Corin didn't sleep that night.
Veyr had left without a sound—no footsteps, no closing door. One moment he was there, the next the fire had dimmed and Maer was standing in his place, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
She didn't speak.
Neither did Corin.
He sat on the mat, staring at the knife he'd dropped. The antler handle glinted faintly in the firelight, like it was waiting to be picked up again.
Maer moved first. She knelt, lifted the knife, and set it back on the shelf with quiet precision.
"He shouldn't have come," she said.
Corin didn't answer.
"He's not what they told you," she added.
"I know," Corin said. His voice was hoarse. "I saw."
Maer sat across from him, her cloak damp from the mist outside. She looked tired. Older than she had the day before.
"They used his name to build fear," she said. "To keep the pact alive. But they forgot what it was for."
Corin looked up. "What was it for?"
Maer didn't answer right away. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. Inside were stones—smooth, black, marked with ash-white symbols. She laid them out in a circle on the floor.
"This was the first," she said. "Before the sacrifices. Before the stories."
Corin leaned closer. The symbols pulsed faintly, like they remembered being touched.
"The pact wasn't made to feed a god," Maer said. "It was made to protect the village. To bind the Hollow. To keep the forest from swallowing everything."
Corin frowned. "Then why did they send me?"
Maer's eyes met his. "Because they forgot the difference between protection and control."
He sat back, heart thudding. "They said I was chosen."
"You were," Maer said. "But not by them."
Corin's breath caught.
Maer stood, walked to the hearth, and stirred the kettle. The scent of pine and root filled the room. She poured two cups, handed one to him.
He didn't drink.
"I don't understand," he said.
"You will," Maer replied. "But not all at once."
They sat in silence. The fire crackled. The stones glowed faintly.
Corin stared at the circle. "What happens if I step inside?"
Maer didn't look up. "You remember."
He hesitated. "Remember what?"
Maer's voice was quiet. "What they buried. What you were meant to carry."
Corin's fingers curled around the cup. It was warm. Steady. Real.
"I don't want to carry anything," he said.
Maer looked at him. "You already are."
—
The next morning, the forest was quiet.
Corin woke early, the mat beneath him damp with sweat. The fire had burned out. Maer was gone.
He stood, stretched, and walked to the door. Mist clung to the trees like breath. The Hollow felt still, but not empty.
He didn't go far.
Just to the edge of the clearing, where the trees leaned in and the ground dipped into shadow. He saw the old path—the one they'd dragged him down, blindfolded and bound. It was overgrown now. Half-swallowed.
He turned back.
Inside the house, the circle of stones still lay on the floor. He stared at it for a long time.
Then he stepped in.
Nothing happened at first.
Just silence.
Then the air shifted.
The symbols flared—soft, not blinding. The room darkened. The fire reignited without flame. And Corin saw.
—
He was five.
Running through the village, barefoot, laughing. His hair was long then, black and white, trailing behind him like a banner. His eyes caught the sun—silver and gold.
People stared.
Some smiled.
Most didn't.
He saw his mother. Her face was tight. Her hands trembled when she touched him. She whispered things he couldn't hear.
He saw the elders. Their robes. Their circles. Their knives.
He saw the pact.
Not a ritual. Not a sacrifice.
A promise.
Made in blood and memory.
He saw Veyr—tall, antlered, watching from the edge of the forest. Not demanding. Not cruel. Just waiting.
He saw himself.
Standing in the center of the ash circle.
Not chosen to die.
Chosen to remember.
—
Corin stumbled back, out of the circle, gasping.
The fire dimmed. The symbols faded.
Maer stood in the doorway, watching.
"You saw," she said.
Corin nodded, breath ragged. "They lied."
Maer stepped forward. "They forgot."
He looked at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you wouldn't have believed it," she said. "Not until you saw it yourself."
Corin sank to the floor. His hands trembled.
"I was supposed to die," he whispered.
Maer knelt beside him. "You were supposed to wake up."
He looked at her, eyes burning. "What do I do now?"
Maer's voice was steady. "You decide what the pact becomes."
Corin didn't speak.
He just stared at the circle.
And for the first time, it didn't feel like a trap.
It felt like a door.