The sky split like a wound.
A rift tore open above the Hollow, swirling with dark clouds and violet lightning. From within it, the Beast descended—its form ever-shifting, eyes hollow voids, mouth an open scream that never ended. It slithered through the mist like a curse given shape, trailing whispers that scraped against the minds of those who dared listen.
Panic struck first—mothers pulling children behind them, elders clutching their chests as the old fear returned, familiar and suffocating.
But Chizzy stepped forward, memory shard in hand, voice clear and commanding.
"Hold fast!"
The villagers froze—not because the fear vanished, but because they remembered what had been lost. The ritual had stirred something deeper than terror. It had stirred identity. Roots.
"Defend the Hollow," she shouted, turning to meet the council. "Raise the veilward stones. Form the circle. Protect what we've restored!"
Elder Vanya nodded grimly. "You heard her. Circle formation, now!"
The villagers scattered—but with purpose. Young and old took positions, laying the sacred stones at the cardinal points. Children lit incense sticks at the base of every tree and whispered the prayers they'd been taught only hours before.
Along the eastern ridge, Thomlin—once a silent blacksmith—lifted a hammer that glowed with the runes of his grandfather. Beside him, Mira the baker unsheathed a blade wrapped in vines, her eyes fierce.
"We may not be warriors," she muttered, "but we are not nothing."
The wind grew heavier, oily with the Beast's presence. It reached the first wardstone, brushing against it with a tendril.
The stone flared blue—and the Beast recoiled with a shriek.
The villagers cheered.
It was a small victory.
But it was theirs.
The creature's shadow loomed, stretching across the Hollow like a second dusk. Its voice dripped into the minds of those nearest.
Forget. Forget. Forget…
Some faltered, gripping their heads.
But Chizzy lifted the shard high above her head.
The memory-light flared.
Suddenly, across the village, the offerings left in the ritual basin began to glow. The villagers gasped as images flickered into life—phantoms of ancestors, lost siblings, lovers, mentors.
They stood side by side with the living.
Not ghosts. Not spirits.
But remembrance made form.
One child reached toward her long-lost sister, tears glistening in her eyes. "I remember you now."
The Beast screamed again—louder, more desperate. Its form pulsed, shaking violently as the combined force of memory pushed against its void-born essence.
From the shadows, it lashed out—an arc of black energy hurled toward the center of the ritual.
Chizzy braced, whispering, "Liera, guide me."
Just before the blast hit, Elder Vanya stepped between her and the strike, thrusting her staff into the air. A dome of shimmering light bloomed around them. The blast struck the barrier and scattered into mist.
Vanya staggered, breath ragged, but alive.
Chizzy caught her before she fell.
"You old fool," she whispered.
"Protect the flame," the elder rasped.
The Beast howled in fury.
But the Hollow held.
The villagers, linked in a circle, now chanted—not in fear, but defiance. Names. Stories. Truths.
"We remember."
"We remember!"
With each chant, the Beast shrank—its limbs losing shape, its edges fraying.
Chizzy stepped into the center of the circle, raising the shard once more. The memory-light surged skyward like a beacon, piercing the clouds above.
The rift trembled.
The sky fought to close.
The Beast lunged—
—but stopped.
Not because of a spell.
Not because of a blade.
But because, in that moment, it saw its reflection.
In Chizzy's eyes, it saw Liera.
And in her voice, it heard a name it had long forgotten.
"Malrec."
The creature recoiled, shuddering with confusion.
And for the first time since its creation—
—it hesitated.