The storm began before morning.
Rain hit the roof hard like someone was throwing rocks. The wind screamed through the trees like something old had woken up. Liora sat up in bed, her blanket around her waist, holding the silver feather tightly in her hand.
She didn't mean to fall asleep with it, but it gave off a faint pulse, like it had a small heartbeat. She tried to tell herself it was just a dream the Seer, the tree, the voice with no mouth but when she opened her hand, the feather was still there. It shone like starlight even in the dark.
She didn't remember lighting the candle on the windowsill, but it was burning steadily, not moving even though the wind was shaking the glass.
Downstairs, she heard someone moving. Ysolde was already awake, maybe making potions or protecting the house. Liora slipped out of bed, her nightdress sticking to her skin in the damp air. She moved softly down the squeaky stairs.
Ysolde stood by the fireplace, her shawl pulled tight around her. She stared into the fire, even though she hadn't lit it yet. The glowing embers showed the deep lines in her face the weight of everything she carried in silence.
"You didn't sleep," Liora said quietly.
Ysolde didn't turn. "I've slept through too many storms. Some need to be watched."
Liora sat at the wooden table and carefully placed the feather in front of her. "What was she?"
Ysolde finally turned, and her eyes softened when she saw the feather. "Not a woman, not like we understand. She was a spirit of the forest. One of the Hollow Kind."
"The Hollow Kind?" Liora said, not sure if the name made her feel safe or scared.
"They walk between things," Ysolde said, sitting down across from her. "Between the world and words, between memories and forgetting. They come when blood remembers things the mind has forgotten."
Liora touched the feather gently. "She said the Hollow Moon is coming. That I must be ready."
Ysolde took a sharp breath.
"I was hoping we had more time," she whispered. "The Hollow Moon hasn't come in many generations. It means the veil between worlds gets thin, and magic becomes stronger but also more wild. The moon was shining the night Alwen died."
Liora swallowed. "Do you think it's happening again?"
Ysolde didn't answer right away. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a ring. It was simple silver with a small black stone. She pushed it across the table.
"This was Alwen's. She wore it the night she walked into the fire."
Liora paused. "I thought she died saving the village."
"She did, but the fire that night didn't come from outside Elderwood. It started inside. From fear. From betrayal." Ysolde's voice shook. "They turned on her when she became too strong. Said she was dangerous. That her power wasn't natural."
"But she saved them and they buried her name with her bones."
Liora looked at the ring. It felt warm.
"She's coming back," she said suddenly. The thought just popped out.
Ysolde looked at her quickly. "Who?"
"Not Alwen the fire. The fear. And the same kind of storm. It's all coming back, isn't it?"
Ysolde didn't deny it. She just reached over and closed Liora's fingers around the ring. "Then we don't hide. We get ready."
The next day, Liora went into the forest by herself.
She didn't tell Ysolde where she was going, only that she needed some air. Ysolde didn't stop her. She just put a dry rosemary sprig in her hand and said, "Be back before the crows."
The forest welcomed her like an old song soft, dark, and full of history. The trees leaned in close, their bark twisted with age. Moss covered the ground like a blanket, and high above, a single crow cawed once, then stopped.
Liora found the tree again the one the Seer had come out of.
She touched its bark. It looked normal now, like any other tree. But her skin tingled where she touched it, and something inside her stirred.
"I'm not running," she said aloud. "If you can hear me, if you're still watching, I'm not scared of the truth anymore."
The wind didn't answer. But the quiet that followed didn't feel empty.
She sat down against the tree. The silver feather was in one hand, Alwen's ring on the other. She didn't know how long she stayed there long enough for the sunlight to shift and the birds to start singing again.
The trees didn't move, but the wind passed through them like a curious spirit. Liora sat cross legged on the mossy ground, the silver feather in her lap, the ring spinning slowly in her fingers.
She closed her eyes. "If you're listening," she whispered, "I need to understand."
A soft breeze moved the leaves above her, like a breath. The air got warmer, wrapping around her like a shawl.
