Weeks passed. The village began to heal. The fog no longer returned. Crops stood taller, and the animals grew calm. Even the birds returned, their songs tentative but hopeful.
Chizzy had become something of a myth. Children whispered her name like a spell. Adults gave her wide berth, but when illness struck or a cow fell sick, they left offerings on her doorstep dried herbs, honeycomb, candles made with care.
She accepted none of it. She needed nothing from them.
Until a knock came at dusk.
She opened the door slowly. A man stood there, tall, hood down, eyes unreadable.
It wasn't the Watcher.
"My name is Kiran," he said. "I came from the Northern Ridge. I've heard… rumors."
Chizzy said nothing.
"They say you sealed something dark," he continued. "That the Hollow stirs when you sleep."
Her eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"
"There are others like you, Chizzy. Others who bear the mark."
Her heart stuttered. "That can't be."
"Oh, but it is. The darkness you sealed—it's not the only one. It's part of something older. Something wider."
Chizzy stepped out, letting the door close behind her. "Why are you here?"
"To ask for your help," Kiran said. "Something's waking in the north. I don't know how to stop it alone."
She studied him. His voice carried truth. But behind it, there was fear.
"Then let's go," she said finally.
He blinked. "You'd come just like that?"
"You came to me in peace. And I've had enough of waiting for the world to burn."
She fetched her blade.
And this time, she didn't flinch when it pulsed against her palm.