The ruins of Kireth Hollow were half-buried by snow when Kael and Veyra reached the edge just before dusk. Broken towers rose like rotten teeth above the drifts. Trees grew through stone arches, roots forming cracks on the ancient roads. Somewhere deep inside, something pulsed, or maybe that was just the shard in Kael's pack, growing heavier with every step.
Kael exhaled, breath turning to mist. "So this is it? The great Hollow? Looks more like a pile of regrets to me."
Veyra pulled her hood tighter against the wind. Her spear rested easily on her shoulder, but Kael could tell she was tracking every shadow. "It was once the seat of kings who refused to bow when the Church rose. A place of old texts, secret vaults, and rebellion."
Kael snorted. "And now it's... what? A ruin? Seems the Church did their job well enough."
Her eyes flicked sideways at him, sharp, but not unkind. "Some things don't burn so clean. You'll see."
They stepped through what was once a gate. Overhead, a carved relief of a crowned figure had crumbled into uneven pieces. The wind whistled through hollow windows, carrying flurries of snow that fell onto charred murals. Statues of forgotten rulers lay half-buried, their marble eyes blackened.
Kael's hand slipped to the knife at his belt, an old habit. He'd trusted this blade when he was stealing bread, stealing coins, running on rooftops. Now he was stealing something bigger than gold. Maybe bigger than kingdoms.
They found shelter in the bones of an ancient temple near the Hollow's heart, a place where the roof had collapsed in jagged patches, leaving the floor littered with frozen ash and shards of coloured glass.
Kael dropped his pack beside a cracked altar. He unwrapped the shard, still hidden in layers of cloth and resin, but humming faintly now, like a heartbeat against his palm.
He glanced at Veyra, who had pulled off her battered cloak and was inspecting the bandage on her arm. Blood had seeped through the linen, but she didn't flinch.
"You sure it's wise to sleep here?" Kael asked, more to keep his mind busy than anything.
"Safer than the woods," she said, pulling the knot tight with her teeth. "The Hollow has traps and old wards. Even the Church avoids the deepest tunnels. If they come, they'll come loud."
Kael studied the murals on the temple walls, faded shapes of crowned figures holding flames in cupped hands. Some were defaced with deep gouges. Others had survived untouched.
"Do you think this thing...?" he tapped the shard, "actually wants anything from me? Or am I just a walking chest for it?"
Veyra blew out a slow breath. "You're not its chest, Kael. More like it's door. If the stories are true, the Crown shards can't do much without a mind to carry them."
Kael gave a weak laugh. "And you think my mind's sturdy enough for that?"
A faint grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You survived grabbing it when it should've turned you to cinders. That counts for something."
He nodded, quieter now. "So... what happens if I lose myself to it?"
"Then I'll kill you before anyone else." Her tone was a matter-of-fact that he barked out a real laugh, tired, but honest.
"Comforting."
She shrugged. "Better than letting the Church do it."
Beyond the temple's shattered wall, something drifted among the skeletal arches. The Veilborn perched on a leaning column, robes of black shadow-silk flowing in the wind.
They looked half-human, tall and slender, the shape of their shoulders and neck visible beneath layers of runic cloth. A cracked porcelain mask covered their face, painted with glyphs that shifted and faded like breath on glass. Behind the eyeholes, two silver pinpricks flickered.
On one hand, the Veilborn held a small bone charm, turning it over and over with gloved fingers. Each turn carried a fragment of what they saw back to the Ash-Mother.
When they spoke, it was not aloud. Their thoughts crawled along the old wards of Kireth Hollow, listening for the heartbeat of the Crown inside the boy below.
"The door stirs. The thief trembles. The General waits. All threads will burn or bind."
Inside, Kael dozed with his back against the cold altar. He dreamt of a fire that did not burn him, a hall like the temple but whole again, filled with chanting voices. People in dark robes knelt around a blazing starstone, shadows dancing on the walls.
At the centre stood a figure, cloaked and crowned with jagged glass shards. It lifted its hand toward him.
"Come... come..."
Chains of flame lashed around the figure's limbs, dragging it down. Kael tried to step forward, but the ground cracked open beneath him.
He woke with a start, breath ragged. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose. He wiped it away with his sleeve and caught Veyra watching him from across the chamber.
"Another vision?" she asked.
Kael nodded. "It's like it wants to show me pieces... but every time, they twist. It's all flames and chains."
Veyra's eyes narrowed. "Then it's telling you the truth."
In the forest on the edge of Kireth Hollow, eight figures stood in a circle, their breath steaming in the cold night.
Each wore heavy robes of white and crimson, the edges stiff with frost. Iron masks covered their faces, shaped like animal skulls: stag, wolf, ram, cow, fox, bear, owl, and hound. Between the gaps, faint glyphs burned on their skin, marks of the First Doctrine, proof of their loyalty.
At the circle's centre, a woman stood holding a spear of blackened star-metal. Her iron mask was a stag, its horns sweeping back like hooked blades. Beneath it, her eyes were pale and unblinking.
Sevrith, Seeker Captain.
She held up a small fragment of a mirror, which glowed faintly when she turned it in her gauntlet hand.
"It's here," she said. Her voice was cold but alive, not chanting like a fanatic, more like someone savouring the hunt. "The thief carries it, and they hide inside the Hollow."
The wolf-masked Seeker cracked his knuckles. "Do we strike now?"
Sevrith ran her thumb along the spear's shaft. "No. The Hollow is old, and it remembers when kings bled here. It will try to bite us first."
She looked around the circle. Her eyes were clear, calculating. "We move in two hours. Check your wards. Once we're in, no one breathes unless I say so."
The other Seekers murmured in agreement. They pulled their relic blades and spears from the snow and started their preparations.
Back in the ruined temple, Kael sat awake now, his knife resting across his knee. Veyra stood by the entrance, peering into the darkness, keeping watch.
Above them, high on the broken wall, the Veilborn's silver eyes gleamed in the dark, recording everything.
And beyond the Hollow's edge, eight iron masks moved silently through the trees. Melted snow hissed under their boots.