The sky above the Hollow had changed.
What once shimmered with soft bioluminescent hues now churned with red clouds and violent winds. Lightning flickered between massive tree canopies as Elira sprinted through the tangled underbrush, her boots soaked with dew and blood.
Her breath came in shallow gasps.
Behind her, the echoes of battle still raged—the clash of Caelum's blade, the snarls of corrupted spirits, and the pulse of Nyra's cursed staff ringing through the roots of the world.
But she didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Caelum's last words haunted her: "Reach the Grove of Whispers."
She didn't know what waited there, only that the balance of the Hollow now teetered on the edge of collapse. Her pendant—once glowing with golden warmth—now flickered dimly, like a candle in the wind. The magic inside her was straining against the forest's unraveling.
A monstrous howl split the trees.
A shadow lunged.
Elira dove forward as a corrupted spirit-beast slammed down behind her, bark-like armor splintering as it landed. Its eyes glowed crimson, its form an unholy fusion of wolf and vine, twisted by Nyra's will.
Elira spun, channeling magic into her palm. A golden disc of light exploded from her fingertips, slicing into the creature's face. It roared and reeled back—but didn't fall.
"Not enough," she gasped.
Another flash, another strike—but her magic was unstable. Every spell she cast left her weaker. The Hollow's corruption was draining her connection to the pendant.
The Grove… I have to reach the Grove.
She dodged a final lunge and then darted through a narrow crevice between two ancient trees. The beast slammed into the bark and was suddenly tangled by enchanted thorns that erupted from the roots—spared only because she carried the Warden's mark.
She didn't stop to watch it struggle.
Instead, she pressed forward until the air shifted.
Warmth returned.
The ground beneath her feet turned soft, cushioned with silver moss. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by whispers—gentle, echoing voices that called her name not with urgency, but reverence.
"Elira…"
She stepped through an arch of golden stone and entered the Grove of Whispers.
It was breathtaking.
A wide clearing nestled at the heart of the Hollow, ringed with colossal, weeping willows whose leaves glowed softly like stardust. Floating orbs of memory drifted through the air—visions of ancient Wardens, battles long past, and the birth of the Hollow itself.
And in the center, upon a raised stone dais, sat a woman cloaked in violet light.
"Elira Valen," the woman said, voice both ancient and ageless. "You are the last spark of balance."
Elira dropped to one knee. "Please—I need help. The Hollow is dying. Nyra has corrupted it, and Caelum—he's fighting her alone."
The spirit woman nodded. "We know."
She stepped down from the dais. As her foot touched the moss, flowers bloomed in her wake.
"I am Lysari, echo of the First Warden. My essence was bound here when the Hollow was formed. I have waited centuries for your arrival."
"I don't understand," Elira said. "Why me?"
"Because your blood carries both halves of the Hollow's legacy—light and shadow. Your father chose preservation through sacrifice. Your mother chose protection through balance. You are the first to hold both."
Elira trembled. "If I hold both, then I can stop Nyra?"
"You can," Lysari said. "But only if you are willing to pay the cost."
Elira's fists clenched. "What cost?"
Lysari gestured toward the pedestal in the grove's center. Upon it rested a blade—elegant, forged from Hollow-silver and wrapped in living vines. It pulsed with energy both radiant and terrifying.
"This is Verdant Fang—the weapon of the true Warden. With it, you can sever Nyra's control over the spirits. You can purge the corruption."
Elira stepped toward it slowly.
"And the cost?" she whispered.
Lysari's eyes softened. "Your magic. Once you take the Fang, the pendant's light will fade. You will no longer command the Hollow—you will become part of it. No longer a Warden… but a Guardian."
Elira swallowed hard. "And Caelum?"
"If he survives… he will need you more than ever. But he too carries a burden. The beast within him grows restless."
Elira reached out, her fingers brushing the blade. Warmth surged through her, followed by a deep, aching sense of belonging.
This is what I was meant to do.
She drew the blade.
The Grove erupted in light.
The corrupted spirits shrieked as they recoiled from the shockwave. Nyra stumbled atop her altar, her connection to the Thornbrand faltering as the Hollow screamed against her influence.
"What—what is that?" she hissed.
A figure stepped through the haze of broken vines and shattered trees.
Elira.
Clad in radiant silver-green, eyes glowing with the power of Verdant Fang, she strode across the battlefield like a rising dawn. Each step cleansed the ground, each swing of the blade banished darkness.
Caelum, bloodied and panting, looked up from where he fought a hulking spirit-beast. Relief and awe crossed his face.
"Elira…" he whispered.
Nyra snarled. "You think a glowing blade makes you strong? I command this Hollow now!"
She struck with the Thornbrand. Red lightning lashed out.
Elira raised Verdant Fang—and the lightning shattered against it like glass.
Nyra's eyes widened. "Impossible—"
"You never belonged here," Elira said calmly. "You only ever took. The Hollow is not yours to control."
She charged.
The two clashed—blade against staff, light against corruption. The Hollow itself held its breath as Warden met usurper in a battle that lit the canopy with fire and fury.
Caelum rose, joining Elira in the fight, flanking Nyra.
But just as victory seemed near—Nyra screamed and stabbed her staff into the ground.
The earth cracked.
A monstrous hand of roots and bone tore from the dirt.
"No…" Caelum gasped. "She's awakening the First Spirit."
Nyra grinned, blood on her teeth.
"If I can't have the Hollow… then no one will."