Pain ripped through her, a searing, relentless agony that threaded itself into every nerve, every memory. It wasn't just her body that burned; it was her soul, splitting open like a shattered vessel. The forest around her blurred into streaks of light and shadow, and her scream was swallowed by the ancient earth.
Every thread of who she was unraveled and rebuilt itself into something raw, something ancient. Light and shadow warred inside her chest, and the world around her cracked, fractured, spun into a thousand burning shards.
Liora didn't scream.
She breathed.
The flame filled her, raced through her veins, stitching closed the wound left by Tomas, by her grandmother, by everything she had lost. It didn't erase the pain. It honored it. It made her grief part of the fire, part of the strength rising inside her.
When the light finally faded, Liora lay gasping on the cold earth, the Shrine of Thorns smoldering at her back.
The forest was deathly still.
She sat up slowly, her hands trembling. They didn't look different, still her own pale, callused fingers. But she could feel it beneath her skin the First Flame, ancient and furious and alive.
And she was its bearer.
A sob escaped her lips, not for the power, not for destiny but for Tomas. For her grandmother. For Elderwood, lost and burning in the hollow winds.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, curling over her knees. "I'm so sorry."
The wind stirred the ashes, carrying with it faint echoes of laughter, songs around a fire, the scent of baking bread. Memories. Ghosts of a home that no longer existed.
I have to move. The thought cut through her grief like a knife. She couldn't stay here. The Hollowing would find her. It was always hunting now. Pushing to her feet, Liora turned north. Toward the unknown. Toward the heart of the Hollowing. Toward whatever awaited beyond the edge of her broken world.
The days blurred into one another.
Liora traveled under shrouded skies, through forests where the trees wept sap the color of blood, across fields where the grass grew in twisted, writhing patterns. The world itself seemed sick, poisoned by the unraveling of the Veil.
Sometimes she caught glimpses of movement in the corners of her vision shadows with too many limbs, eyes that gleamed like oil slicks. They never attacked. Not yet. They were waiting and watching.
Her only comfort was the flame inside her chest, a steady pulse against the darkness.
It was small but it was hers.
One evening, as a pale, blood colored moon rose over the ruined hills, Liora found the remnants of a village, or what had once been a village.
The buildings were little more than splinters and rubble, scattered across the earth like the bones of a forgotten beast. The well in the center was dry, its stones cracked and blackened. There was no sound, no life and yet a whisper threaded through the air, so soft she almost missed it.
Liora.
She froze, every muscle locking the voice was achingly familiar.
"Tomas?" she breathed.
A shape moved between the ruined houses tall, broad shouldered, limping slightly.
"Tomas?" she cried, sprinting forward.
She rounded the corner of a shattered wall and stopped dead.
It wasn't Tomas.
It wore his face the same dark hair, the same crooked smile. But the eyes were wrong, too black, too deep. As if behind them lurked a bottomless hunger.
"Liora," it said again, holding out its arms.
She staggered back, horror choking her throat.
"No," she whispered. "No, you're not."
The thing smiled wider, too wide, its mouth splitting at the corners.
"You left me," it said. "You promised, and you left me."
Tears blurred her vision. She shook her head violently.
"I didn't. You told me to."
The creature stepped closer, its shadow stretching long and thin across the ground.
"I waited for you," it said. "I bled for you."
The words twisted in the air, wrapping around her heart, squeezing.
It would be so easy to believe him. So easy to give in. But deep inside, beneath the grief, beneath the guilt, the flame stirred. It pulsed once, sharply.
This is not Tomas.
Liora clenched her fists, drawing on the fire in her chest.
"No," she said, her voice trembling but sure. "You're not him."
The creature's smile collapsed into a snarl.
The world around her shifted, the sky darkening, the air thickening into something viscous and choking.
It lunged.
Liora thrust her hand forward, instinct guiding her.
A jet of golden fire exploded from her palm, searing through the thing's chest.
