“Here’s what we are going to do: Oscar will fly above us and watch out for potential threats and other issues. Eustace and I will lead. Sage will be in his wolf form on the way there. Everest and Sakura will watch our rear, and Rose will track the Hollow’s magical current and alert us if anything shifts,” Mahou finished.

They stood gathered just outside the east arch of the Athenaeum as the sun began to angle westward. The wind carried the scent of chalk and steel—old magic pressing at the edge of awareness.

“Rose’s attunement is sharper than anything we’ve got,” Mahou added. “If the path changes or something starts stalking us under the surface, she’ll feel it before we see it.”

Rose gave a quiet nod, one hand resting on the weathered leather satchel at her hip. “It’s already restless. Something’s tugging at the boundaries near the southern pass. Subtle, but fraying. I’ll monitor it the whole way.”

Oscar crouched nearby, checking his gear and flexing his fingers. 

Everest tightened the strap across his shoulder, resolve hardening in his voice. “Rear watch is secure. With Sakura at my side, nothing will touch them from behind.”

Sage, already shifted to wolf form, stood still as a statue—ears twitching, eyes locked forward, waiting for the signal to move.

Mahou looked across the assembled team. “We leave now. Double check your packs. We don’t get second chances in the Hollow.”

They all double-checked their gear and weapons—straps tightened, wards layered, blades secured. One by one, they nodded to Mahou.

No words were needed. They were ready.

Mahou gave the signal with a curt gesture, and Oscar immediately vaulted into the sky with a burst of wings. Dust curled beneath his boots as he lifted off, catching a clean updraft before settling into a steady glide above the group. His sharp orange eyes scanned the landscape ahead, flicking from ridge to ruin with trained precision.

Down on the ground, the others began to move.

Rose walked near the center,  her magic was already pulsing outward—sensing subtle warps in the energy around them like vibrations through glass.

Everest and Sakura took the rear. Sakura's scythe was slung low against her back, her eyes constantly flicking behind them. Everest’s posture was relaxed but alert, tracking their pace with silent efficiency.

As the Athenaeum faded behind them and the wilderness pressed in, no one spoke. Even the birds seemed to fall quiet. They were completely focused.

Everything was going according to plan until Oscar let out a signal that Rosalie could interpret; a very specific wing flap.

Rose lifted her hand, threads of shimmering energy weaving through the air. The group’s steps faltered, then subtly shifted, their path bending as though the forest itself guided them. Shadows stretched differently, footsteps softened, and their presence seemed to blur against the trees.
“There’s a pithra nearby,” she murmured. “Harmless, as long as we don’t provoke it. I’m twisting our movements so it won’t even sense us.”

They all continued further, making sure to avoid the pithra.

The terrain sloped into a shallow basin, where wild briars tangled with long grass and forgotten stones. The ground felt different here—softer, almost sponge-like beneath their boots.

Rose suddenly slowed. Her fingertips trembled in the air as if something unseen brushed back.

“Something’s listening,” she murmured.

Oscar signaled again from above—three slow wingbeats and a dive. A warning.

Mahou halted the group with a raised hand. They waited. At first, nothing moved. Then from the far end of the basin, a creature stepped into view.

It stood nearly ten feet tall, narrow as a reed, its limbs elongated and swaying. Bioluminescent lines pulsed faintly beneath its translucent skin, glowing where its bones should’ve been. No face. Just a hollow where features ought to be, echoing with soft, wet clicks.

“Marrowstrider,” whispered Rosalie, instinctively stepping closer to the group. “Don’t speak. It moves toward grief.”

Everest eyed it warily. “Drawn to emotion?”

Rose nodded. “To memories. Especially ones that ache.”

The creature walked straight through a tangle of thorns, never snagged, never swayed. It paused just beyond their reach, head tilted.

Sage growled low but didn’t move. His hackles rippled with tension.

Suddenly, the Marrowstrider mimicked a sound—not speech, but an echo of Rosalie’s voice from earlier: “Something’s listening.”

Everyone froze.

“It’s mimicking us,” Sakura whispered.

“No,” Rose corrected. “It’s remembering with us.”

A tense beat passed.

Then the creature turned, its body blurring at the edges like vapor through a lens, and melted into the treeline.

They all stood still, taking in what had just happened. 

After a few seconds of silence and Oscar’s soft wing flaps, Rosalie nodded “it’s gone.”

Once they were ready, they moved forward toward the hollow.

The path narrowed as twisted brambles gnawed at the edges of the trail. Stones once carved with travel runes were cracked, faded, their glyphs distorted like forgotten memories. The sun hadn’t dipped fully, but the light dimmed unnaturally—as if the Hollow had reached up and pulled the sky closer to its chest.

Oscar flew lower now, wings fanning against the pressure in the air. “We’re close,” he called down, voice restrained. “There’s a fissure just ahead. Magical bleed’s stronger here. Feels like it’s listening.”

Mahou slowed the group at the ridge, motioning for silence.

Beyond the slope, the land dropped into the Hollow. Trees clawed upward in jagged angles, vines glistening with residue. The terrain looked fractured—as if reality itself had splintered and tried to grow over the wound.

Rose raised a hand, magic flickering along her knuckles. “It’s unstable here. I can feel four layers of magical pressure folding over each other. It’s like… sound held inside stone.”

Eustace crouched beside an old signpost jammed deep into the earth—only the lower third remained legible. “This used to mark three roads. All merged now.”

Sakura’s grip tightened on her scythe. “Feels wrong to breathe here.”

Everest stepped beside her. “That’s not air. It’s spell distortion. Like walking through someone else’s memory.”

Sage padded forward, sniffing the air. He let out a low growl, soft but decisive.

Mahou drew his weapon. “Formation shift. Everyone stay inside Rose’s attunement radius. If anything feels off—say it.”

They began to descend.

The Hollow didn’t welcome them.

It simply made room.