The forest screamed as they ran.
Not the wind-through-branches sigh of before—this was a living, breathing howl that tore at Seraphina's eardrums and set her teeth vibrating in their sockets. The ground heaved beneath them, roots erupting like spears from the churned earth. Lysandra's weight in her arms was negligible, her sister's body grown frighteningly light, as if the tree had taken more than just her sight.
The silver sap still connected them—thin, glistening strands stretching back toward the clearing like tether lines. With each step, they stretched... then snapped, spraying droplets that burned where they struck Seraphina's skin.
The horn sounded again, so close now that it shook the leaves from the trees.
Then—
A hand grabbed Seraphina's arm, yanking her sideways just as a root the width of a man's thigh speared through the space where she'd been standing.
Eldri's golden eyes burned inches from her own, the hunter's face streaked with blood and something darker. "This way," she hissed, dragging them toward a fallen oak whose hollow trunk gaped like a waiting mouth.
Seraphina resisted. "I'm not—"
"Would you rather die?" Eldri snapped, her grip iron. Behind them, the forest convulsed, trees uprooting themselves with wet, tearing sounds.
Lysandra stirred in Seraphina's arms, the silver flowers where her eyes should be, turning toward the hunter. "She's... right..." The words bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest, bypassing her closed mouth entirely.
The crown at Seraphina's belt pulsed, its whispers rising to a fever pitch.
Trust her.
Hate her.
Use her.
With a final glance at the chaos behind them, Seraphina ducked into the hollow.
The Burrow
The space inside the fallen tree was larger than it should have been—not just a hollow, but a tunnel stretching deep into the earth. The walls glowed with bioluminescent fungi, their pale blue light revealing handholds carved into the wood.
Eldri slid down first, her movements sure despite the blood dripping from a gash across her collarbone. "Hurry," she called up, voice echoing strangely in the confined space.
Seraphina hesitated only a moment before following, cradling Lysandra close as they descended. The crown's weight at her belt seemed to grow heavier with each rung, its thorns pricking through fabric to bite fresh wounds in her hip.
The tunnel opened into a cavernous space that stole Seraphina's breath.
It wasn't natural.
The walls were too smooth, the ceiling too perfectly arched—this was no cave, but a chamber carved by human hands long ago. Dozens of lanterns hung from the ceiling, their glass stained with colored pigments that cast shifting patterns across the stone floor.
And the murals...
Seraphina's steps faltered as she took them in. The entire chamber was covered in paintings so ancient that the pigments had faded to ghosts of their former selves, yet their message remained clear.
A great tree.
A woman with blood-moon hair kneeling before it.
A crown was placed upon her head.
And then—
The horror.
Roots bursting from the woman's eyes, her mouth, her fingertips as she became one with the tree.
Eldri watched her take it in, those unnatural golden eyes unreadable. "The first Hollow Queen," she said quietly. "Your many-times-great-grandmother, if the stories are true."
Seraphina's blood ran cold. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" Eldri reached out, tracing a painted root that snaked toward the ceiling. "Why do you think the crown called to you? Why your sister's blood sings to the roots?"
Lysandra moaned in Seraphina's arms, the sound vibrating through them both. The silver flowers had begun to wilt, their petals curling inward as dark veins spread through their centres.
Eldri's gaze dropped to the dying blooms, her expression hardening. "We don't have much time."
"Time for what?" Seraphina demanded, her grip tightening on her sister.
The hunter didn't answer. Instead, she crossed to the far wall and pressed her palm against a nearly invisible seam in the stone. With a groan of protesting rock, a hidden door swung inward, revealing—
A sword.
Floating in midair, unsupported, its blade a length of living silver flame identical to what had danced along Seraphina's dagger. The hilt was wrapped in what looked like braided hair, the pommel set with a single, staring eye that tracked their every movement.
"The Blade of Severing," Eldri whispered, reverence colouring her tone. "The only weapon that can cut a queen from her roots."
The crown at Seraphina's belt shrieked, its voice rising to a pitch that made the lanterns shatter.
And Lysandra—
Lysandra began to convulse, her back arching violently as the last of the silver petals fell away, revealing hollow sockets that wept thick, dark sap.