"You were real," she whispered. "You came from the tree. You said I wouldn't be hidden anymore. But what does that mean? What do I do with this power?"
The wind didn't answer with words, but with feeling. A hush fell over the clearing. The birds stopped singing, the leaves stopped rustling. And then, she heard a whisper.
Not outside her, but inside. She was not afraid of fire.
Liora gasped. "Alwen?"
The wind didn't say the name again, but it stirred, stronger now, brushing her hair and cheeks with invisible hands.
"She walked into the flames," Liora said softly. "She chose it. Why?"
Again, a feeling not quite a voice, but something older than words. Liora let it settle inside her.
"To protect what couldn't protect itself. To show them that fear doesn't decide what is sacred."
Liora opened her eyes. "Then why did they forget her? Why do they speak her name like it's cursed?"
The wind slowed. A deep sadness filled the air, like the forest itself was mourning.
She stayed until the trees grew dark with night, then walked home, the silver feather under her shawl.
Ysolde was at the fire when Liora walked in, her face tired. She looked at the dirt on Liora's dress, then at her serious eyes.
"You saw something," she said.
"I spoke to the wind," Liora replied, calm.
Ysolde gave a small smile. "And did it speak back?"
Liora sat down across from her. "It didn't lie."
They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. Then Liora reached into her pocket and placed the ring on the table.
"I want to know more," she said. "Not just the stories they let me hear. I want the truth. All of it."
Ysolde stared at the ring before she spoke. "Alwen was born during a blood moon. She didn't cry when she was born. Just stared as if she knew how it would end."
Liora listened closely.
"She could hear the earth," Ysolde continued. "She knew when the roots were sick, when storms were coming. She taught the elders to heal without magic, how to use their hands instead of fear. And she was never afraid to be seen."
Liora looked down. "And that's why they hated her."
Ysolde's face tightened. "They feared what they couldn't control. When she began to outshine the Council, they gossiped. When she broke the rules to protect the forest, they called it rebellion. And when she warned them about the fire, they said she was crazy."
"But she was right," Liora asked.
Ysolde nodded. "Of course. But they chose their pride over the truth. So she walked into the fire not to die, but to protect them from what they brought on themselves."
"And they erased her."
"No," Ysolde said, her eyes bright. "They tried. But power like Alwen's doesn't disappear. It finds new ground. New blood."
Liora touched her chest, where the feather rested.
"Am I like her?" she asked.
Ysolde took her hand. "You're not Alwen. You're Liora. But you have her bravery, her wisdom, and I think her fire."
Liora's eyes burned. "Then I need to be ready."
Ysolde nodded. "You're already becoming what they feared in her, a truth they can't hide."
Liora held her hand tight. "Then I'll make them remember her."
"No," Ysolde said. "You'll help them see her through you."
Outside, the wind brushed against the cottage, like a secret meant only for Liora.
And she listened.
Tomas came into the clearing, out of breath, his hair damp with sweat and morning dew. He looked like he had been searching a long time.
"You can't just vanish like that," he said, but his voice sounded more worried than mad.
Liora gave a small smile. "I needed to find where it started."
Tomas looked around. "And what did you find?"
She opened her hand and showed him the ring.
"My aunt died for people who are scared of their own protectors. But I won't do that."
He stepped closer and knelt beside her. "Then what will you do?"
"I'm going to remember," Liora said. "And I'll make sure they remember too."
That evening, she lit every candle in the upper room.
Ysolde watched from the doorway, hands folded. "You've made your choice."
"I have."
Outside, the wind had calmed, but the clouds above were dark and stormy.
"I don't want to be their hero," Liora said. "But I'll be their memory. I'll carry what they tried to bury."
Ysolde nodded, pride shining through her tired eyes. "Then you'll be more than the Blessed Witch."
"What will I be?"
Ysolde stepped closer into the light and touched her forehead. "You'll be the one who remembers. The one who sees. The one who burns through every lie."
Liora felt the feather
hum on her chest.
And in the shadows outside, something old moved watching, not with hate, but with purpose.
The Hollow Moon was coming.
And she would not meet it with fear.