The hum began low, like breath caught beneath the earth. It was not the sound of a living thing. It did not rise or fall with rhythm. It simply was—steady, unshifting, a vibration in the bones that prickled beneath the skin and made the breath feel too thick in the lungs.
Kael drew Liora close behind him, sword raised, as the sound threaded through the trees like smoke. Wren stepped lightly to the right flank, his eyes narrow, calculating every shadow. Seran muttered in the tongue of the flamekeepers, but even his voice was swallowed by the sound.
Only the forest replied—whispering leaves, rustling boughs, and silence between each gust, too measured to be natural.
Then something moved.
Not ahead. Not behind. Above.
Kael looked up—and saw eyes.
Not two. Not dozens. Hundreds. Gleaming faintly in the canopy, as if each branch bore a watcher. As if the forest itself had grown eyes to observe them.
"Don't run," Seran said tightly. "It will chase if we run."
"What is it?" Liora whispered.
"The Hollow Green," he said. "This place is old, Liora. Older than the fire. Older than the stone. Not everything here can die."
The humming intensified.
It wasn't just a sound anymore. It pressed into them—memories rising unbidden like rot beneath water. Kael staggered as an image surfaced: a moonless night, the smell of smoke, and a small, trembling hand slipping from his own. A choice he had buried. A name he had forgotten.
Liora cried out, clutching her chest. "It's in me—"
Kael grabbed her. "Look at me."
"I can't—I can't see you—"
He grasped her cheeks gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Then hear me. You're here. Now. This is real."
The humming faltered for just a moment.
A pause. A stutter in the ancient rhythm.
Then, like a breath recoiling, the sound withdrew—pulling back into the trees with the creak of unseen limbs and rustling leaves.
The eyes vanished.
Silence.
Even the birds dared not return.
They did not speak again until nightfall, when a cold campfire sputtered in the circle of their weary breaths. They had not eaten. They had not slept. The woods watched still, but did not touch. Whatever it was had chosen—for now—to leave them be.
Wren was the first to speak. "It pulled something out of me," he said quietly. "Memories. Not just images—feelings. Regrets. Things I forgot on purpose."
Seran nodded. "It feeds on grief. On what we leave behind."
Kael stared into the fire. "Then why didn't it kill us?"
"Because it saw her," Seran said, nodding to Liora.
She sat alone, legs drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. Her gaze was hollow. The flame in her fingertips flickered now and then, but she didn't seem to notice.
"She withstood the Ashdream," Seran continued. "And walked out whole. That means something. It might fear her. Or..." He trailed off.
"Or?" Kael prompted.
Seran's eyes darkened. "Or it's waiting."
The next day, the forest shifted.
The path narrowed, then split. Then narrowed again. Trees twisted closer together, their bark blackened and wet with moss. Light barely filtered through the canopy. Time lost its shape. Hours passed without change, and every mile looked the same.
Liora walked in silence.
Kael kept beside her, eyes darting from tree to tree, but none of them dared speak the truth aloud: they were lost. Not in geography—but in the design of the Hollow Green. It bent the forest around them. Shaped the world like clay in response to their presence.
At a small clearing, they stopped to rest. The air was so thick with damp that their breath came heavy, like steam in their lungs. Seran drew a small circle in the dirt, embedding it with old flame runes.
"This should keep it from watching," he said.
Wren raised an eyebrow. "You hope."
But the fireless barrier gave them a moment's peace.
It was Liora who finally broke the silence. "The thing I saw last night... it called itself 'the Remembered.'"
Kael turned to her. "In your dream?"
She shook her head. "When I touched the burned ashborn. It wasn't dead. Not really. Its thoughts were... quiet, like coals buried under snow. It spoke to me."
"You didn't say anything," Kael said.
"I wasn't sure it was real. Maybe I'm still not. But it told me... 'the forest forgets what the fire cannot burn.'"
Seran's face paled. "That's an old phrase. Very old. Used by the last flamebearers during the Silent Rebellion."
"Silent Rebellion?" Wren echoed.
"When the ashborn turned on themselves," Seran explained. "When the fire—pure fire—was no longer trusted, and some sought other sources. Those who survived claimed they were 'remembered by the hollow.' No one ever knew what it meant."
Liora looked down at her hands. "It said I was one of them."
Kael moved closer. "Liora, you're not—"
"I don't know what I am anymore," she whispered. "But I keep feeling like... I'm waking up. Like I've been asleep until now."
"Maybe that's what it wants," Wren said quietly. "To wake something up."
Seran nodded grimly. "The Hollow doesn't hunt. It summons. We need to get out. Now."
But escape was not so simple.
When they rose again, the forest shifted once more—this time more violently. The trees moved, subtly at first. Then brazenly. Trunks they had passed an hour before appeared again. Paths curved back into themselves. A loop with no exit.
Kael slammed his fist against a tree, rage breaking through his weariness. "We're trapped."
Liora stepped forward and placed her hand on the bark.
The tree responded.
A ripple, barely visible, passed through its surface—like heat distortion on stone. She pulled her hand back quickly, eyes wide.
"I think... I can hear it," she said.
"Liora—"
"It's showing me something."
The bark twisted where she had touched, and an opening split across its side—a narrow passage leading into the trunk, as though the tree had been hollowed out from within.
Kael drew his blade. "Absolutely not."
But Seran held up a hand. "She might be the only reason we've survived this long."
"I'm not letting her walk into that thing alone."
"You won't," Liora said, already stepping forward. "But we have to go. I think this is the way through."
Without another word, she vanished into the hollow tree.
Kael cursed under his breath and followed.
Inside, there was no wood. No bark. No roots.
Only stone.
A corridor stretched ahead, lined with strange markings that glowed faintly with golden light. The air was dry. Stale. Ancient.
"This... isn't part of the forest," Seran murmured as he entered behind them.
Wren touched one of the symbols. "This is deep magic. Old magic."
Kael stayed close to Liora as they descended.
The path spiraled downward.
Deeper.
Colder.
At last, it opened into a vast chamber.
It was circular, the walls lined with mirrors—each slightly tarnished, each reflecting not just their bodies but distorted versions of themselves. In one mirror, Kael saw himself younger, alone and bloodied. In another, he stood among flames, laughing madly with eyes like coals.
Liora stood at the center of the room, staring into one mirror that refused to reflect anything at all.
"It's empty," she said.
"No," Seran corrected. "It's waiting."
She reached out, fingers trembling—
And as her skin touched the glass, it shattered.
The sound was deafening. Mirrors across the room fractured in unison, the glass dissolving into smoke that swirled upward like ink in water.
And from the smoke, a voice emerged.
"Daughter of the Lost Flame... come forward."
Kael drew his sword, stepping in front of her, but the voice ignored him.
"You are not ashborn. You are not kindled. You are what remains."
Liora took a step forward, eyes glowing faintly. "What are you?"
The voice laughed softly, ancient and sad.
"I am the song this forest forgot to sing."
Then the smoke gathered—
And a figure emerged.
Ash-grey. Cloaked in bark and bone. Its eyes flickered with green fire, and on its chest was carved the same sigil as the burned body above.
Kael raised his blade.
Liora whispered, "It's the Remembered."
And the chamber went dark.