Far beyond the Hollow, where the wind never whispered and sunlight died before touching ground, Malrec stirred.
His fortress—cradled in the bones of forgotten titans—had been quiet for centuries, sustained by curses and the hunger of stolen souls. But tonight, the stillness cracked.
A tremor passed through the stone beneath his throne. Not physical. Spiritual. Something deep in the world's root had shifted.
Malrec's eyes snapped open, ember-red and furious. He stood slowly, his black cloak dragging ash in its wake. His breath fogged the cold air, even though no man had breathed warmth there for ages.
He turned to the mirror—his window to the Hollow.
It shimmered. Once dull and empty, it now pulsed with golden fire. Not the Ember Stone. No—this was older. More volatile. The First Flame had awakened.
"She found it," he murmured, voice sharp as cracking ice. "The girl carries it."
He moved to the altar of bones and plunged his hand into the pool of cursed oil. Visions rippled across the surface—Chizzy descending the ancient stair, standing before the suspended flame, becoming it.
Malrec recoiled, a rare flicker of unease behind his eyes.
"They said the First Flame was lost…" He clenched his fist. "They lied."
He turned to his inner chamber. "Auron!"
A hulking figure entered, his armor carved with the faces of the dead. "My lord."
"She's awakened the source," Malrec said. "The Hollow will rise behind her. We cannot let it fully awaken."
Auron bowed. "Shall we strike again?"
Malrec shook his head. "No. We change our plan. We infiltrate."
He walked to a carved statue of a woman wreathed in flame—ancient, beautiful, broken. "Send the Forgotten. The Hollow's walls will welcome what they no longer remember."
Meanwhile, back in the Hollow, Chizzy emerged from the spiral chamber, her every step radiating light.
Sera blinked beside her, trying to process what she'd witnessed. "Chizzy… you…"
"I heard its voice," Chizzy said softly. "It wasn't a memory. It was alive. A piece of something waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Chizzy looked up toward the tunnel ceiling. "For a reason to burn again."
By the time they reached the surface, dawn was nearing. Villagers gathered in the square, restless and tense. News of tremors and shadows had reached every home. Aerun was pacing, sword drawn.
When he saw her, he stopped. The golden glow around her was faint, but undeniable.
"What happened?" he asked, eyes searching hers.
Chizzy raised her voice for all to hear. "The Whispering Path is sealed. But something older has been reawakened."
A hush fell.
"I carry the First Flame," she continued. "And that means more than defending this village. It means ending this war—not by hiding, but by becoming what the flame remembers."
Talia stepped forward. "Are you saying you want to face the Veil directly?"
"I'm saying," Chizzy said, her voice rising, "the Hollow isn't just our home. It's the heart of the First Flame. And if we rise with it—we don't just survive. We win."
Cheers erupted, hesitant but growing. For the first time, they saw in Chizzy not just a protector—but a leader of myth.
Aerun smiled, pride and worry woven together. "So what now?"
Chizzy looked toward the forest, where shadows still lingered. "Now, we prepare. Because Malrec will come. He knows I've awakened it."
And far away, as storm clouds churned, Malrec whispered across the dying wind:
"Let her burn. She will lead them into light… and I will be waiting at its end."