. You did knock on the Hollow's door."
"What are you?" Kain asked.
"I told you," she said, tilting her head. "A survivor."
The black in her eyes began to swirl.
Kain felt a tug at his thoughts—an invisible pull, like vines curling around his mind.
"Don't listen to her," Aric snapped. "She's using Hollow magic—pure rootbinding."
Kain gritted his teeth, digging his fingernails into the palm of his wounded hand. Pain cleared his thoughts.
The woman flinched.
"I was hoping you'd be easier to sway," she said, voice tight now. "The Hollow King grows impatient. He expected you to kneel."
"Tell him," Kain said coldly, "he'll be waiting a long time."
The woman's smile dropped.
Her arms extended outward, and from her sleeves spilled long strands of black ivy, twisting and lashing across the stone corridor. The air grew colder. The mist, even down here, began to pour from the cracks in the walls.
The vines struck like serpents.
Rhyssa rolled aside, slicing two apart with her dagger. Aric threw fire—"Fervora ignis!"—and the vines hissed, recoiling, burning.
But more kept coming.
"Run!" Kain shouted. "Back up!"
They retreated through the twisting halls of the cathedral's undercroft, vines slithering after them, slamming doors and smashing stone.
"She's not human anymore!" Aric shouted. "She's a vessel!"
Kain skidded around a corner and spotted a narrow service stair. "Here!"
They rushed up, burst through a wooden trapdoor, and found themselves in a long-abandoned bell tower. Light filtered through cracked walls.
"Help me barricade!" Rhyssa grabbed a broken beam and wedged it across the trapdoor just as the vines began battering from below.
BOOM. BOOM.The wood held—barely.
Kain turned, breathing hard. "She's the Hollow's eyes. One of many."
"She said the King grows impatient," Rhyssa muttered. "He knows more than he should."
Kain looked down at the mark. It had stopped growing—but now faint, unreadable whispers lingered in his head.
"We have to leave this town," he said. "Now."
They descended the tower and emerged through a side door of the cathedral. The streets were mostly empty. The fog had thickened, curling around buildings like living smoke.
But the people who remained were different.
They watched.
Old men. Children. Shopkeepers.
All staring.
Unblinking.
"Do you see their eyes?" Aric whispered.
Rhyssa nodded. "The Hollow's touched them too."
They reached the stables where their horses had been kept—and found one of them dead, throat torn open.
The stable boy was there too.
Smiling.
Lips sewn shut.
Rhyssa stepped back. "We ride. Now."
They saddled the remaining horses in silence. As Kain climbed onto his mount, he heard it again.
A whisper. Right behind his ear.
"Not everyone wants you to fail, Kain. Some of us remember. Some of us still hope."
He spun around—nothing.
Just fog.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
Aric shook his head. "No. You're marked. The Hollow is in you now. It speaks to you."
Kain didn't reply.
They rode hard through the north gate, which swung open without resistance. No guard. No defense. Just the city watching.
And behind them, the cathedral bell began to toll.
Not once. Not twice.
Thirteen times.
As they crossed the last ridge, Kain looked back.
The entire city of Vellhollow was now covered in mist. And on the highest tower, just below the steeple, stood the black-eyed woman.
She watched them go.
And smiled.
They rode for hours, until the woods thickened again and the land sloped into a shallow valley. They set camp beneath an overhang, building a fire beneath the shelter of stone.
Rhyssa sat sharpening her dagger. Aric scribbled notes in his spellbook, muttering.
Kain didn't sleep.
He stared into the fire, listening to the crackling wood. Listening for whispers.
Eventually, Aric looked up. "What now?"
"We need to find the others the old woman spoke of," Kain said. "Those who remember the old ways."
"Assuming she was ever on our side," Rhyssa muttered.
"She wasn't," Kain replied. "But her words weren't lies. There are still people out there who haven't bent the knee to the Hollow."
He looked at the mark again. Something about it had changed.
In the firelight, it looked like the roots were pointing somewhere.
North.
"We follow the mark," Kain said. "It's leading us."
Aric frowned. "You're trusting it?"
"No," Kain said. "I'm using it."
The wind shifted. Rhyssa stood suddenly. "Did you hear that?"
A rustle from the trees.
Then, a low growl.
Eyes gleamed in the dark. Not undead. Not spirits.
Wolves.
But not natural wolves.
They moved with unnatural coordination, eyes glowing faintly green.
"Kain," Aric said, rising, magic at the ready. "Tell me you've got a plan."
Kain stood, drawing his blade.
"I do."
He stared into the trees.
"Let them come."