The trees whispered as Elowen emerged from the Hollow Below.
But this time, they did not call her child.
They called her Daughter.
The moon hung low, casting silver over the grove like a blessing. Her hair was damp with memory, and her skin still shimmered faintly with the waters of the Grave-Tree.
Every step she took left a trace of silver in the grass.
Ashen walked behind her, silent, watchful.
He saw it now—the shift in her presence. The flame in her chest no longer flickered like something borrowed.
It burned. Steady. Wild.
No longer lost.
No longer hidden.
She had become the thing the Stillwoods once feared… and hoped for.
They reached the edge of the glade where the thorn wall had once burned.
Now, blackened ground stretched before them. Smoke curled in the air, and the smell of scorched bark lingered like a wound.
In the distance, the moonlight glinted off the armor of the Masked Hunters.
Dozens of them. Maybe more.
Waiting.
But they did not attack.
They were not just hunting anymore. They were watching.
Ashen gripped his blade. "They know something changed."
Elowen didn't look away. "They feel the roots stirring. They feel her in me."
"You think he sent them?"
She nodded.
"He's testing the soil before the storm."
A voice rang out across the clearing. Cold. Measured.
"Elowen of the Broken Line," it said. "Daughter of a withered god. Surrender. You are not yet strong enough."
The speaker stepped forward.
Another Hunter — but different.
No mask.
A woman, tall and bare-faced, with silver eyes like Elowen's. Her hair was white as bone, braided with black feathers.
"Elira," Ashen whispered. "The God's right hand."
Elowen stared.
She had heard the name only once in a dream. A woman born of the same ritual Seris had once defied. One who embraced the pain. One who served the god willingly.
"You carry fire," Elira said calmly. "But fire is hunger. Fire consumes."
"I don't fear it," Elowen replied.
"You should. Even Seris feared what lived inside her."
"I am not Seris."
"No," Elira said with a faint smile. "You're something worse."
And with that, she drew her blade.
It wasn't made of metal.
It was bone. Smooth and curved like a fang.
The runes etched into it shimmered darkly. Not silver. Not gold. But black—the color of void.
Elowen stepped forward, raising her spear.
For a moment, the grove held its breath.
Then they clashed.
Sparks lit the clearing.
Elowen's spear moved like lightning, fueled by ancestral rage. Elira's blade moved like water—fluid, precise, unyielding.
They were not mirrors.
They were opposites.
Every strike shook the ground.
Ashen fought the Masked Hunters at the edge, holding the line, but even he turned at times to witness the duel.
Blood sprayed across the silver grass.
Elowen staggered back. Her arm burned. A deep cut down her shoulder. Elira stood tall, untouched.
"You fight like one who has learned pain," Elira said. "But you do not yet understand it."
Elowen breathed in, steadying herself.
"I don't need to understand pain," she said.
"I am born from it."
She dropped her spear.
And stretched out her hand.
The ground responded.
Roots burst from the earth, coiling around Elira's legs. The Grave-Tree's voice echoed in Elowen's bones.
"The forest is not yours to judge."
"It remembers who bled for it."
Elira tried to cut the roots, but they only tightened.
And from behind, the blackened tree at the edge of the glade groaned—and moved.
Its branches curved like arms.
Its trunk opened like a mouth.
And it swallowed Elira whole.
Silence followed.
Even the wind held its breath.
Ashen limped forward. "Is she…?"
"No," Elowen said. "Just dreaming. The forest wants her to remember what she forgot."
Ashen stared at her. "You didn't kill her."
"No," she said softly. "Killing is his way."
The Masked Hunters slowly lowered their blades.
One by one, they vanished into the trees. Not out of fear.
But out of uncertainty.
The god had told them stories. But now, the forest was telling its own.
As dawn broke, Elowen looked toward the far edge of the woods.
A black mountain rose in the distance—sharp and jagged like a tooth against the sky.
Ashen followed her gaze. "The temple?"
"Yes," she said. "That's where it ends."
"Or begins."
She didn't reply.
But she knew he was right.