Corin's breath caught as he scanned the room, every nerve lit and alert.
The warmth was deceptive. The fire crackled gently. The quilt still lay across his lap. But something was wrong.
He wasn't alone.
His eyes darted to the far corner—shadow pooled there, thick and unmoving. Then it shifted.
A figure.
Not monstrous. Not glowing. Just someone standing very still.
Corin sat up, heart pounding, fingers tightening around the edge of the quilt.
The figure stepped forward, slow and deliberate. A woman—tall, wrapped in a cloak of moss and bark, silver hair braided with twigs and feathers. Her face was lined, but her eyes were sharp. Not cruel. Not kind. Just watching.
"You're awake," she said.
Corin didn't answer. His throat was dry. His body still felt like it belonged to someone else.
She moved to the hearth, stirred the kettle, then poured something into a wooden cup. "Drink. It'll help."
He hesitated, then took it. The liquid was warm, bitter, and earthy. It settled in his stomach like fire and fog.
"Where am I?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she sat across from him, folding her hands in her lap.
"You're in the Hollow," she said.
Corin blinked. "You live here?"
"I remain here," she said. "The forest remembers me."
He looked around again. The house felt grown, not built—walls curved like tree trunks, shelves carved into bark, the ceiling stitched with vines. It was less a home and more a secret.
"Why did the forest let me live?" he asked.
She studied him. "Because you didn't come to die."
Corin's chest tightened. "They said I was chosen. That the Hollow takes the chosen."
She tilted her head. "They say many things."
Outside, the wind stirred the trees.
Inside, the silence deepened.
Corin didn't know what to ask next. He only knew the forest hadn't killed him. And that meant something was coming.
Something he wasn't ready for.