Kaelremained crouched by Marren'sbody for a long time, staring at the place where the black thread had dissolved. His hands tightened into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. Ryn shifted uneasily beside him, glancing at the treeline as though expecting the woods themselves to reach out and snatch him away.
"You saw it too," Kael muttered.
Ryn hesitated. "Saw what?"
"The thread."
The blacksmith's son paled, his mouth parting before he snapped it shut again. He hadn't seen it — only Kael had. That realization tightened something cold in Kael'schest. If no one else could see what bound these bodies, then he was more alone in this than he thought.
"Nothing," Kael said quickly, rising to his feet. "Just… shadows."
But Ryn didn't look convinced.
They carriedMarren's body back toward the village, the weight heavier than Kael expected for such a lean man. Each step seemed to echo, though the dirt road should have muffled the sound. And though the sun had risen higher, it did nothing to lift the gloom clinging to the streets. Curtains twitched as they passed, villagers peeking out only to quickly draw away. No one wanted to ask what Kael carried. No one wanted the answer.
At the square, they laid Marren beneath the old oak, where the village elders would usually gather to speak judgment or offer blessing. Now the tree felt more like a gallows.
Elder Thalen was already there, his weathered face hard as stone. He was flanked by two other elders, both muttering prayers under their breath. When they saw the body, the muttering ceased.
"This makes three," Thalen said, voice low. "In as many nights."
Kael straightened. "Three?"
Thalen nodded grimly. "A girl was found yesterday at dawn. Another man the night before. No wounds. No blood. Just… emptied. As if something took the spirit but left the flesh."
Rynmade a sign against evil, spitting to the side. "The Hollow Star," he whispered.
A murmur went through the crowd that had begun to gather, drawn by the body despite their fear. The name had been whispered more often these past days, tied to every misfortune — failed crops, sick cattle, shadows moving where no light should be. Now it was spoken aloud, and it stuck to the air like oil.
Kael's jaw tightened. He didn't believe in half the old stories the villagers clung to, but this… this felt like more than superstition.
"Fear spreads faster than truth," Kael said, stepping closer to Thalen. "Keep the name quiet. If the people believe the Hollow Star walks again, we'll have chaos before we find answers."
Thalen studied him, his gray eyes sharp. "And do you have answers, Vorrin?"
Kaelhesitated. He thought of the thread, the way it vanished under his touch. Of Elara's words, describing strings pulling at her bones. "Not yet."
"Then bring me one," Thalen said, his tone cutting. "Before night falls again."
The day bled away slowly, every hour heavy with unspoken dread. Kael spent it moving through the village, asking questions, listening for fragments of truth hidden beneath layers of fear.
Some swore they saw lights in the fields. Others whispered of voices in their sleep, calling them by names their mothers had never spoken. One boy claimed he'd seen a figure at the edge of the well — tall, thin, cloaked in nothing but threads that twisted in the wind — but when Kael pressed him, the boy broke into tears and said no more.
Each story frayed at the edges, but together they wove something larger, something darker. And each pointed back toward the woods.
By dusk, Kael returned to the healer's hut. Elara still sat on the cot, her face pale but her eyes sharper now.
"You found another," she said, not asking.
Kael froze. "How do you know?"
Her fingers twitched at the blanket, as though plucking unseen cords. "Because the sound grew louder. Each time one of them falls, the strings tighten. The song changes. It's… pulling something closer."
A chill slid down Kael's spine. "Closer?"
She nodded. "Like a loom. Each thread, each death, is part of a pattern. And when the pattern is finished…" She trailed off, her breath hitching.
Kael knelt beside her, lowering his voice. "What did you see that night, Elara? In the alley?"
Her eyes flicked to his, then away. "Not just a man. A hollow. His body moved, but not by his own will. And behind him, in the dark, I saw—" She cut herself short, her lips trembling. "If I speak it, it'll know."
Kael wanted to press her, but the raw terror in her face silenced him. Instead, he placed a hand lightly on her arm. "Then don't speak it. Just tell me this: is it what they call the Hollow Star?"
Her silence was answer enough.
That night, Kael walked alone to the edge of the fields. The moon was a pale scar in the sky, half-hidden by drifting clouds. Every stalk of wheat swayed though there was no wind, each motion too uniform, as if pulled by invisible fingers.
Kael's dagger felt pitifully small at his side. He'd faced bandits, beasts, even men he once called friends — but this was different. This was something that watched from behind the veil of the world, something that moved through silence and thread.
He crouched, running a hand over the soil.
There.
Thin black strands, nearly invisible in the moonlight, spread from the earth like veins, weaving between stalks of wheat, vanishing into the dark. He reached for one — and froze as it shivered beneath his fingers.
The ground pulsed.
From the earth, a shape began to rise.
At first it was only the outline of a man, but thinner, stretched too long, its limbs jerking in unnatural rhythm. Threads coiled around it, weaving a body where none existed. A hollow face turned toward him, featureless but for the gaping absence where a mouth should be.
Kael's hand went to his blade. But as he drew it, the thing twitched, and from the soil around him dozens more threads writhed upward, like roots coming alive, tangling toward his feet.
The Hollow Star's song had begun.