The wind shifted as the group reached the entrance.

Mahou stood still, boots planted just shy of the broken treeline. The Hollow loomed ahead—its canopy warped and tangled, branches clawing skyward like something half-awake and dreaming of teeth. The others waited behind him, quiet. Even Everest had stopped talking.

He didn’t move.

The air here was wrong. Too still. Too heavy. It pressed against his chest like a held breath.

He’d been here before.

Not this exact path, not this exact hour—but the Hollow didn’t change. It only adapted. It learned.

Three years ago, he’d crossed into its depths with seven others. A reconnaissance mission. Routine, they’d said. Contained, they’d promised.

Only three returned.

Tallis had joked about the atmosphere—“Feels like we’re walking into someone’s dream,” he’d said, grinning as he adjusted his gear. Mahou remembered the sound of his voice more clearly than his face. That was the Hollow’s cruelty: it stole the edges of memory, leaving only the ache.

Venn had died trying to hold the line when the illusions came. Shadows that mimicked their fears. Voices that whispered truths no one had spoken aloud. Mahou had watched him fight until the ground swallowed him whole.

He hadn’t spoken of it since.

Not to Indigo. Not to Sakura. Not even to Eustace, who still bore the scar across his ribs from the sprint out.

Mahou’s fingers brushed the hilt at his side. Not out of readiness. Out of ritual.

This time would be different.

He turned to the others, his voice low but steady. “Stay close. Don’t trust what you hear. And if you see something familiar—keep walking.”

Then he stepped forward, into the Hollow with the rest of the group trailing behind.

The trees closed behind them like a gate.

Rose looked up, “Oscar, get down and walk. It’s too dangerous.”

Oscar smiled softly and flew down, landing on his feet next to Rose. “Whatever you say, m’lady!”

“She’s right, for now we should stay close.” Mahou’s voice rang out strong and determined, leaving no room for judgment or objection.

They all nodded, staying close together. As they continued to walk, it was becoming difficult for them all to see where they were going due to the woods fog. Now, it became a battle of senses. But not everyone had the advantage of a stronger sense.

“Sakura, is the distortion affecting you?” Mahou looked back at her, hoping she wasn’t affected by the Hollow’s grip.

“Even with my strengthened sight, this is difficult.” Sakura sighed and turned to Rose. “What about you?”

Rose shook her head. “This is my strength, I’m fine.”

They all nodded. “Let’s keep going.”

As they pressed forward, the light dimmed further—not from the canopy, but from something deeper. The Hollow wasn’t just dark. It was layered.

Footsteps echoed wrong. Oscar’s wings beat overhead, but the sound came from the left. Sakura paused, brow furrowed. “Did someone just say my name?”

“No one spoke,” Everest said, voice clipped.

Rose’s fingers twitched. “The Hollow’s folding. It’s trying to separate us.”

Mahou glanced at Eustace. “Time distortion?”

Eustace nodded grimly. “Feels like we’re walking through a memory that doesn’t belong to us.”

A low hum threaded through the air, like a distant chant muffled by water. The ground beneath them pulsed once—subtle, but enough to make Mahou stumble.

Rose reached out instinctively, steadying him. Her hand lingered longer than necessary.

“Keep close,” she murmured. “It’s not just trying to confuse us. It’s listening.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed, scanning the shifting shadows. “Then we don’t speak unless we have to.”

They moved in silence, the forest pressing in tighter. Branches curled unnaturally, like fingers reaching from the dark. The path beneath their feet was no longer dirt—it shimmered faintly, like glass stretched thin over something deeper.

Oscar walked near the front, blade drawn, eyes sharp. “This place is wrong,” he said quietly. “I saw my reflection in the ground. But it wasn’t me.”

Eustace crouched, touching the path. His fingers passed through it like mist. “It’s a memory veil. We’re walking through someone’s past.”

“Whose?” Everest asked.

The forest answered.

A whisper, soft and broken, drifted through the trees: “You left me here.”

Rose froze. Her breath caught. Everyone paused around her.

Mahou turned to her. “Rose?”

But she didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked on a figure emerging from the fog ahead—small, hunched, wrapped in a cloak of thorns.

It looked like her.

But younger.

And crying.

The figure didn’t move.

It stood just ahead, half-shrouded in fog, head bowed beneath a tangled hood of thorns. Rose’s breath hitched as the air around her thickened—not with heat, but with memory. Her magic pulsed outward instinctively, searching for truth.

It wasn’t an illusion.

It was a reflection.

The younger version of herself lifted its head slowly. Eyes swollen from crying. Lips trembling. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” it whispered.

Rose stepped forward, fists clenched. “You’re not real.”

The figure didn’t flinch. “You said I was strong enough. That I could handle it. But you knew I couldn’t.”

Mahou reached out, but Rose raised a hand to stop him. “It’s mine,” she said. “The Hollow’s testing me.”

The others watched in silence as the fog thickened around her. The ground beneath her feet shifted, as did her surroundings—no longer forest, but the stone floor of a childhood room. Broken glass. Burnt pages. A memory she’d buried.

The younger Rose stepped closer. “You locked me away. You buried me under fire and silence.”

Rose’s hands flared with flame, but she didn’t strike. Her voice was low. “I did what I had to. I survived.”

The figure smiled—sad, hollow. “But you never forgave yourself.”

Rose’s fire dimmed.

She stepped forward, knelt, and placed a hand on the figure’s shoulder. “I’m not proud of what I became. But I’m not her anymore.”

The figure blinked once, then dissolved into ash.

The fog receded.

Rose stood slowly, breathing hard. The room she saw faded away, showing the woods once more. Her hands trembled, but her voice was steady. “It’s going to test all of us.”

Mahou nodded. “Then we stay close. And we don’t lie to ourselves.”

They kept walking.

The fog didn’t lift, but it changed—growing thicker, heavier, until the air itself felt like memory. The path beneath their feet shimmered again, and the forest around them fell silent in a way that felt intentional.

Rose had already faced her test. The Hollow had peeled back her past and pressed it against her skin. But now, it turned its gaze outward.

One by one, the others slowed.

Oscar’s steps faltered first. His eyes widened—not in fear, but recognition. He turned toward a flicker in the mist, where faint voices echoed. Children. Crying. Begging. A lab door half-open. Rose’s name whispered like a secret he wasn’t supposed to hear.

Sage growled low, ears pinned back. His body tensed as two figures emerged from the fog—familiar, broken, and accusing. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

Mahou stopped mid-step, eyes locked on a silhouette that hadn’t existed in this world for years. Leonidas. His brother. The Hollow didn’t need to speak—it just remembered.

Everest’s breath caught. The fog around him pulsed red, then silver. Two figures stood in the distance, arms outstretched, shielding him from something unseen. He didn’t move. He just watched.

Sakura’s grip tightened on her scythe. A figure stepped from the trees—tall, proud, eyes sharp with disdain. Irese. Her husband. The strongest demon. The one who once looked at her like she was nothing.

Eustace didn’t speak. He simply knelt, head bowed, as the Hollow whispered a name: Amethyst. The forest remembered. And so did he.

None of them cried out.

None of them ran.

But the Hollow saw them. It knew them.

And it wasn’t finished.