The sky wept blood that night.
Or so it seemed. Crimson streaks spilled across the heavens as thunder cracked without rain. The Hollow Tree's leaves shivered, not from wind, but from something deeper—something older. The stars blinked erratically, rearranging themselves as though trying to write a message only the dead could read.
Seren stood at the edge of the tree's light, watching the unnatural constellations shift above her.
"They're moving again," she whispered.
Kael joined her, his sword sheathed but his body tense. "Signs of another breach?"
"No," she murmured. "A warning."
From across the clearing, Arlya stirred. She sat cross-legged on a stone slab, eyes closed, her palms hovering above the earth. She had not spoken much since they emerged from the chamber below. Whatever part of the First Flame now lived inside her—it was still settling.
Seren watched the girl, conflicted.
How do you guide someone who might be your undoing… or your salvation?
---
Inside the newly-formed Council Hall near the base of the Hollow Tree, the core leaders gathered again. Maps were rolled out. Relics uncovered. Reports came in from across the realm.
Virea was first to speak.
"Shadow beasts were seen near the Mist-Clan border. No tracks. No scent. But two sentries never returned."
Laziel added, "A well of memory-water in the north has turned black. The local seers call it 'the Mourning.' It hasn't happened in a thousand years."
General Therin slammed his gauntleted fist against the table. "Something crossed over. I'd bet my sword on it."
All eyes turned to Seren.
She stared at the map. Her finger traced a path from the ruined temple to the Hollow Tree… and beyond, to the Forgotten Sea.
"There's movement from the south," she said softly. "Beyond the Veil of Moura."
Everyone stilled.
"The Veil is sealed," Eira said. "Nothing crosses that—"
"It's unraveling," Arlya's voice cut through.
They turned to the doorway where the girl stood, barefoot and glowing faintly.
"Whatever slept beneath us isn't the only thing that woke up."
---
Later, in private, Seren confronted her.
"You're changing."
"I'm becoming," Arlya replied. "And so are you."
Seren paced the chamber. "I don't want you to be some vessel of prophecy. I saved you to give you a life."
Arlya's smile was wistful. "Maybe saving me was the prophecy."
Seren halted. "You're still a child."
Arlya tilted her head, her eyes flashing like starlight. "So were you. When they crowned you."
That silenced her.
The Hollow Flame within both of them pulsed — not in anger, but in echo.
---
At dusk, Virea and Kael reported signs of movement from the southern watchtowers.
"They're coming," Kael said. "Something cloaked in silence. Entire trees die when they pass."
Laziel muttered, "That's not an army. That's a memory storm."
Seren took a slow breath. "Prepare the defenses. Call the Starborn. And the Mist-Clan. We make our stand at the Hollow Tree."
"But it's sacred," Eira argued.
"And that's exactly why," Seren said. "They'll come to tear it down."
---
That night, Arlya stood beside the Hollow Tree and began to sing.
Not with her mouth — but with the flame.
Vines lifted. Roots shifted. Bark cracked open like old armor, revealing veins of light beneath. The tree responded, not as wood—but as sentient fire.
"It remembers," Arlya whispered. "It always did."
Seren stepped forward, placing her hand on the bark.
"What is it saying?"
Arlya smiled faintly. "That it's ready."
---
The next day, they arrived.
They came without sound, without horn, without threat.
Shadows wrapped in the shape of people.
Cloaked figures with hollow eyes and bone-crafted blades.
And at their head rode a woman in robes of molten ash, her face veiled, her presence colder than death.
"The Flamebreaker," she called. "We meet at last."
Seren stepped forward.
"I don't recognize you."
"You wouldn't. I wasn't written into your story. But I remember yours."
Arlya's flame flared at her side.
"She's one of the Forgotten," the girl said. "A sister of the Pattern. Exiled when it was forged."
"Name yourself," Kael demanded, stepping to Seren's right.
The woman lifted her veil.
And the world held its breath.
She had no face. Just a flicker of every Seren who had ever died in other timelines. A mirror of failure. A reflection of flame undone.
"I am Nyssara," she said. "The Unwritten. And I've come to claim the Hollow Tree."
---
Battle did not begin with steel.
It began with memory.
Nyssara raised her hand.
Suddenly, the world fractured.
Everyone on the battlefield saw their worst moments.
Kael saw himself failing to save Seren during the burning of the palace. Laziel saw himself buried alive in scrolls, unable to breathe. Virea saw her twin brother's execution replayed on loop. Eira wept as her children vanished before her eyes.
Even Seren staggered.
She saw herself crown Arlya, watched the girl become corrupted by the flame, saw Kael die at her feet, saw the Hollow Tree burn…
But then…
Arlya screamed.
And the vision shattered.
"I choose," the girl cried. "Not you!"
And with her words, the Hollow Tree erupted.
---
Flames danced in the air, but they did not burn.
They rewrote.
The battlefield shifted.
Memories were replaced with choices.
The Flameguard rose, blades lit with fire that sang instead of screamed.
Kael moved like a storm. Virea became a blur of vengeance. Even Laziel chanted, summoning protective wards with the confidence of a prophet.
And Seren…
She faced Nyssara.
Crownless.
Unbroken.
The Unwritten woman struck with shadows.
Seren answered with flame.
Not from rage.
From memory.
From every time she had bled and not died.
---
They clashed in silence, fire against forgetting.
Each strike echoed with unwritten chapters. The Hollow Flame inside Seren grew brighter, hotter — not destructive, but alive.
"You were meant to fade," Nyssara hissed.
"I was meant to choose," Seren replied. "And I still do."
With one final step, she drove her flame into the woman's core.
Nyssara screamed — a sound that shook the constellations.
Then she vanished into light.
---
Silence.
The shadows broke apart.
The Hollow Tree stood untouched.
And the stars above returned to their rightful places.
Seren fell to her knees.
Arlya rushed to her side, holding her with fierce strength.
"You didn't let her rewrite us," she whispered.
"No," Seren gasped. "Because we're not done writing."