Dawn broke as a muffled sigh across the scarred borderlands. Ash still drifted from the treetops, but now—miles from the ruined village—the forest took on a quieter, almost reverent mood. Sunlight through soot-stained leaves cast dusky patterns on the undergrowth, and every step the trio took seemed to echo against unseen walls.
They entered the Whispering Hollow by a moss-choked trail marked only by half-sunken stones carved with faded runes. Lira paused at its mouth, inhaling deep. "They say the earth here speaks," she murmured. "Not in words, but in echoes of memory."
Caelum, heart still humming from the shard's recent anger, nodded. He felt the power coil inside him like a cat ready to pounce—wrath tempered by pity, memory ready to be released. Beside him, Bram kept watch, blade sheathed but hand never far from the hilt.
They pressed forward, and the trees closed behind them in muted arches. The air grew cool, carrying the scent of wet earth and broken promises. Every rock and root seemed charged with silent song, as though the land itself had stories it longed to tell.
After half an hour, they came to a clearing at the hollow's heart. The ground here was sunken, ringed by stunted birch and bleached oak. At its center lay a natural sink: a shallow depression filled with water so still it reflected clouds as though they were painted upon glass. But it was not the water that held their attention—it was the stones around it.
Eighteen pillars, each carved with scattered passages from the original fey-human pact, circled the hollow like silent witnesses. Some pillars were toppled, others fractured, but all bore the same marking: intertwined glyphs of leaf and star, symbolizing shared trust.
Lira traced a rune with her fingertip. "This says… 'From sorrow, strength; from burden, bond.'" She glanced at Bram. "We've found five shards. Only two remain."
Bram nodded. "If the next truth lies here, we'll uncover it."
Caelum stepped to the water's edge. The shard pulsed lightly against his chest. As he bent to touch the surface, a whisper rose beneath his breath—not a voice, but a rush of feeling: hope intermingled with grief, promise undercut by fear. He felt the hollow's pulse as if it were his own.
When his fingers brushed the water, the surface fractured in ripples. In the trembling mirror, he saw a man and a fey maiden: kneeling together at twilight, hands clasped over the water's surface. Their voices joined in a binding oath:
"We pledge to carry sorrow alike, to lend our spirits in times of despair, that neither man nor fey shall bear the world's pain alone."
But the vision sharpened. Betrayal flared in the maiden's eyes—an ember of doubt. The man, desperate, clasped her more fiercely. A sudden flicker of shadow at the hollow's edge: another mortal, his face twisted with envy, watched unseen.
Then the hollow trembled, and the vision shattered. The water stilled again, reflecting only the gray sky.
Lira stood breathless. "They tried to share sorrow," she whispered. "But someone stole a moment—let doubt in."
Bram frowned. "A sixth shard must be here."
They moved among the pillars, reading the fractured glyphs. Each told a fragment:
"Trust given in brightness…"
"…faith held in darkness…"
"…promise sung by two hearts…"
"…shadowed by a third."
Caelum's palm stung where the shard's warmth flickered. He closed his eyes and let the hollow's pulse guide him. Beneath the surface, murmurs coalesced: a memory hidden under layers of stone and earth.
He pressed the shard to the base of the pillar marked with the fourth glyph. The pillar shuddered, fissuring along its length. Dust and motes of ancient magic spilled free, coalescing into a faint glow at its base.
From the ground emerged a fragment of the crystalline pact—slick with earth, etched with a single word:
"Doubt."
The sixth shard.
As Caelum lifted it, the hollow sighed again, deeper this time—like relief after long entombment. The pillars flickered with renewed light, and for a heartbeat the clearing shone as it had at the world's first dawn.
Then—silence.
Bram sheathed his sword, stepping close to Caelum. "One more to go," he said, voice gentle.
Lira sat beside the water's edge, pulling the silent girl from the borderlands into her lap. The child's eyes were wide, but she no longer trembled. "The hollow has answered," Lira whispered. "Now we understand why the pact broke: jealousy, envy, doubt. A third heart could not abide another's bond."
Caelum studied the final pillar, the only one still unmarred:
"Together we stand; apart we falter."
He bowed his head. "We must restore that unity." He held the shard and whispered the newly learned word—Doubt—into the hollow's hush.
The final pillar glowed, then split in two, revealing the seventh and last shard. It hovered in mid-air, a flawless gem of pale silver, inscribed with the simple glyph for "Unity."
The shards now complete, Caelum felt their combined weight—a kaleidoscope of truths: Greed, Pity, Sorrow, Remembrance, Silence, Doubt, and now Unity. Together, they thrummed with the land's heartbeat.
He turned to his companions. "We carry this with us—to the heart of the fey council. Only our united will can renew the pact."
Bram placed a hand on Caelum's shoulder, strength in the gesture. "We'll stand together."
Lira rose, lifting the silent girl into her arms. "And we'll remember why," she said.
In the Whispering Hollow, where the land spoke in echoes, a new promise took root: that shared sorrow and shared hope were the truest magic of all.