Noa didn't sleep. Not really.
Her body went still, but her mind wandered somewhere it couldn't return from.
She dreamt of a forest swallowed in red fog, of ash falling like snow.
Of a circle of women around the Ashwood Tree—hooded, humming, hands bound in thorned rope.
At the center stood Elowen.
Her eyes met Noa's across a century of silence.
"You are the bloodline," Elowen said.
"The seal was never meant to last forever. One of you must choose to bind again."
Noa tried to speak, but fog filled her throat.
The vision dissolved into a screaming wind.
She awoke gasping, face damp with sweat. The house was still, but the air carried the same hum as the Ashwood clearing.
Downstairs, the girls waited.
"We need to talk," she said.
They gathered in the living room, stone fragments placed carefully on the table like pieces of something too old to exist. The black stone had split on its own days ago—now five jagged pieces shimmered faintly in the low light.
"I think I'm related to Elowen Ashwood," Noa began. "I found my grandmother's name in her journal… Elowen's name plate was hidden in the cover. And I think… The oath needs blood. My blood."
Celeste paled. "You think this is a… sacrifice thing?"
"In the vision, Elowen said five to bind—one to bleed," Noa whispered. "I think the original ritual ended in blood."
Astra looked down at the fragment in front of her. "Maybe the stone breaking means it's starting again."
Riven shook her head. "We don't even know what the Hollow is. We could make things worse."
"But we can't do nothing," Mavis said, uncharacteristically quiet.
Astra leaned forward. "What if we recreated the ritual? Like the drawings… the oath, the tree, the fragments. Maybe that's how we buy time."
Riven stood, pacing. "Or maybe that's exactly what it wants. Maybe we're playing right into it."
Silence settled in.
Celeste reached out and touched her stone fragment. Her hand trembled. "It's already inside us. Whether we want it or not."
The lights flickered. A low rumble stirred beneath the floorboards.
The fragments began to vibrate. One by one, they slid across the table—unmoving hands pushing them to their rightful owners.
Each girl caught theirs instinctively.
Riven's eyes went wide. "That… that wasn't us."
Outside, the fog thickened like a rising tide.
Later that night, Noa stood alone in her room, staring at her fragment.
It pulsed against her palm—cold, steady, alive.
On her window, written in condensation:
"BLEED.
BIND.
REMEMBER."
She didn't scream.
She simply closed the curtain.