The cabin was quiet, but not peaceful. There was tension in the air—tight and tangible, like a bowstring pulled back too far. Shadows shifted in the corners, stretching longer than they should, and every creak of the old floorboards felt like a whisper of something watching from the edges of reality.
Callum sat on a worn couch wrapped in a blanket, his fingers still curled around the pendant hanging from his neck. His head throbbed from the fall, his legs ached, and the memory of that man—the one with the knife-smile and too-pale eyes—still clung to his skin like oil.
Mora moved with purpose, pulling dusty books from a shelf and tossing herbs into a pot on the fire. She hadn't spoken again since declaring he was the Hollow's last line of defense.
"I don't understand," Callum finally said, voice low. "Why now? Why me? What am I even supposed to be defending?"
Mora glanced over her shoulder, eyes sharp. "The Hollow's not just a place, boy. It's a boundary. A seal. A living memory of the blood magic your family used to bind creatures that should've never crawled into this world."
She tossed a bundle of sage into the flames. Blue smoke spiraled upward.
"Monsters," she added. "Things that walk in dreams, drink time, and live between the lines of life and death. Your ancestors trapped them. But blood like that comes at a cost."
Callum's lips were dry. "And what? Now it's my turn to pay it?"
Mora didn't answer right away.
Instead, she opened a leather-bound book the size of a tombstone and flipped it to a page marked with a blood-red ribbon. The illustration showed the sigil he'd seen on the letter and the Hollow tree—the three interlocking rings wrapped in thorns—only this time it was etched into the chest of a man, the thorns bursting from his ribcage like roots.
"Your bloodline has thinned over generations," Mora said. "But you—you're the last true Rooke. The last to carry the full mark."
Callum frowned. "Mark?"
She nodded. "It's not just a name. It's not just the pendant. It's in your blood. You were born with the Hollow's signature. You just haven't been Awakened yet."
Callum took a step back. "Awakened to what? I'm not a witch. I'm not some chosen one. I get nightmares, I hate math, and I failed two biology tests last semester. I don't have magic."
Mora stepped close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her dark irises.
"That's because you've never been taught. The Hollow isn't a school or a blessing. It's a trial. It doesn't care what you want. It needs you to survive."
"Why?"
"Because if the seal breaks—and it is breaking—then the Hollowborn return. And when they do, everything your family died to protect will be devoured. This world, the next, your mind, your soul—all of it."
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small glass vial filled with crimson liquid. When she uncorked it, the air sizzled.
"Your mother gave her life to delay the breach. She performed a blood-binding ritual to tether it shut—temporarily. That's what you felt under the tree. The last pulse of her magic."
Callum's throat tightened.
"She's dead," he said.
Mora's gaze softened. "She is. But parts of her remain. The Hollow remembers its own."
He couldn't speak. His mind flashed to the images in the bowl—the altar, the blood, the wolves.
"How do I stop any of this?"
Mora lifted the vial. "You take the Oath."
"What oath?"
"The one your ancestors took. The one that gives you control over the Hollow's magic—and binds you to its curse."
Callum stared at the vial. "And if I don't?"
She didn't flinch. "Then you die. Soon."
Silence fell between them like a guillotine.
The fire crackled. The wind howled outside, carrying distant whispers.
"Do I have to drink it?" he asked, voice trembling.
Mora nodded. "It's your blood. Distilled through the Hollow's roots. Drinking it will bind you to its memory. To its power."
Callum took the vial.
His reflection in the glass looked wrong—eyes darker, older. Like something had already started to shift.
He popped the cork and, with a deep breath, downed it in one swallow.
Fire.
That's what it felt like.
The moment it hit his tongue, agony ripped through his chest. He dropped to his knees, clutching his ribs as if something inside was trying to claw its way out. The world tilted. His skin glowed faint green. Symbols danced across his arms—runic, ancient, alive.
Then came the visions.
He saw a child screaming in a cradle of thorns.
A gate made of bone, shattering.
His mother, standing in a circle of ash, eyes bleeding light.
And himself—older, cloaked in black, holding a sword of living roots, standing over a battlefield littered with shadow beasts.
Then—nothing.
When Callum woke, he was lying on the floor. Mora stood over him, her expression unreadable.
"It's done," she said.
"What... what did I see?"
"Possibilities," she replied. "Memories. Echoes. Some true. Some warnings. The Hollow doesn't speak in straight lines."
Callum looked at his hands. The runes had faded, but he could feel them now—etched into his bones. Something inside him had been unlocked.
"You have about a week," Mora said.
"A week for what?"
"Before the breach opens fully. Before the Hollowborn come hunting again."
Callum got to his feet. "Then where do I go?"
"To the manor," Mora said. "The Rooke estate. What's left of it."
"It's still standing?"
"Barely," she said. "Hidden under layers of warding spells and rot. But it's there. And so is the Vault."
"You mean the place Elen mentioned."
Mora stiffened at the name. "If Elen's been speaking to you, then she's desperate. She shouldn't still be whole."
"What's in the Vault?"
"Answers," Mora said. "Weapons. Secrets. Maybe even the truth about what really happened to your mother."
Callum looked out the window. The fog outside was thick and silver, pressing against the glass like a living thing.
"They're already hunting again, aren't they?"
Mora nodded. "Always. But now they know you've taken the Oath. That means they'll move faster. They'll send stronger ones."
Callum's hand clenched around the pendant. The warmth of the Hollow's blood still flickered in his chest.
"I'm not ready," he admitted.
"No one ever is," Mora said, picking up a blade from the mantle and tossing it to him. "But ready or not, the forest remembers your name now. And it's waiting."
Hours later, Callum stood at the edge of the forest once more.
Mora had left him with supplies, maps, and a charm stitched from raven feathers that was supposed to mask his scent from the Hollowborn.
But she hadn't gone with him.
"The Hollow's blood doesn't let outsiders in anymore," she'd told him. "Not unless they've bled for it."
And so he stood alone.
The trees whispered.
The wind stilled.
And somewhere deep beyond the fog, something laughed.
Callum took his first step forward.
The Hollow opened.