The village lay in stunned silence.
Smoke curled from charred branches, and puddles reflected the gray morning sky, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the air was still. Quiet. No growl beneath the wind. No whispers in the trees. Just breath and the scent of wet earth.
Chizzy stood barefoot in the mud, her blade buried tip-first in the ground beside her. She didn't need it now. Not in this moment.
Talia sat near the steps of the broken shrine, wrapping her hands with cloth as Elder Noma moved around the remnants of the ritual circle, murmuring words of thanks to spirits long forgotten.
"They're afraid of you," Kiran said softly, stepping up beside Chizzy.
She gave a small nod. "They should be."
"You did what no one else could. You faced it and lived."
Chizzy glanced down at her palms. The glowing mark was dimmer now, like an ember cooling in the ash, but still there. Still pulsing with something ancient and alive. "We didn't just live, Kiran. We changed it."
She turned to face the ruins of the shrine, where a faint violet flame still danced between the cracks of the altar stones. Not fire. Not illusion. Something in between.
A remnant of the Hollow—but no longer twisted.
No longer screaming.
Liora approached from the path, her cloak drenched, the wind tugging at her braids.
"It worked," she said with a wary smile. "Whatever you did... it worked."
"It's not over," Chizzy said. "But it's... quieter now. It's healing."
Liora's gaze darkened. "Healing doesn't mean safe. You've cracked something open, Chizzy. The Hollow was more than a prison—it was a balance. And now the balance is shifting."
"Let it shift," Chizzy replied. "We're ready for what comes next."
"Are you?" Liora studied her with sharp eyes. "Because there are others out there who'll feel this ripple. Not all of them will be grateful."
Chizzy looked toward the horizon, where a faint red glow bled through the clouds. Not fire, but power. Something awakening in the distance.
"We won't hide," she said simply.
Inside the shrine ruins, Talia traced the edges of the flame with cautious fingers. The light responded to her touch, blooming brighter. "It's alive," she murmured. "But different now. It listens."
"What is it?" Kiran asked, joining her.
"A piece of the Hollow," she replied. "But not cruel anymore. Not hungry. Just... hollow. Empty. Like it's waiting to be filled with something else."
Hope. Healing. Purpose.
The realization struck Chizzy as clearly as a bell in her mind. "It doesn't want to destroy. It wants to be whole."
That was the key. All along.
The Hollow hadn't sought to consume—it had sought to remember. All the pain and sorrow buried for generations had festered, unspoken and unacknowledged. What they had done—what she and Talia had done—wasn't magic.
It was recognition.
By facing their past, they'd given the Hollow what it needed: truth.
Suddenly, the flame at the altar flared again, rising into the air and forming a shape—an eye.
The Eye of the Hollow.
But it was no longer menacing. It watched in silence, unblinking and vast. A sentinel. A promise.
And it left them with a final whisper—not of warning, but of purpose.
"Balance must be kept. You are its stewards now."
Chizzy felt the words settle deep in her bones.
"We've inherited more than power," she said aloud. "We've inherited responsibility."
Talia stood beside her, her face calm. "Then let's learn how to carry it."
As the morning sun began to rise, casting golden light over the battered village, the Hollow Eye faded, leaving behind only warmth and silence.
A new beginning had dawned.