The ride south took three days, each mile carrying Kael and Isolde farther from the marble spires of the capital into fields that should have been golden with harvest. Instead, a heavy stillness hung over the land. Villages they passed were quiet, shutters closed, children hidden. Smoke rose from some farms, not the hearth's glow but the acrid haze of burned fields.
By the fourth dawn, they reached the border hamlets. What awaited them stole Isolde's breath.
The wheat fields lay blackened, stalks curled into ash though no fire had touched them. Livestock wandered aimlessly, their eyes glazed white, their movements stiff, unnatural. The air stank of rot and iron, as if the soil itself had soured.
Kael dismounted, his boots sinking into charred earth. "Gods… this isn't war. This is corruption."
Isolde knelt, pressing her palm to the soil. Heat surged through her hand, golden light sparking instinctively. She gasped. Beneath the surface, she felt something moving—veins of shadow coursing like blood through the land itself.
"It's alive," she whispered. "The curse is spreading. The Hollow's chains must be cracking."
A farmer stumbled toward them, his face gaunt, his eyes wide with terror. He fell to his knees before Kael. "My lord! It began with whispers in the night. We thought it was just dreams… until the crops turned black. Then the beasts changed. Now the people…" His voice broke. "Some vanish into the fields. We hear them screaming, but we cannot find them."
Kael steadied the man with a firm hand. "You'll be protected. We'll see this stopped."
But even as he spoke, the earth shuddered beneath them. Cracks split across the ground, black mist hissing upward. From the fissures, twisted shapes clawed their way free—figures half-human, half-shadow, their mouths stretched in silent screams.
Isolde staggered back, horror flooding her. "Kael… they're people. The Hollow claimed them."
Kael drew his sword, steel catching the pale light. "Then may the gods forgive us—because we cannot let them spread further."
The creatures surged, their movements jerky and unnatural. Kael struck, blade slicing through shadowed flesh, each blow dispersing the figures into wisps of black smoke. Yet for every one that fell, another clawed its way up.
Isolde pressed her hands together, forcing her fear into focus. Golden light burst from her palms, spilling across the fields. The creatures shrieked, writhing as the glow burned away the shadows that clung to them. Some collapsed, human once more, gasping and weeping on the blackened ground. Others dissolved entirely, lost beyond saving.
The effort drained her, her knees trembling beneath the weight of her own magic. Kael fought at her side, striking down what her light weakened, his movements fierce, relentless. Together, they carved a fragile circle of survival in a field that seemed bent on swallowing them whole.
Finally, silence fell. Smoke drifted over the ruined fields. Survivors wept quietly, clinging to one another.
Isolde collapsed to her knees, exhausted. "I felt it, Kael. The curse… it isn't just here. It runs beneath the land, like roots. If it reaches farther, the whole kingdom—"
Kael placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice grim. "Then we stop it before it does. We've seen the Hollow's touch. Now we know what we're fighting."
But as he spoke, the ground pulsed faintly beneath them, as if mocking their resolve. A whisper curled through the air, carried on the wind, low and cruel:
The chains are breaking. The flame burns brighter. Soon, the crown of shadows shall rise again.
Isolde shivered. She felt the mark of the Hollow pulse within her, answering the whisper. And in that moment, she knew the curse would not wait—it was coming faster than any of them could prepare.