It screamed a sound like shattering glass and crumpled into ash. The village dissolved with it, revealing nothing but barren wasteland under a bleeding sky.
Liora fell to her knees, sobbing, the fire flickering wildly in her veins.
She stayed there for a long time until the stars came out faint, cold, distant. Until she could breathe again.
The land grew stranger the farther north she traveled.
Rivers flowed backward. Trees grew upside down. The ground cracked open without warning, revealing a yawning cavern lined with teeth.
The Hollowing was eating the world and Liora was running out of time.
One night, as she camped beneath the twisted remains of a once great oak, she dreamed.
In the dream, she stood at the edge of a vast chasm, the stars whirling in a mad spiral above her.
Across the gap stood her grandmother. Whole. Smiling.
"Liora," she called.
Liora stepped forward, her heart breaking anew.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I should've."
Her grandmother raised a hand, silencing her.
"No apologies, little flame," she said gently. "You chose the path and you must walk it."
Tears filled Liora's eyes.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
Her grandmother's smile softened.
"Good. Only fools walk into the dark without fear but remember, Liora, fear is not the end."
Behind her grandmother, the darkness boiled, a thousand eyes opening.
"Wake," her grandmother said.
"WAKE!"
Liora jolted upright, gasping.
The forest was no longer silent.
The ground trembled beneath her. The trees groaned. Something was coming, something vast and it was close.
She barely had time to grab her pack before the first tremor split the earth nearby.
A creature rose from the ground a thing of stone and shadow, towering above the trees. Its body was a shifting mass of faces, weeping, screaming, pleading.
It turned its many heads toward her and roared.
The sound nearly knocked her flat, a physical force that rattled her teeth.
Liora ran.
Branches whipped at her face. Roots clawed at her ankles. The world blurred into a rush of green and gray and black.
The creature followed, its massive form tearing through the forest like a storm.
Think, she told herself, heart hammering. Think!
She couldn't outrun it, not forever. She had to fight.
She skidded to a halt in a clearing, spinning to face the oncoming horror.
The flame surged in her chest, eager, wild.
She called it forth, shaping it with her will.
Golden fire bloomed in her palms, curling around her fingers.
The creature crashed into the clearing and Liora struck.
A torrent of flame shot toward it, searing the air.
The beast shrieked, staggering back but it didn't fall. It lunged.
Liora barely dodged, rolling aside as its clawed hand slammed into the ground where she had stood.
The earth cracked trees toppled.
She scrambled to her feet, panting.
The fire wasn't enough.
Not like this she needed more, she needed all of it.
Closing her eyes, she reached deeper.
Past the fear. Past the pain into the core of herself, where the First Flame burned brightest.
She found it there, not just fire, but memory. Love. Hope. Every piece of her grandmother's songs, Tomas's laughter, her mother's gentle hands.
She took it all and let it pour through her.
When she opened her eyes, the clearing blazed with golden light.
The creature recoiled, screeching.
Liora stepped forward, the flame swirling around her in a living storm.
"This is for Elderwood," she said, her voice ringing through the night.
She raised her hands and unleashed everything.
The fire roared outward in a great tidal wave, engulfing the beast.
It shrieked, its many faces melting, twisting, unraveling.
With a final, thunderous scream, it collapsed into dust.
The clearing fell silent, the fire faded.
Liora dropped to her knees, every part of her trembling but she was alive and the way forward was clear.
At dawn, she reached the threshold.
The ground changed beneath her feet from twisted earth to smooth, white stone. The air grew heavy, thrumming with unseen power.
Ahead, a great rift yawned open in the world.
The true heart of the Hollowing.
A place where the Veil had torn completely.
Liora stood at the edge, the First Flame flickering inside her.
This was it, the point of no return.
She thought of Tomas, of her grandmother, of the songs sung around the fire, of the morning light on Elderwood's fields.
She took a breath and stepped into the rift and the darkness swallowed her whole.