They left Hollowfen behind, but Hollowfen did not leave them.
Even as the mists thinned and the sunlight returned, something clung to Caelum — a faint flicker behind his eyes, a tension in his voice that even the dumbest flirtation couldn't fully hide.
Hinata noticed.
She didn't press him.
But she started walking closer than before. Always a half-step behind or beside. Always within reach.
---
Three days later, they came upon a village that wasn't on any map — tucked between crooked woods and a river that flowed the wrong way.
The people there smiled too widely and spoke in echoes.
Caelum stopped at the gate, eyes narrowing. "This place isn't real."
Hinata frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Not an illusion. Worse." His fingers brushed the air like he was feeling for strings. "Something's playing dress-up with reality."
They ventured in.
The villagers greeted them with cheerful nods, but their eyes didn't blink. One woman kept stirring a pot that contained only ash. A child stood in a corner, humming a tune that looped every fifteen seconds, perfectly identical each time.
Hinata's hand didn't leave her hilt.
Then they found the theater.
It stood at the center of the village — tall, pristine, and untouched by time. Red velvet curtains waved despite the still air. A sign above the doors read, in elegant script: The Marionette Hall.
Caelum's jaw clenched.
"I've been here before," he whispered. "In a dream. Or... maybe it was worse."
Hinata turned sharply. "We don't have to go in."
"Yes we do," he said, already pushing the doors open.
Inside, the seats were filled with mannequins — pale figures dressed in noble clothes, faces blank, hands clapping in eerie rhythm.
And on the stage...
A puppet show.
Two marionettes danced. One dressed in a long coat, a too-wide grin painted on its face. The other, in silver armor with crimson eyes.
Hinata's breath caught.
"They look like... us."
Caelum didn't speak. His eyes were locked on the strings.
They went up — past the stage lights, past the rafters, into nothingness.
And then a voice rang out.
"Well done, little broken thing."
The curtain parted.
And out stepped a woman draped in shadows, her face hidden behind a porcelain mask.
"Welcome home, Caelum Verris."
Hinata stepped in front of him on instinct. "Who are you?"
But the woman ignored her.
She lifted a hand — and the puppet that looked like Caelum jerked violently, limbs contorting, head lolling unnaturally.
"He was always good at dancing for others," she said, tone mocking. "Even when he pretended to be free."
Caelum flinched. His hand twitched toward his spellbelt.
"No," Hinata said sharply, grabbing his wrist. "Not this time."
The woman laughed. "Oh, how sweet. The girl thinks she can save the knife from its own edge."
"Let. Them. Go," Hinata growled.
The masked woman tilted her head. "They've always belonged to me. Every choice, every heartbreak. I just remind them who pulls the strings."
Something snapped inside Caelum.
"No," he said, stepping forward. "Not anymore."
Magic exploded from him, raw and primal — a black storm laced with stardust. The mannequins dissolved. The puppets screamed.
The woman didn't flinch.
She raised a single hand — and Caelum froze mid-cast, like his body had turned to glass.
Hinata rushed forward, blade out — only to be hurled back by a ripple of force.
"You can't cut strings you can't see, little soldier," the woman said coolly.
But even as he stood paralyzed, Caelum's eyes burned. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head toward Hinata.
And he smiled.
Not the mask. Not the flirt.
Him.
And with a final surge of will, he shattered the invisible bindings.
Magic cracked like thunder. The theater imploded in silence.
When Hinata woke, they were lying outside, under the stars again. The village was gone.
Just gone.
Caelum lay beside her, his breathing shallow. His eyes were open but unfocused.
"Hey," she whispered, shaking him gently. "Stay with me. You idiot."
He blinked.
Then his gaze cleared.
"You're really bad at lullabies," he rasped.
Hinata let out a shaky breath and laughed.
"Don't ever scare me like that again," she said.
"No promises."
She helped him sit up.
He leaned on her shoulder, too tired to make another joke.
After a long silence, he said quietly:
"She was part of me. Or maybe a version of me. The part that wanted to give up."
Hinata squeezed his hand.
"You're still here."
He nodded slowly.
"Thanks to you."
---
That night, neither of them slept.
They sat side by side, watching the stars.
The world hadn't ended.
Not yet.
But something had changed.
And the next time they faced the dark — they'd face it together.