Night pressed its velvet cloak over the Hollow,
and the silver birches glowed like ghost‑lanterns,
their bark veins pulsing in time with the Spiral Tree's distant heartbeat.
Kaien led six veteran wardens down a narrow,moss‑carpeted trail—their boots whisper‑soft on the damp earth, breaths releasing in thin clouds
that danced like spirits between the trunks.
"Keep formation," Kaien murmured.
"The Thorn's hunters know these woods—every root, every shadow."
His voice was a low chord in the hush,
enough to guide but not to betray their approach.
Lyra moved to his flank, bloomsteel at the ready.
Her blade's weave shimmered with muted rose‑gold glints as she dipped into a crouch,
eyes scanning the darkness. "Something stirs," she said, fingertips brushing the etched spiral on her pommel, calling to its latent warmth.
A slow rustle, like silk drawn over stone, came from a stand of ferns.
Kaien's gut clamped tight. With a soft whistle,
he signaled left: two wardens fanned out,
torches lifted to carve swaths of pale light into the undergrowth.
From that flickering half‑light,
three figures sprang—hooded silhouettes exploding into motion.
Their iron daggers arced toward the wardens' throats, blades whispering death in the cold air.
Lyra surged forward,
bloomsteel meeting dagger in a shower of sparks.
The first assailant's blade skittered aside, the impact singing through the forest like a struck bell. Lyra's foot swept backward,
knocking another attacker off balance; moss‑slippery roots betrayed him,
and he fell with a gasp, dagger skittering into the dark.
At Kaien's heel,
A warden reeled as a blade nicked his side—
warm sear of pain blooming crimson through armor plate.
Kaien whirled, sword flashing in the torchlight,
and his curved edge drove the dagger from the assailant's grasp, sending it spinning.
He pressed the hilt into the intruder's chest, steel flat against soft leather cloak,
and the man's eyes—young and terrified—flickered with recognition.
Around them, wardens grappled:one locked arm‑to‑arm with a cloaked figure,each straining for purchase; another ducked beneath a dagger's arc,
countering with a savage slash that carved through hood and hair, drawing a ragged cry.
Torches bobbed as they fought to keep the shadows at bay,
beams cutting through the night like desperate hands reaching for safety.
"Yield!" Kaien's roar rolled through the skirmish.
The forest seemed to shudder.
Two of the assailants froze, breath heaving, blades downward.
Blood blossomed on the fallen warden's tunic,
but he stood, pressing a hand to the wound with grim resolve.
Kaien slid his sword free. "You test our borders," he said, voice steady.
"But our flame is not easily quenched."
He knelt beside the young man at his feet.
Soft moonlight revealed a trembling curve of lip.
"Tell your masters this: the Hollow answers every spark with wildfire."
The youth's nod was a ragged shutter of relief and fear.
Kaien rose, wiping blade on moss before sheathing it.
No life needed to be ended here—only respect earned.
They pressed on,deeper into the half‑remembered trail,where moonlight pooled among rotting logs and phantom winds sighed through leafless branches.
Every footstep felt like intrusion; every breath, a trespass.
A sudden twang—a crossbow's whisper.
Kaien ducked as a quarrel thudded into the dirt
where his head had been moments before.
Splinters flew. Wardens dove for cover behind moss‑slick stones.
Lyra's bloomsteel stabbed the earth before her,
ward‑sigils flaring golden-bronze in a heartbeat. "Archers!" she hissed,
eyes tracing the high branches.
Two figures crouched among the boughs, crossbows leveled downward,
cheeks ghost‑white in torchlight.
Rin's voice cut through the chaos: "Doors of memory, open!" She drew a spiral in the air,
and twin motes of emerald fire danced upward, painting the archers in living light.
The ward‑light clung to them, rooted in place like driven stakes.
Aira was already moving—silent as mist—slipping between torchbeams to flank the nearest archer.
She struck a precise kick to the crossbow's stock,
sending it rattling to the ground.
The archer's arrow released,
clattering harmlessly into the ferns.
Kaien sprang from cover, curved sword singing.
He met the second archer's bolt squarely on his shield,
metal shrieking under the impact.
The wardens surged, torches raised as makeshift pikes,
pressing the attackers toward the cliff‑edge.
Aira slammed a gauntleted fist into the first archer's chest,
knocking breath and bow from him.
Lyra followed with a nonlethal chop to the wrist, disarming the second.
Both collapsed onto the soft earth,
trembling beneath the birch‑fire glow.
Kaien stood over them, chest heaving.
"We do not slay those who raise bow in fear," he said.
"We guide them back to memory's light." He gestured to Rin,
who wove a gentle healing charm—ribbons of light mending bruised ribs and sealing sliced
palms, leaving only faint warmth where pain had been.
Silence reclaimed the trail.
The wardens lit no torches now, letting the birch‑grove's glow guide their passage.
Each man and woman carried the hush like a vow: they fought to protect, not to destroy.
At dawn's pale edge,
they reached the ridge overlooking Thorn‑wilds.
Below, mist curled over a broken wall—remnant of an old watchtower.
Beyond, the first pale tendrils of sunlight reached across the distant peaks.
Lyra exhaled, sheathing her blade. "Tonight tested steel and mercy both."
Rin smiled, fingers still tracing fading ward‑glyphs.
"Every clash shapes the story we carry."
Aira's gaze lingered on the watchers' broken crossbows.
"Let them bear witness to our restraint—let it seed doubt in those who hunger for oblivion."
Kaien folded his arms, horizon alight with dawn.
"In every small fight, we spark remembrance.
We hold each blade as both promise and warning: that memory, once ignited,
cannot be snuffed by fear or force."
He let the morning wind catch his cloak.
"Rest now. Tomorrow, we carry these embers to a wider world."
Beneath the silvered canopy of birches, the Hollow exhaled, its wards still humming,
its guardians unbowed.
And in every heart among them,
the spark of memory burned all the brighter—ready to set the night ablaze once more.