The wind howled beyond the border of the Hollow, carrying with it whispers not of memory—but of warning.
Far from the firelit unity of the village, deep in the stone-carved halls beneath the Ashen Mountains, the Veil stirred.
In a chamber lit only by cold, violet flame, twelve robed figures knelt in a circle. Their hoods were embroidered with sigils—symbols meant to suppress truth, to suffocate light. At the center of the circle stood a monolith of blackened bone, cracked and veined with red. It pulsed faintly, a heartbeat older than the forest itself.
"She has awakened the Eye," murmured the High Veil, a tall woman with silver lips and empty eyes. "The fire has spread beyond the Weave."
A man to her right, hunched and trembling, spat on the floor. "Then we move now. Before it roots itself."
"No," the High Veil said. "Roots must grow deep before they can be torn."
She waved her hand, and the monolith shimmered, revealing an image: Chizzy standing in the village square, holding the glowing thread. Light flickered in her eyes. Fire circled her like a halo.
"She is not yet complete," the High Veil whispered. "But she will be. And that makes her dangerous."
A boy stepped into the circle—a messenger no older than twelve. His eyes were dark and glassy, no longer his own.
He bowed deeply. "The Scattered Flame walks with her. They have begun to weave again."
The room grew colder. Frost crept along the stone.
"Then we must send the Hollowed," said another Veil member. "Let them unravel her before the fire reaches the bone."
The High Veil nodded slowly. "Release the first wave. Let the whispers bleed into her dreams. Let doubt coil around her certainty. We will not strike with steel."
She smiled, and the chamber darkened.
"We will strike with silence."
—
Back in the village, the night was calm—but Chizzy felt a tug behind her eyes as she sat by the fire. Not pain. Something stranger.
A pulling.
She blinked hard, focusing on the flickering flames. Around her, the village moved gently: Liora humming as she arranged herbs, Kiran sharpening a carved blade, Aerun meditating near the edge of the Hollow with his palm pressed to the earth.
"Something wrong?" Talia asked, crouching beside her.
Chizzy hesitated. "I thought I saw… someone in the fire. Just for a second."
"Someone?"
"A girl. Pale. Eyes full of ink. She was mouthing words, but no sound came out."
Talia frowned. "A warning?"
Chizzy stared at the fire again. The image was gone.
"I don't know," she said. "But it felt... empty. Like she was trying to speak and something swallowed her voice."
Aerun opened his eyes nearby, sensing the shift. "The Veil works in quiet," he said softly. "They plant fear not with blades, but with silence. They will haunt your sleep. Your memory. Twist your truths into confusion."
Chizzy looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. Her mark flickered faintly.
"I'm not afraid of fear," she said. "But I am afraid of forgetting."
"Then anchor yourself," Aerun said, rising to stand behind her. "Each morning, speak your name. Speak your story. Speak the fire. That is your weapon."
She nodded slowly, then stood. "If the Veil sends shadows, we'll meet them with flame."
Talia's smile was sharp. "And if they send silence—then we'll scream."
The fire cracked.
And somewhere far away, in a chamber of ash and bone, the Veil shuddered.
They had awakened more than they expected.
And the fire was learning to roar.