The Hollow Realms did not sleep.
Elizabeth learned this on her first night in Hardin's small camp, hidden in the shadow of a ridge where black-glass trees swayed without wind. The sky above them glimmered faintly, not with stars, but with shards of broken light drifting slowly across the dark like embers trapped in water.
The air hummed, low and constant, like something alive beneath the ground.
Hardin had set up a rough shelter from dark woven branches. Klara sat near the fire, turning a stick over the embers, her green eyes narrowed in thought. Lucian was a little further away, sitting on a rock with his back to the group, sharpening a short dagger with steady, almost rhythmic strokes.
Elizabeth couldn't tell if the two disliked each other or were simply used to avoiding each other's gaze.
"Why are you even here?" Klara asked without looking up from the fire.
"Because Hardin asked me to be," Lucian replied flatly.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting."
Elizabeth looked between them, sensing there was history neither wanted to speak aloud. The tension between them was different from the tension she felt from Michael or Hardin — quieter, heavier.
She drew her cloak tighter around herself. "Hardin," she said, "how far is this place from Velthra?"
Hardin didn't lift his head from the leather strap he was mending. "Far enough that Michael's threads will struggle to find you. Not far enough that he won't try."
A faint chill crept through her chest at the thought.
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but then… it happened.
Her hands began to glow.
Not the warm, steady light she had used to strike the fatefire attackers — this was different. The golden glow flickered, sharp and wild, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. A faint ring of shadow curled around her fingertips, as if the light was being strangled by the dark.
The hum in the air grew louder.
"Elizabeth—" Klara's voice was sharp now. "Your eyes…"
Elizabeth blinked, and the world changed.
The Hollow shifted before her — every tree, every stone outlined with silver threads. Some threads were taut, some frayed, some leading off into the endless black. She saw Klara's thread, green-gold and steady, and Lucian's, dark and tangled. She turned —
And saw Hardin's thread.
It was not one thread at all, but three, braided together — gold, black, and silver.
She gasped. The vision snapped away.
The glow in her hands faded, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the pounding of her heart.
Lucian was staring at her now. Not with fear, but with something that looked dangerously close to recognition.
Hardin's gaze was unreadable. "You need to control that," he said. "Here, in the Hollow, there are eyes everywhere. Show power like that, and something will come looking for you."
Before she could ask what, a faint metallic flutter broke the silence.
A black-feathered bird, unlike any she had seen before, landed on the branch above them. Its feathers shimmered faintly like oil in water. In its beak was a tightly rolled scroll.
Hardin rose slowly, taking the message. The bird's gaze lingered on Elizabeth before it spread its wings and vanished into the darkness.
Hardin broke the seal, his brow tightening as he read. "We have to move," he said. "Now."
"What happened?" Klara asked.
Hardin looked at Elizabeth. "Someone in Velthra has started asking questions about a missing princess."
Elizabeth froze. "My parents—?"
He shook his head. "Not them. Someone else."
Lucian stood, sliding his dagger into his belt. "And if they're asking, it means they already know more than they should."
Elizabeth's heartbeat quickened. She had been certain her family believed she was safe — that she had simply gone somewhere under royal business. But if someone else knew…
A cold wind swept through the camp, and for a moment, she thought she heard a voice in it — a woman's voice, soft and urgent.
Find me, daughter.
Her hands trembled. "Did you hear that?"
Klara glanced at her. "Hear what?"
But Lucian was watching her too closely, as if he had heard something after all.
The hum in the Hollow grew louder. The threads in Elizabeth's vision began to flicker again — just faintly — and in the far darkness beyond the ridge, something moved.
Not a person.
Not quite a beast.
Its eyes burned silver.
Hardin grabbed his sword. "Move!"
They scattered into the night, the shadows chasing them.
The Hollow Realms had a way of breathing. At night, Elizabeth could feel it in the rise and fall of the black-glass trees, the silvered rivers that wound through unseen valleys, and the low hum that seemed to vibrate through the very soil. She ran, or rather stumbled, alongside Hardin, Lucian, and Klara, the memory of the Soul-hunter's silver eyes still clawing at her mind.
Her boots sank slightly into the soft, frost-tinged ground. Each step echoed, but not loudly enough to mask the faint rustling that followed them. The forest was alive — not just with sound, but with presence. Elizabeth could sense it, almost like threads tugging at her mind, and a strange flicker in her chest told her that some of those threads were hers, or perhaps belonged to something like her.
Lucian, ahead, didn't look back. "Watch your footing," he muttered, though his tone carried neither fear nor camaraderie — just efficiency.
Klara was close to Elizabeth, dagger drawn. She glanced at Elizabeth, then back to the path. "You're quiet," she said. "Thinking too much?"
Elizabeth swallowed, her lips dry. "I… I don't know. It's just…" She trailed off. Could she put into words the tug in her chest, the instinct that told her to trust them, despite barely knowing them? "I don't usually trust strangers."
Klara gave a small, understanding nod. "Then it's a good thing you don't have a choice right now."
Elizabeth let the comment hang in the cold air, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder: Why did her instincts insist these people were… different? That there was hope in following them? Maybe it was desperation, or maybe… something else.
