The Hollow had been breached once.
It would not happen again.
Under the silver gleam of a rising moon, Chizzy stood at the center of the Ember Circle. All around her, villagers, Keepers, and warriors gathered in silence. Their faces were drawn with worry, but in their eyes glowed something more powerful—resolve.
Tonight, they would fight with more than blades or fire. They would fight with soul.
Chizzy raised her voice, letting it ring through the cool night air.
"Malrec invades not through force alone, but thought. He twists memory. He speaks through sorrow. That ends now."
Behind her, Sera stepped forward with a copper basin, filled with oil pressed from the Emberroot—a rare plant once grown only near the Flame's cradle. Aerun carried a bundle of small obsidian stones etched with sigils. And Talia, still recovering, held the ceremonial torch lit from the Ember Stone itself.
"The ritual of Sealing Flame is old," Chizzy said. "Few Keepers even know it. But it was made for this—when darkness tries to live inside us."
She knelt and dipped her fingers in the oil. One by one, she touched the forehead of each person who stepped forward, tracing a spiral over the third eye.
"You are flame," she whispered to each. "And flame remembers who it is."
Children. Elders. Warriors. They came in solemn waves.
Then came the circle.
At the center of the clearing, Chizzy placed the obsidian stones in a perfect ring. Within it, a bed of glowing coals was laid. She stood inside the ring and motioned for Talia to light the coals with the Ember torch.
Flames roared up, not with heat—but golden light. It shimmered and danced like threads of memory.
"The fire must touch the spirit," Chizzy called. "Speak truth into it, and it will burn away the lie."
One by one, chosen villagers stepped into the circle. Each was instructed to speak aloud their truest memory—something that defined them, something Malrec could never forge or steal.
"I remember the day my daughter was born. Her cry was the first song I ever believed in," whispered a mother.
"I remember the smell of my father's forge, how he sang when he thought no one listened," said an old man.
Each memory spoken wove into the flame, causing it to shift in color, glow brighter, deepen in warmth. It was working.
Chizzy stepped in last.
She closed her eyes.
"I remember the scream that wasn't mine… when my mother disappeared into the night. I was seven. I remember thinking, if I stay quiet, the dark will leave me too."
The flame flared white-gold.
"But I am not quiet anymore."
A tremor rippled through the earth. The coals pulsed once, twice—and then every villager's forehead mark ignited softly, glowing like candlelight.
Chizzy's eyes opened, fierce and glistening.
"You are sealed. Your mind is yours. Malrec cannot enter where light remembers."
The crowd broke into hushed awe. Some wept. Others held each other. It wasn't just protection they'd gained—it was unity. Purpose. Identity.
From the shadows, Sera smiled. "You didn't just shield them. You reminded them who they are."
"I had to," Chizzy replied. "That's what he fears. A fire that thinks for itself."
But even as peace briefly returned, far beyond the Hollow, a new wind stirred. Malrec felt the barrier rise like a wall—and in his rage, he summoned something older.
The Beast of Forgotten Names.
Because if minds could not be taken, they would be broken.