The moment froze.
Elira's heart pounded so loudly it drowned out every other sound in the chamber. Her father—no longer broken or afraid—lunged at Caelum, his blade glowing with deadly purpose.
Caelum reacted in a flash, sidestepping the strike. Steel clashed against stone as he parried with his obsidian blade. Sparks lit the darkness. Elira stumbled backward, too stunned to cry out.
"Stop!" she finally screamed. "What are you doing?!"
Her father didn't even look at her. "He's a vessel, Elira! A cage. If he dies, the Hollow is reborn. Balance is restored."
Caelum snarled, his beast-form flaring—horns twisting, claws extending. "If I fall, the creature beneath wakes."
They circled each other, weapons raised.
"Father, please!" Elira ran between them, magic forming in her palms. "There's another way!"
He hesitated for the first time.
"Elira," he said, voice trembling with something deeper than rage, "I've seen what's coming. The Hollow is dying. The Warden is not enough. We must awaken the First Spirit."
"You mean sacrifice Caelum," she spat. "You lied to me."
"I protected you. Even your mother didn't understand the full truth."
Caelum growled. "And I suppose Nyra does?"
A shadow moved behind them. Nyra stood near the broken gate, arms folded, smile like a razor.
"I told you," she purred, "they never tell the whole story."
The moment shattered.
Elira blasted a shockwave of golden light, throwing her father back. She spun, launching a second bolt at Nyra. The sorceress vanished in a blur, her laughter echoing down the corridor.
"Elira!" Caelum called. "This place is collapsing!"
The ancient door was groaning—stone cracking, roots splintering.
"We have to go!" she yelled, grabbing Caelum's arm.
But her father was already rising again, blood on his lip, fury in his eyes. "You don't understand. I made a vow. I must finish it—"
"Then you'll die with it!" Caelum shouted, releasing a roar that sent the floor splitting beneath them.
Elira shoved her pendant forward—light burst outward like a star, consuming the chamber.
She awoke coughing.
Dust clung to her skin. The chamber was gone. She and Caelum lay atop a bed of moss, beneath an arching root canopy in the Hollow's upper levels. The pendant still glowed weakly at her chest.
Caelum sat up, clutching his side.
"You alright?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "My father…"
"Gone. The gate collapsed."
Elira felt the sting of tears. Not from loss—but betrayal.
"I trusted him," she said. "He used me."
Caelum looked away. "That's what people like Nyra do. Twist good hearts with desperate truths."
Elira clenched her fists. "What's this creature he mentioned? This First Spirit?"
Caelum hesitated. "There are legends… that the Hollow wasn't created by magic, but born from it. A spirit that dreamed it into being. And that it sleeps, sealed away by the first Wardens. That seal… might be me."
Elira's eyes widened.
"Then if Nyra wakes it—"
"She won't control it," he said. "No one can."
They were silent for a moment.
A strange, rhythmic boom echoed in the distance.
They stood quickly.
"That's coming from the Weeping Glade," Caelum said.
As they hurried toward the sound, they passed hollow trees with glowing cores, each pulsing in time with the beat. Magic in the forest had changed—grown darker, more unstable.
They broke through the underbrush and froze.
In the center of the glade, Nyra stood at the top of a jagged altar—her arms raised, her body glowing with crimson runes. Below her, spirits twisted in pain, vines writhing like serpents.
In her hand was a dark staff, forged from something ancient. A relic. One Caelum recognized instantly.
"The Thornbrand…" he whispered. "It was lost during the first war."
Elira looked at him. "What does it do?"
"It bends corrupted spirits to the wielder's will. Nyra isn't just calling the Hollow—she's commanding it."
As if hearing them, Nyra turned her head and smiled.
"Ah," she called, voice amplified by magic, "the little Warden and her monster. Come to witness rebirth?"
Caelum took a step forward. "You're ripping the Hollow apart!"
Nyra raised the staff. The ground split open. Trees screamed. Spirit-beasts made of shadow and bark clawed their way from the earth.
"Stop her," Elira whispered.
"I'll hold her off," Caelum said. "You need to reach the Grove of Whispers. The spirits there still follow the true Warden."
"I'm not ready—"
"You are."
He met her gaze, and for a moment, the beast vanished, and only the man remained.
"Run," he said.
Then he charged into the fray, a blur of claw and steel.
Elira ran—through flame, through smoke, through sorrow.
She didn't look back.
Not even when the scream came.
Caelum's scream.