The wind had shifted.
Chizzy stood at the edge of the village, staring into the woods where the last battle had taken place. The scent of scorched earth and wild violets lingered in the air. The forest had gone quiet since the ritual at the stone circle—too quiet. The silence wasn't peace. It was waiting.
Beside her, Kiran held a satchel packed with wards, salt, and sigil stones. "Do you really think it's over?"
"No," she said, her voice flat. "I think it's changing."
They moved cautiously back toward the center of the village. The stone well had dried overnight. Chickens refused to leave their coops. Children were crying in their sleep, murmuring words they didn't know. And under it all, there was a rhythm. A low thrum, pulsing through the soil—like the heartbeat of something buried.
At the temple ruins, the village elders had gathered.
Elder Noma raised her cane as they approached. "Something is building beneath us," she warned. "The seal held for centuries because it was protected by more than magic. It was protected by lineage."
Chizzy frowned. "Lineage?"
"You were never just a girl touched by fate," the elder continued. "Your bloodline was chosen. Long ago, our ancestors made a pact—a sacred vow to guard the Hollow from within."
A weight settled in Chizzy's chest. "Why wasn't I told?"
"You were meant to live without the burden—until it called to you."
Kiran stepped closer. "And now that it has?"
Noma's gaze darkened. "Now, you must claim what lies beneath."
Chizzy's hands clenched. "I've already sealed the gate once. Isn't that enough?"
"No." The elder's voice was heavy. "That was a fracture. There are more. And they are awakening… because you have awakened."
A rustling interrupted them. A young boy ran into the clearing, breathless.
"It's the well," he gasped. "There's something speaking from it!"
They followed him at once. A crowd had gathered. The stone rim of the well radiated cold, and the air around it shimmered like heat on metal. Chizzy stepped forward and peered in.
Nothing but darkness.
Then a whisper curled up from the depths, slithering through her ears and wrapping around her mind.
You opened the path. Now walk it.
She stumbled back, heart pounding.
Kiran caught her. "What did it say?"
She shook her head. "It knows me. It knows I'm listening."
"Then stop listening."
"I can't," she said. "It's not just calling—it's answering."
Elder Noma touched her shoulder gently. "When a vessel opens, the spirits come. But not all who whisper mean harm."
Chizzy turned back toward the well. "What if this one does?"
That night, unable to rest, Chizzy returned to her cottage. She sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the glowing blade beside her. Her mark itched like fire beneath her skin.
Then she heard it—inside her head this time, not the well.
Come to me… where the earth breaks and the sky mourns…
She jolted upright. That wasn't a place—it was a memory.
From her childhood.
A cliff near the coast, where the land had split from a forgotten quake. It was where her mother used to take her to sing to the waves.
She dressed quickly, grabbed the blade, and slipped into the night.
Kiran found her halfway down the path, already cloaked and determined.
"You're not going alone," he said.
"I'm not waiting," she replied.
He fell in step beside her.
They walked in silence until the trees thinned, revealing the moonlit cliffside. The ocean below churned violently, like it too was restless. The ground here was jagged, cracked from years of erosion and secrets buried too long.
Chizzy knelt, placing her hand to the earth.
The moment her fingers touched stone, her mark flared.
The cliff trembled.
And from the crack in the ground… something whispered back.