The forest exploded into motion.
The first wolf leapt from the underbrush—fangs glinting, eyes like burning moss. Kain rolled aside, slicing upward with his sword, catching the beast's side. It yelped, but didn't fall. Didn't bleed.
"They're not alive!" Aric shouted. "These are Rootbound!"
Behind Kain, two more lunged for Rhyssa. She loosed an arrow into the first, then twisted to stab the second with her dagger. It should've gone down. It didn't.
The wolf's mouth opened wider than it should've—jaw unhinging—trying to bite her arm clean off.
Kain barreled into it, knocking it sideways before it could clamp down.
"They're testing us!" he barked, bringing his sword down into the creature's throat.
Instead of blood, thick black sap spilled onto the leaves, sizzling as it hit the earth.
"These things aren't wolves," Aric growled, hurling a streak of flame into a cluster of the beasts. Three caught fire but kept charging.
More were coming—too many.
Kain grabbed Rhyssa's arm. "We can't kill them all. We need high ground."
She pointed toward a crag above the ravine. "There. That ridge!"
They ran—dodging snapping jaws, slipping between trees slick with mist. One wolf leapt onto Aric's back, dragging him down. He rolled and screamed—
"Ignis spirare!"
A burst of flame erupted in all directions, sending wolves shrieking backward.
The three of them scrambled up the rocky path, loose stone scraping beneath their boots. At the top, the trees thinned, and the ground flattened into a narrow ridge.
The wolves halted at the base.
They stood in eerie formation, watching.
Waiting.
Then they parted.
Something was coming.
Kain's sword trembled in his grip—not from fear, but from resonance. The mark on his arm burned again.
A shape emerged from the trees.
It wasn't a wolf.
It walked on two legs—barely—its limbs long and too thin, its skin pale and pulled tight over its bones. Its face was covered by bark-like plating. From its back sprouted twisting black roots like wings, twitching and coiling with a will of their own.
"A Hollowborn," Aric whispered. "That's not possible. Those were wiped out in the Burned Years."
"Apparently not all of them," Kain said grimly.
The creature tilted its head—and then spoke.
Not aloud, but in their minds.
"You carry the key. You were not meant to live."
Kain stepped forward, sword raised. "You want it? Come take it."
The Hollowborn screeched, and the wolves charged again.
Rhyssa fired arrow after arrow into the dark, each one sinking deep—but the beasts barely slowed. Aric stood behind Kain, chanting, his hands glowing red.
"Volkran flare!"
A spiral of fire burst from his palms, cutting a path through the charging wolves—but not stopping them.
Kain met the first with steel, cleaving its head clean off. The second tackled him, but he spun, using its weight to send it tumbling over the cliff's edge.
They fought back to back, the three of them a storm of steel, fire, and fury.
Then the Hollowborn lunged.
It moved faster than expected—like mist in a wind—closing the gap between itself and Kain in seconds. The roots on its back lashed out, catching Kain's blade mid-swing, yanking it from his grip.
He fell.
The creature stood over him, one clawed hand raised, black sap dripping from its fingers.
But before it could strike—
A blinding white arrow struck it square in the chest.
The Hollowborn shrieked and staggered back.
Another arrow followed. Then a third.
From the treeline behind them, a figure emerged, bow glowing with runes.
A woman, cloaked in silver and ash, her face hidden by a mask of bone.
The Hollowborn turned and vanished into smoke—just like the Warden had.
The wolves stopped.
One by one, they turned and fled.
Silence returned to the ridge.
The figure lowered her bow and approached.
Kain retrieved his sword slowly. "Who the hell are you?"
She pulled back her hood. Her hair was the color of frost. Her eyes glowed faintly blue.
"I'm the one who's been waiting for you," she said softly. "You're not the first the Hollow has tried to use. But you might be the first to turn the key and fight back."
Aric eyed her suspiciously. "You knew we'd be here?"
"I followed the rootmark," she replied, glancing at Kain's arm. "The Hollow is desperate. It sends wolves and ghosts, but it hasn't sent a Seeker in years. Not since they failed to kill the last marked one."
Rhyssa lowered her dagger. "You mean there have been others?"
The woman nodded. "Not many. And none of them made it as far as you."
She extended a hand to Kain.
"My name is Veira. I'm one of the Forgotten. We guard the old ways. And I can help you destroy the Hollow King."
Kain looked at her for a long moment before taking her hand.
"Then we better start soon."
Veira glanced to the east, where the mist was beginning to churn again.
"Soon," she echoed, "may already be too late."