To seal the breach, Lucas needed more than fire and fury.
He needed knowledge the Veil never had. And for that, he would return to the forest.
Wither Hollow lay an hour beyond Eastbridge, a warped glade where trees grew backward and crows spoke in riddles. Long ago, the Ashen Veil exiled a woman there—a seer named Lysantia, who'd refused to aid their first summoning. Branded a traitor, she survived by becoming something worse than them: a witch of the wild world.
Lucas walked into the Hollow alone.
The wind whispered lies. The grass bled beneath his boots. Shadows twisted around him, forming shapes—faces from his past: his mother, Dr. Vernes, even himself, hollow-eyed and aflame.
Then came the voice.
"I warned your mother," it said, slow as molasses, sharp as broken glass. "She didn't listen either."
Lysantia emerged from the bark of a tree—no older than thirty, no younger than the forest. Her eyes were blind but glowing.
Lucas bowed slightly. "I need to seal a breach."
"You need more than that, vessel," she said, approaching. "You need to understand what you are."
Lucas tensed.
"I'm not him."
She laughed. "Oh, child. You already were."