Mist hung low over the Veinwood, the great forest to the south of Vireloch. The trees here were older than any city, older than even the tombs beneath the hills. And now… they whispered again.
Zareena stood at the edge of the treeline, flanked by Rashid, Seredin, Nasir, and a handpicked squad—scouts, mages, two alchemists with bottled light, and one reluctant priest sent by the Church "for spiritual protection."
The fog did not part for them. It breathed.
"Why the forest?" Rashid asked under his breath.
Zareena adjusted her cloak. "Because the last three patrols didn't return. Because something out there feeds on memory. And because it's coming closer."
Seredin said nothing. But his silver eyes burned brighter as they entered.
The deeper they moved, the stranger the world became.
Time staggered. Shadows twisted wrong. Trees wept black sap. One scout whispered that he saw a child laughing in the mist—until Seredin drew his blade and cut the air where it stood.
A ghulain, wearing a child's face. It crumbled like ash.
"What are they doing here?" Nasir hissed.
"They're not here," Seredin murmured. "They are the here. The Veinwood has been touched. This forest now lies half in our world… and half in what came before."
They found remnants of old sigils, carved into roots. A ruined shrine buried in thorns. And at last—a hollow clearing, where no sound lived.
At the center stood a monolith, cracked but glowing faintly with the same runes found in the tombs.
Zareena stepped forward. The Church priest tried to stop her, murmuring a ward—only for the air to slap him to the ground.
The stone pulsed once. Then again.
Seredin said, "It remembers you."
A voice, faint and female, whispered from the stone in Old High Magic:
"She walks the spiral path. She is the hinge of fate. If she opens the gate, it cannot be shut."
Zareena laid her palm against the monolith. "I'm not opening anything."
The stone flared.
Rashid grabbed her shoulder, dragging her back as a veil tore behind it. For a moment—only a moment—they all saw something watching them.
A black figure in robes. A crown of bone. No face. Just eyes.
And then the veil closed. The monolith cracked.
They left in silence, only the wind behind them.
That night, Zareena sat in her chambers, staring at the charcoal sketch she made of the figure.
"Do you know it?" she asked Seredin.
He studied it. Then nodded once.
"That is the Hollow King. And if he is stirring, your war is not with nobles or priests anymore."