The forest south of Black Hollow wasn't on any map.
Its trees grew taller than towers, their bark silver-veined, their leaves a dull violet in the sunlight. The wind here didn't whistle—it hummed, as if ancient voices were speaking beneath the branches.
Elena walked beside Dorian, boots crunching on soft moss, the sigil stone warm in her coat pocket. She glanced at him, wondering how many times he had walked this path.
"Where are we going again?" she asked.
"To the Sanctuary of Embers," he replied, eyes scanning ahead. "It was built long before Black Hollow existed—back when the Seers still ruled this land."
"And they're the ones who made the Gate?"
"Yes. And they left behind the only texts that describe what's sealed behind it."
Elena shivered. "The Twelve Sleepers?"
He nodded. "Thirteen, now. You saw the vision. You felt them stir."
They pushed deeper into the woods, and soon the forest thinned into rocky hills. Beneath an outcropping of black stone, a stone archway jutted from the earth—half-buried, moss-covered, and faintly glowing with ancient runes.
"This is it," Dorian said, placing a palm against the stone. "No one without Hollow blood can open it."
Elena stepped beside him. "Then… let's try together."
Their hands touched the stone at once.
The earth trembled.
A circle of light spiraled outward from their palms, crawling across the arch like awakened veins. With a groan of stone and whispered wind, the entrance split open—revealing a staircase spiraling down into soft orange light.
The Sanctuary had opened.
Inside the Sanctuary
The air was warm and dry, almost like stepping into a forgotten library. The walls were smooth crystal, glowing faintly with runes in a language Elena's mind somehow understood.
Torches lit themselves as they passed, flickering gently.
"This place was meant for dreamers," Dorian whispered. "People born between life and death. Like us."
They entered a large circular chamber at the heart of the Sanctuary. Books floated in the air, suspended by forgotten magic. An altar stood in the center, carved with thirteen intertwined symbols—each one representing a sealed entity.
Elena's eyes widened. "That one," she pointed to a fractured sigil near the center, "that's the one from the stone the Warden left."
Dorian nodded grimly. "That's the Thirteenth. The Devouring One. A being so old, even the Seers feared naming it."
"And now it's waking… because of me."
"No," he said firmly, turning her to face him. "It's waking because the balance was broken. You were just born to sense it."
She stepped toward the altar, placing her hand over the sigil.
The room shifted.
Visions flooded her—flashes of ancient wars, of Seers binding monstrous gods beneath the Hollow. She saw her ancestor, a woman with silver eyes, bleeding over the altar to seal the Devouring One for the first time.
And then she saw herself.
Not just in this life—but in others.
Running. Bleeding. Choosing Dorian again and again.
She stumbled back with a gasp.
Dorian caught her. "What did you see?"
"The truth," she whispered. "We're not just bound to each other… we're part of the seal itself."
Dorian went still.
"If we stay together," she continued, "we strengthen the barrier. But if either of us dies… the Gate opens."
His grip on her tightened. "Then I'll make sure we both live."
Elena looked at him, heart hammering. "You promise?"
Dorian didn't answer with words. He pulled her into him and kissed her—gently at first, then with growing intensity. Not just passion, but purpose. Like he was anchoring them both to this life, this moment.
"I will protect you with everything I have," he said against her lips. "Even if it means fighting fate itself."
They turned back to the altar.
The runes had shifted.
A new line of text now glowed beneath:
"The Gate breaks not with hatred—but with a broken vow."
Elena whispered, "Someone's trying to break us apart."
Dorian's jaw tightened. "Then we find out who. Before they succeed."