Noctis's POV:
Sylas walked ahead of them, the forest bending around him like it recognized him.
Noctis didn't trust it.
Branches parted for the Forest Guardian. Roots shifted out of his path. Even the air felt different — thicker, older, humming with a magic that wasn't his.
Noctis stayed close behind Aeris, shadows curling protectively around his shoulders. The Oracle lay limp in Aeris's arms, head resting against his chest, breath shallow and uneven.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Too vulnerable.
Noctis hated it.
He hated how exposed the boy was.
He hated how shaken Aeris still looked.
He hated how Rowan limped behind them, pale and bleeding.
And he especially hated the stranger leading them deeper into the Hollow.
Sylas didn't look back, but Noctis could feel him listening — every step, every breath, every shift of shadow.
The forest guardian's voice from earlier echoed in Noctis's mind.
"I'm here to help."
Noctis's jaw tightened.
People who said that were usually lying.
He moved closer to Aeris, lowering his voice. "Don't let him get too close."
Aeris shot him a glare. "I'm not stupid."
"You're exhausted," Noctis countered. "And you're carrying him. That makes you slow."
Aeris bristled, wind flickering around his ankles. "I'm not letting anyone take him."
"Good," Noctis murmured. "Because I won't either."
Rowan exhaled sharply behind them. "Both of you… stop. He saved our lives."
Noctis didn't look back. "Doesn't mean he gets to touch him."
Sylas finally spoke — calm, steady, without turning around.
"I can hear you."
Noctis bared his teeth in a humorless smile. "Good."
Sylas paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light — not threatening, but ancient. Patient. Like he'd seen a thousand arguments like this and survived all of them.
"I understand your fear," Sylas said softly. "But I meant what I said. I won't harm him."
Noctis stepped forward, shadows rising like a warning. "Then tell me who's waiting for us."
Sylas held his gaze without flinching. "A scholar. One who knows the old prophecies. One who understands what is happening to him."
Aeris tightened his grip on the Oracle. "So he's the healer?"
"No," Sylas said gently. "I am."
Noctis's shadows bristled. "Then why do we need this scholar?"
Sylas turned away again, continuing down the path as the forest opened for him.
"Because healing him is not simple," he said. "His magic is older than mine. Older than the Hollow. I can mend his body… but I need guidance to reach his spirit."
Rowan frowned. "Guidance from who?"
Sylas's voice softened, almost reverent.
"Elias."
The name meant nothing to Noctis.
But the way Sylas said it — like it was a lantern in the dark — made something cold settle in Noctis's stomach.
Aeris swallowed. "And he's waiting for us?"
"Yes," Sylas said. "He has been waiting for a very long time."
Noctis moved closer, voice low and dangerous.
"If this Elias hurts him—"
Sylas didn't stop walking.
But the trees around them shivered.
"He won't," Sylas said. "He's the only one who can save him."
They walked for what felt like hours, though the moon hadn't shifted. The Hollow bent strangely around Sylas — paths opening where there had been none, brambles curling away, the air warming as if the forest itself exhaled in relief.
Noctis hated that too.
Eventually, the trees thinned, revealing a soft glow ahead — not moonlight, but something gentler. Warmer. A light that didn't belong to the Hollow's corruption.
Sylas slowed.
"We're here."
Noctis stepped forward, shadows bristling.
The refuge was a clearing unlike any they'd seen — a circle of ancient trees woven together overhead, forming a natural dome. Fireflies drifted lazily through the air. Moss glowed faintly underfoot. A small spring bubbled at the center, its water shimmering with soft blue light.
It felt… safe.
Noctis didn't trust that either.
A figure stood near the spring, cloaked in deep green, head bowed over an open book. He didn't look up at first — as if he already knew they were coming.
Sylas approached him with quiet respect.
"Elias."
The scholar lifted his head.
His eyes were bright — too bright — filled with knowledge and something heavier. Something like sorrow.
He looked at the Oracle in Aeris's arms.
And his expression broke.
"You brought him," Elias whispered. "At last."
Aeris stepped back instinctively, wind curling around him. Noctis moved in front of them both, shadows rising like a wall.
"Who are you," Noctis growled, "and why do you know him?"
Elias closed the book gently, his gaze never leaving the unconscious boy.
"I am the one who has waited," he said softly. "The one who knows what he is… and what he must become."
He stepped forward, voice trembling with urgency.
"And if we do not act soon, he will not survive the night."