From within the empty spaces, something stirred.
The first green tendrils of new growth.
The air in the chamber grew thick with the scent of loam and lightning as Lysandra's convulsions worsened. Seraphina sank to her knees, cradling her sister's thrashing form against her chest. The dark sap weeping from Lysandra's hollowed eye sockets left smoking trails down her pallid cheeks, eating tiny pockmarks into the stone floor beneath them.
"Hold her still!" Eldri commanded, her voice cutting through the crown's psychic shrieking. The hunter had both hands wrapped around the floating sword's hilt, her muscles straining as though the blade resisted her touch. The eye in its pommel rolled wildly, its pupil dilating as it fixed on Lysandra.
Seraphina pressed her forearm across Lysandra's collarbones, pinning her to the ground. Her sister's body felt wrong beneath her - too light, too hollow, like a sapling stripped of its bark. The new growth stirring in her eye sockets pulsed with sickly green light, tendrils questing outward like blind worms seeking fresh soil.
"Whatever you're doing—" Seraphina began, but the words died as the crown at her belt suddenly went still. The whispers ceased. The thorns retracted. An eerie quiet settled over the chamber, broken only by the wet sound of Lysandra's ragged breathing.
Then the crown spoke a single word, its voice clearer than it had ever been:
"Mine."
The floating sword shrieked in answer, the sound metallic and alive. Eldri's golden eyes widened as the blade twisted in her grip, its tip swinging inexorably toward Seraphina's heart.
"No!" The hunter threw her weight against the weapon, veins standing out in her neck. "It's fighting me! The crown's will is—"
Lysandra's hand shot up, her fingers wrapping around Seraphina's wrist with terrifying strength. The green tendrils in her eye sockets lashed outward, striking the crown like serpents.
The effect was instantaneous.
The crown screamed - a sound of pure, undiluted rage that shook dust from the chamber walls. The murals flickered as though alive, their pigments swirling to depict new horrors: a tree with silver leaves weeping blood, a crown of thorns sinking into a young girl's scalp, a door of teeth yawning wide.
Eldri gasped as the sword stilled in her hands. "Now! Take it now!"
Seraphina didn't hesitate. She lunged for the blade, her fingers closing around the hilt just above Eldri's. The moment her skin made contact, the eye in the pommel blinked, its gaze locking with hers.
A shock ran through her - not pain, but memory.
She saw the first Hollow Queen not as the murals depicted, but as she truly was: a frightened girl kneeling not in submission, but in supplication. The tree had been smaller then, its bark still brown, its leaves still green. The crown in her hands wasn't a thing of thorns and hunger, but simple woven silver - a gift meant to honor, not to consume.
The vision shifted.
A knife in the dark.
A betrayal.
The first drop of royal blood striking the roots.
And then—
Understanding.
The sword's flame blazed brighter in Seraphina's grip, its light pure and clean and utterly human. She turned the point toward Lysandra, her hands steady despite the crown's renewed shrieking.
"No!" Eldri grabbed her arm. "You'll kill her!"
Seraphina met the hunter's gaze, the sword's truth burning in her veins. "No," she said softly. "I'll save her."
And plunged the blade into her sister's chest.
The world exploded in silver fire.
The Severing
Lysandra arched, her mouth opening in a soundless scream as the sword's flame raced through her veins. The green tendrils withered, turning to ash before they could retreat. The dark sap boiling from her eyes cleared, becoming pure silver that evaporated before it could touch the ground.
And the roots—
The roots connecting her to the great tree screamed as they burned, their psychic agony shaking the chamber. The murals bled fresh pigment, their images warping to show the great tree's bark splitting, its silver leaves falling like tears.
The crown at Seraphina's belt shattered, its braided strands unraveling to reveal the truth hidden at its core—
A single silver acorn, pulsing with captured starlight.
Eldri fell to her knees, her golden eyes wide with something like terror. "The seed," she whispered. "It was never a crown. It was always a prison."
Lysandra gasped, her body going limp in Seraphina's arms. Where the sword had pierced her chest, there was no wound—only a faint silver scar in the shape of a branching tree.
And in the distance, beneath the earth and stone, something ancient roared.