That night, Ren dreamed of fire.
But not the kind Kiyomi had shown him—not warm, or controlled. This was something older. Wilder. A fire that crawled, crept, and cracked the earth as it burned. He stood in a forest made of ash, trees blackened and hollow, the ground beneath his feet pulsing like embers beneath paper-thin skin. Every breath he took tasted like smoke.
And then he heard the voice.
It didn't speak words, not really. It *remembered* them—memories of language, echoes of promises made long ago and never kept.
One phrase rose from the others.
**"He waits beneath."**
Ren's eyes snapped open.
He was on the futon, drenched in sweat, heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst through his ribs. The room was still. The moonlight outside dim, filtered through the mist that had crept back into Autumn Hill like a warning.
A floorboard creaked.
He froze.
Then another.
He sat up slowly, listening. It wasn't the usual sounds of the old house shifting. This was purposeful. Slow. Step by step.
Then silence.
"Kiyomi?" he called out.
No answer.
He got to his feet. The hallway outside was dim, lit only by the glow of a paper lantern. The shadows seemed to stretch just a little too far. As he crept toward the staircase, the wood beneath him groaned faintly.
Something moved downstairs.
Ren stopped.
It wasn't loud—barely audible—but unmistakable. The faint *drag* of something being pulled across tatami mats.
Then... a whisper.
A girl's voice.
Soft. Mournful. Familiar.
**"You left me behind."**
His blood ran cold.
He descended slowly, one hand grazing the wall for balance. At the bottom of the stairs, the lanterns were dead. Only moonlight spilled in from the veranda.
And standing in the center of the room—
**Her.**
The girl from the rain.
Same soaked dress. Same black hair plastered to pale skin. Same Hollow Eyes like endless wells of night.
But something was different.
This time, her mouth was open. And when she spoke, her voice was two layered on top of each other—one childlike, one ancient.
"You burned the veil."
Ren stepped back, heart racing.
"I—I didn't mean to—"
She tilted her head. "The Court sees you now."
He wanted to call for Kiyomi, but something in the girl's eyes stopped him. Not fear. Not threat. Just... sorrow. Like she wasn't there by choice.
Then she raised her hand—and the air cracked.
A vision struck him like lightning.
He wasn't in the house anymore.
He stood in a room of black stone, beneath a sky that was not sky, but an eye—watching. Blinking. Weeping fire. Around him, masked figures in robes of ash whispered in languages that sounded like screams reversed. And at the center, bound in chains of glass and bone, was a man with Ren's face—older, burned, and broken.
The Hollow Girl reached toward him.
"Find me," she said. "Before *he* does."
Then the vision shattered.
Ren stumbled back, crashing into a low table. The room was normal again. Empty.
Kiyomi burst in a second later, blue fire in both hands, eyes glowing with fury.
"What happened? I felt—" Her gaze swept the room. "Where is she?"
"Gone," Ren gasped. "She showed me something. A place. A prison."
Kiyomi lowered her flames slowly. "She gave you a vision?"
He nodded. "I think she wants me to find her."
"That's not a gift," Kiyomi muttered. "That's a baited hook."
She paced, tails lashing behind her. "If they're using Hollow children to send messages, they're escalating. That means the Ashen Court knows who you are."
Ren stood shakily. "Do they know what I am?"
"They're trying to find out," Kiyomi said. "But if they sent a vision, that means they're not ready to kill you. Not yet."
"Comforting," Ren muttered.
Kiyomi grabbed his shoulder. "You need to tell your grandfather."
But when they checked the shrine the next morning—
He was gone.
His shoes were still at the threshold. The incense had burned itself out. But the doors were wide open, the altar undisturbed, and there was no sign of a struggle.
Only a note, pinned to the floor with a talisman.
It was written in trembling brush strokes.
**"Do not follow."**
Ren stared at it for a long time.
"He knew something," he said. "Didn't want us to be involved."
Kiyomi picked up the talisman. Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't ordinary paper. It's bound with bone ash."
Ren looked at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means he was hiding something from *them*."
She held the talisman up to the light. "There's more ink underneath."
With a whispered word, she burned away the top layer of the paper, revealing a second message written in smaller, sharper script.
"The gate is waking. Beneath the house. Don't let it open."
Ren felt the air leave his lungs.
"Beneath the house?" he repeated.
Kiyomi turned to him, face grim.
"There's something buried under your home."