The scent of salt and ash filled the air as Lady Nyra stepped onto the damp soil beyond the coast.
Behind her, the last of her obsidian ships vanished into mist. Cloaked in shadow wards and spells too ancient to name, her army moved like smoke—quiet, shifting, unseen.
At her side walked her lieutenant, Rhyven, a man cloaked in gray metal and wearing a blindfold laced with runes.
Rhyven: "We've breached the first perimeter. The forest hasn't responded."
Lady Nyra: "It will. The Hollow is patient. It remembers."
They walked in silence for a time, their boots crunching softly over fallen leaves. Strange flowers bloomed near their feet—petals shaped like tongues, swaying without wind.
Rhyven: "The scouts report signs of movement in the marshes. A presence they can't name."
Lady Nyra: "That would be the Flameborn. She's early."
She stopped, turning to face a cluster of soldiers kneeling by a tree.
Nyra: "You've seen her?"
Scout: "Only her trail, my Lady. Fire that doesn't consume. Trees that sing after she passes."
Nyra smiled faintly.
Nyra: "Lysara of Emberwood. She's as poetic as the old legends say."
Rhyven: "Shall I deploy the Reavers?"
Nyra turned slowly to him, raising a single eyebrow.
Nyra: "No. Not yet. Let them feel secure. Let them build their walls."
Rhyven: "Why wait?"
Nyra: "Because, Rhyven, there is still one piece we need."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a shard of glass—twisting and rippling with trapped light. A memory crystal.
Within it, a ghostly face flickered.
Elira's face.
Nyra (whispers): "She doesn't even know what she is yet."
Rhyven tilted his head.
Rhyven: "You believe she carries more than just forest magic?"
Nyra: "I know it. The seed was only part of it. The Hollow Tree gave her more than guardianship—it gave her legacy. That kind of gift changes a soul."
She crushed the crystal in her hand. The shards disintegrated into smoke, spiraling upward and vanishing into the canopy.
Nyra: "We don't need the forest. We need her."
At their forward camp, deep in the shifting woods, Nyra stood before her elite squad: the Veilshapers.
Clad in robes of woven dusklight, faces hidden behind masks of bone and crystal, they kneeled in a perfect circle. At the center stood a totem made of twisted bark, bound in silver thread and weeping dark sap.
Nyra: "The Hollow breathes again, and with it, the Veil grows thin. You will cut a path through the echoes."
Veilshaper One: "And if the Flameborn resists?"
Nyra: "You do not fight her. You delay her."
Veilshaper Two: "And the Beast?"
Nyra: "Caelum will come. That's what he does. He protects. Let him. Feed his fury. Make him burn his strength before the true storm arrives."
Veilshaper Three: "And the girl?"
Nyra stepped into the circle, her presence sharp and cold.
Nyra: "Bring her to me. Alive. Unbroken."
She turned to her soldiers, her voice calm but charged.
Nyra: "Do not underestimate her. She is not the girl from the mountain village anymore. She is the key to the second awakening."
That night, the forest trembled.
Animals fled from unseen paths. Water stood still in the rivers. And far away, in the Echo Marshes, Lysara stirred from her meditation, eyes flaring with sudden flame.
Lysara (softly): "They've crossed the veil."
She rose to her feet and summoned her blade—a long curve of embersteel wrapped in roots.
A storm crackled in the distance.
Back at the Hollow Court, Elira couldn't sleep.
She stood by the moonwell, its surface reflecting her face like a silver mirror. The glow beneath the water shifted—ripples moving outward from a center that did not exist.
Caelum joined her, his presence quiet and grounding.
Caelum: "The forest dreams differently tonight."
Elira: "They're close. I can feel them. Like needles on my skin."
He took her hand gently.
Caelum: "Then we meet them on our ground."
Elira: "She wants me, Caelum. Not the Hollow. Not the throne. Just me."
He nodded slowly.
Caelum: "Then we give her nothing."
She looked up at him, fire behind her eyes.
Elira: "No. We give her a storm."