A rustle louder than the rest drew her attention. Hardin spun, sword in hand, eyes scanning the shadows. "Move faster," he said, voice sharp but calm. "We need cover."
The group pressed on until a ruined watchtower rose from the mist like a sentinel of a forgotten age. Its stone walls were cracked and half-buried in moss, and the roof had long since collapsed, leaving gaps through which the silver shards of the Hollow sky fell.
"This will do," Hardin said, gesturing toward the base. "Easy to defend. One entrance."
Inside, the stone smelled of dampness and old fire. Lucian immediately unrolled a thin blanket in a corner, while Klara set up a small fire in the center. Elizabeth shivered as the warmth reached her, hugging her arms around herself.
For a moment, the world outside could have disappeared, and it would not have mattered. Here, in this fragile cocoon of light and shadow, she felt the faintest edge of safety.
Later, when the others were occupied, Elizabeth moved to stand near Hardin at the doorway. The air outside was crisp and humming, carrying faint whispers that could have been the wind… or something else.
"You should rest," he said, his voice calm, but she noticed the tension in his shoulders.
"I could say the same to you," she replied softly. "You've been keeping everyone alive since… well, since I met you."
Hardin allowed a small, dry smirk. "That's what swordsmen do." He hesitated, then glanced at her with something unreadable in his gaze. "But you… you're not ordinary, Elizabeth."
The weight of the words hit her unexpectedly. "I… I don't know what I am," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. The truth was frightening. The gold light in her palm and the shadow coiling in her veins were both hers. And yet, she barely understood them.
"You're stronger than you think," he said, almost too softly, as if he were speaking to himself. His eyes flicked to the faint scar along his jawline, and for a brief moment, Elizabeth imagined the pain he must have carried.
She wanted to ask more — about him, about his past, about what he knew — but before she could, a flicker of movement caught her eye. It was subtle, but enough to make her hand twitch, her fingers brushing the invisible threads in the air. The air hummed louder around her.
Her power surged again, unbidden. Gold and shadow intertwined, forming a small, unstable orb that hovered above her palm, pulsing with warmth and cold at once.
Hardin's gaze sharpened. "Control it," he said firmly. "Here, in the Hollow, showing that much magic is dangerous."
Elizabeth nodded, swallowing back a sudden panic. Somehow, she knew he was right. Somehow, she felt the threads she had glimpsed earlier reacting to her power — like the forest itself was watching.
Meanwhile, Klara approached her, carrying a small bowl of water. "Here," she said. "You need to clean that scrape."
Elizabeth accepted it quietly, letting the cloth soak before dabbing her arm. The contact was brief but grounding. "You… seem to know what you're doing," Elizabeth remarked, more to herself than to Klara.
"Years of scraping knees, getting caught in fights I shouldn't have," Klara said with a faint smile. "But you… you're not like the others I've met. You're…" She hesitated, searching for the word. "You're something rare."
Elizabeth felt warmth rising in her chest, not from the fire. She wanted to ask her more — about her past, about why she trusted her instincts with these people — but the words lodged in her throat.
Lucian and Hardin had their own conversation on the far side of the fire. Lucian leaned back against the stone, eyes fixed on Elizabeth.
"She's different," Lucian said quietly.
Hardin didn't look up. "Different enough to make her dangerous," he replied, voice steady.
Lucian smirked. "Or enough to make you… distracted."
Hardin's head snapped up slightly, but his expression betrayed nothing. He said nothing, yet the pause, the silence, said more than any words could. Lucian's lips pressed into a thin line. So Hardin is already noticing her. And he doesn't even know it yet.
Elizabeth slept fitfully, dreams coming in shards. She was standing in a field of silver grass, the sky above shattered into floating, glimmering shards. A woman with eyes like hers appeared, lips unmoving, but words echoing in her mind:
Daughter of the Eclipse…
Images flashed behind her eyelids: a man with molten-gold eyes, a cradle, a burning crown. The sensation of loss, of protection, and of power all combined, leaving her gasping awake.
The fire's embers were low. Hardin was at the doorway, eyes scanning the dark. "Bad dream?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I… I think it wasn't just a dream."
He glanced at her sharply, reading the unease on her face. "Then you'll need to learn to control it. Fast."
Even as he spoke, the Hollow seemed to shiver. Somewhere beyond the tower walls, movement stirred in the black-glass trees. Something was coming.
Elizabeth's gold and shadow powers pulsed faintly in response, as if reacting to a presence she could not yet see.
And in that moment, she knew: the journey had only begun. The Hollow was alive, her powers were awakening, and the people she barely trusted — Hardin, Klara, Lucian — would all play a role she didn't yet understand.
The first light of dawn brushed silver across the Hollow sky. Mist curled around the roots and stone, and Elizabeth's chest tightened with anticipation. Whatever waited beyond the ridge was patient, calculating, and drawn to her in ways she could not yet comprehend.
She wrapped her cloak around herself and joined the others, ready to step into the unknown.
The threads of fate were tugging, weaving a story she was only beginning to understand.