The forest seemed to breathe around them, each whisper of wind against the leaves carrying secrets Elara could almost hear—but not quite grasp.
Gone were the safer trails they once knew. Here, the trees towered like ancient gods, their branches tangled high above, knitting together a heavy canopy that smothered what little light remained after the storm. Only when lightning stitched jagged seams across the bruised sky did they catch fleeting glimpses of the world they now walked: vines thick as serpents, thorns eager to tear skin, and strange fungal blooms that pulsed faintly against the bark like dying stars.
Every step forward felt like pushing through unseen hands that clutched at their ankles, their chests, their very thoughts. It wasn't just the sodden, sucking mud. It was a weight pressing inward from all sides, thick and unseen, until even breathing felt like a defiance.
Elara felt it most keenly.
The way the very earth recoiled under her boots, the way the storm coiled within her ribs like a living thing, restless and waiting.
Kael walked beside her, his usual easy movements muted into something tight and wary. His sword stayed drawn, the blade dulled by rain and flecks of blackened blood from the creature they'd slain. He kept glancing at her—not in fear, but in a fierce, unspoken vow to stand between her and whatever came next.
Ahead, Liora prowled with an archer's careful grace, bow ready, every muscle strung taut. Behind them, Thorne drifted like a shadow, silent and dangerous, his presence just a constant pressure at the edges of Elara's mind.
It was Thorne who broke the silence first, his voice a gravelly murmur barely louder than the wind.
"This place was sacred once," he said. "The Elder Druids lived here. They sang the trees awake, taught the rivers to dream."
Kael didn't turn, but his voice cut through the mist. "And now?"
Thorne gave a low, mirthless laugh. "Same as always. Power came. Greed followed. And rot grew fat on both."
Elara reached out as she walked, letting her fingertips brush the bark of an ancient tree.
What she felt made her breath hitch.
Not life.
Not anymore.
It pulsed beneath the surface, slow and sickly, like the last fading heartbeat of a dying beast. She snatched her hand back with a shiver.
"How much farther?" Liora called, her voice tight, cutting through the thickening air.
Elara closed her eyes for a moment, surrendering to the pull inside her—the storm's pull, that strange tether humming in her blood.
"There's a clearing ahead," she whispered. "Something's waiting for us."
Kael's jaw flexed, a thousand unspoken fears passing through his eyes. "Trap?"
"Maybe." Elara opened her eyes, her voice steadier than she felt. "Maybe not."
They kept moving.
As they pressed deeper, memories—ones that weren't hers—scraped at the edges of her mind.
A woman wreathed in stormlight standing defiant before a tide of shadows.
A city consumed in fire, the sky raining ash.
A baby's wail echoing across a battlefield, alone and unanswered.
Were they fragments of the past? Shards of a future yet to be? Or merely dreams the Hollow Citadel had planted inside her skull?
Each step forward gnawed at her certainty.
At last, the trees began to thin.
The forest exhaled a final, shuddering breath, and they stepped into the clearing.
At its heart stood a black monolith, massive and silent, carved with runes that bled a sickly green light. The ground around it was scorched and lifeless, as if even the weeds knew better than to touch it.
A single figure knelt before the stone—
A woman, draped in tattered robes, their original white now stained the color of old wounds. Her long hair spilled around her like a dark river, hiding her face as she bowed low.
Elara's foot broke the threshold of the clearing—
And the woman lifted her head.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then—
The woman's face came into view, and the world seemed to tilt.
One side of her was breathtakingly beautiful: high cheekbones, full lips, eyes that shimmered like polished moonstone. The other half… was death incarnate. Skin blackened and cracked, an empty socket where one eye should be, bone gleaming beneath.
"Elara Vel'Thari," the woman said, her voice threading through the stillness like a blade through silk. "At last."
Kael instantly moved to shield Elara, his sword raised with a deadly promise.
Elara swallowed hard, drawing strength from the storm twisting inside her chest.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice slicing through the heavy air.
The woman rose, each movement fluid and unnatural.
"I am a herald," she said simply. "The voice of what sleeps beneath the roots of this dying world."
Thorne's curse was a whisper at her back. "The Hollow One."
The woman smiled—a terrible, broken smile that pulled the decayed half of her face into something monstrous.
"You carry the storm, child," she said. "You carry the final key."
Elara clenched her fists, feeling the storm surge eagerly through her veins.
"I won't give you anything," she growled.
The woman's laughter splintered the clearing, brittle and cruel.
"You misunderstand," she said.
"You already have."
Before Elara could react, the woman turned toward the monolith and thrust out her hands.
The runes ignited.
The ground heaved.
A wave of energy blasted outward—
Kael was thrown like a ragdoll, crashing into a tree with a grunt.
Liora and Thorne were tossed aside, hitting the earth hard.
Elara staggered, her vision swimming—but the storm inside her caught her, bracing her against the worst of it.
The ground split open.
And from the cracks, they came.
Creatures that might once have been human, but were now grotesque parodies of life. Faces locked in eternal screams, skin hanging in molten sheets, eyes glowing with the same sickly green fire.
The dead had risen.
The woman's voice rang out across the clearing, velvet and vile.
"Bow to the Hollow One, child of storm. Or be devoured."
Elara's body trembled, but not with fear. With fury.
She would not kneel. Not for this. Not for anyone.
The first corpse lunged for her—
Instinct took over.
Lightning crackled from her fingertips, reducing it to ash before it could touch her.
Another came, then another.
Kael staggered to his feet, blood streaking his face, and with a roar of raw defiance, charged into the fray.
His sword flashed like a silver flame.
Liora's arrows sang through the air, each shot dropping a monster in its tracks.
Thorne wove through the battle like smoke, his daggers flashing red as he struck with surgical precision.
But they were too many.
For every one that fell, two more clawed their way free.
Elara felt the storm coiling tighter inside her, whispering promises she didn't want to hear.
Let go, it murmured. Let me show you what you could become.
She stumbled, the world tilting around her.
The woman by the monolith watched with serene, knowing eyes.
"You cannot fight what you are," she said, almost kindly.
Something inside Elara broke.
A scream tore free from her, raw and jagged, and the storm answered with savage glee.
Lightning howled from the sky. Thunder cracked the air apart. Winds shrieked, ripping the risen dead into nothingness.
She didn't remember falling.
But when the silence came crashing back, Elara found herself on her knees, gasping for breath.
Ash rained down around them like snow.
The woman was gone.
The monolith stood silent and cold.
The clearing was a graveyard of smoke and ruin.
Kael limped to her side, falling to his knees, his face bloodied but fierce.
"Elara," he said hoarsely, his hand closing around hers, anchoring her back to herself. "Elara… you're alright."
She nodded numbly.
But inside, she knew better.
Something vast and dark had touched her.
And now, it would never let go.