The plains gave way to wastelands. The soil was cracked and black, the air thick with the stench of rot. No birds sang, no insects stirred; even the wind seemed reluctant to pass through. Each mile toward the Hollow felt heavier, as though the land itself resisted them.
Isolde rode in silence, the Crown of Dawn faintly glowing from where it rested beneath her cloak. Its whispers had not ceased since Haldrith, and here in the blighted lands, they grew stronger.
The chains are near. Break them. Free me.
She pressed a hand to her chest, whispering through clenched teeth. "I am not yours."
But doubt gnawed at her. What if every relic they claimed truly loosened the Shadow King's bonds? What if their quest was not salvation but doom?
Kael noticed the strain in her eyes, though she tried to mask it. Riding closer, he murmured, "Hold on to me, Isolde. Not to the whispers."
Her lips trembled into a faint smile. "I do."
---
That night they camped among jagged stones, the Keepers setting wards of fire and rune-light around the perimeter. Lady Elira stood watchful, her eyes on the horizon where faint tendrils of dark mist coiled upward from the Hollow.
But even as the wards burned bright, unease lingered. The Keepers whispered of strange glances, of words cut short. Too often, eyes drifted to Isolde with suspicion, fear tightening their faces.
One Keeper in particular—a scarred man named Daren—watched her with something colder than wariness. When Kael caught the look, his hand fell instinctively to his sword.
Later, as the fires dimmed and the company settled into uneasy rest, Kael found Elira sharpening her blade in silence.
"He doesn't trust her," Kael said.
Elira's gaze didn't lift. "Few do. The flame has never been a comfort—it has always been a risk. Some of us believe in the prophecy. Others fear it. Daren… lost kin to the Hollow's whispers. To him, she is the chain, not the key."
Kael's jaw tightened. "If he moves against her—"
"Then steel will answer steel," Elira said simply. "But beware, Prince. Fear makes quicker traitors than gold ever could."
---
Isolde dreamed of fire. She stood before the Hollow itself, its mouth a yawning pit of mist and chains. The Shadow King's voice coiled around her.
They will turn on you. The Keepers, the prince, all of them. Fire cannot be loved—it can only be feared. Why not claim the crown fully? Why not rule them before they betray you?
She woke with a gasp, her skin glowing faintly, her hands trembling. Kael stirred beside her, immediately steadying her shoulders.
"It's the crown again," he murmured.
Her eyes filled with tears she couldn't stop. "It's more than whispers now. It's in my blood. I can feel it changing me."
Kael's hand cupped her cheek, fierce and unyielding. "Then we change it first. We bend it to your will, not his. We're almost there, Isolde. Hold fast."
But even as he spoke, a figure lingered at the edge of the firelight—Daren, his gaze hard, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
---
By dawn, the Keepers broke camp, their path leading straight into the jagged ravines that marked the Hollow's outer reach. The air was thicker here, poisoned with shadow.
And somewhere behind them, betrayal sharpened its edge.