Rain lashed the forest canopy as Aeren followed the stranger deeper into the woods. Trees leaned close like listening giants, and the air buzzed with tension. Every root and shadow seemed alive, watching, waiting. The girl hadn't spoken again since her first words—blunt, accusing, and cold. But she moved with purpose, bow in hand, steps silent despite the wet leaves. Aeren struggled to keep pace.
"Where are we going?" he finally asked, panting.
She didn't look back. "Glimmerhall."
The name pulsed in his memory—the woman's voice had said it, too. You must reach the Glimmerhall.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Sanctuary," she replied. "Or what's left of it."
They emerged into a glade lit with soft blue lanterns strung among the branches. Tents of bark and woven mist stood in neat rows, and everywhere Aeren looked, he saw people. Not ordinary villagers—warriors in cloaks of thistle, mages with glowing staves, children with silver eyes. Aeren's heart pounded. This wasn't just a camp. It was a stronghold.
The girl led him to a circular stone hall built into a tree as wide as a house. Vines draped its entrance, but they parted at her touch. Inside, seven figures sat in a half-circle around a fire that burned with no wood. They rose as Aeren entered.
An old man with a crow-feather cloak stepped forward. "So, it is true," he said, eyes on Aeren's glowing hand. "The Veilshard has chosen again."
Aeren opened his mouth, unsure what to say. "I... didn't choose anything. It just... happened."
"It never 'just happens,'" said a woman with storm-grey hair. "The Shard seeks. It binds."
The others murmured. The girl who had brought him stood silent beside the door, arms crossed.
"What do you know of the Hollowborn?" asked the crow-cloaked man.
Aeren looked at the fire. Images flashed—his burning village, the scream of the creature, the blinding light. "Only that they're real. And they killed everyone I knew."
The fire dimmed. Silence fell.
"Then we begin," said the grey-haired woman. She lifted a pendant from her neck and held it to the fire. A map shimmered into view in the smoke—valleys, peaks, rivers. But at the center, a blackened circle pulsed.
"This is the Hollow. It grows. Every time the Hollowborn strike, their corruption spreads. It seeps into roots, into water, into people. Soon, nothing remains but ash and silence."
She pointed at the outer edge. "Here is where you were found. Here lies the Glimmerhall. And here—" she tapped a spot farther west, "—is the Sealed Circle."
"What is it?" Aeren asked.
"An ancient oath," she said. "A last defense. Before the Veil broke, five warriors bound their power into a circle of stone and flame. If awoken, it might push the Hollow back. But only the Shardbearer can unseal it."
Aeren swallowed. "That's me."
The man in feathers nodded. "You will not go alone. Nyra will guide you."
The girl beside the door tensed but said nothing.
"Three days' journey," said the woman. "Through Hollowwood. Few return."
Aeren looked at Nyra. She finally met his eyes. In them, he saw anger—but also something else: fear.
They left at dawn.
The Hollowwood was worse than stories. The trees groaned as if in pain, and the air smelled of rot and sorrow. Nyra moved like a shadow, silent and alert. Aeren followed, his hand glowing faintly in the dark.
On the second night, they were attacked.
It came without warning—a beast made of bark and bone, with antlers of obsidian and eyes like coals. A Hollowborn beast.
Nyra's arrow struck its throat, but it kept coming. Aeren raised his hand, and the shard flared. Light burst forth, and the beast screamed, unraveling into mist. Aeren collapsed, drained.
Nyra knelt beside him. For the first time, her voice was soft. "You saved me."
Aeren tried to smile. "You saved me first."
They reached the Circle on the third day.
It stood in a clearing of crystal and stone—five monoliths etched with runes, forming a perfect ring. As Aeren approached, the shard in his hand pulled forward, glowing brighter than ever. He stepped into the center.
The ground trembled. Light erupted from the monoliths. Aeren felt his body lift, suspended in energy.
Voices filled the air—not human, not Hollow. Something ancient. Watching.
And then—
Aeren screamed.
When the light faded, he lay gasping. The stone circle now pulsed with gentle light. The air felt cleaner. The rot was gone.
Nyra helped him up. "The Circle is awake."
But far away, in the Hollow, something else had awakened too.
And it was angry.