The wave of red fire roared across the square, devouring everything in its path. Aleron grabbed Liora and pulled her behind the overturned water cart just as the blast slammed into it. The wooden frame shuddered violently, cracks splintering across its surface. Heat washed over them, blistering, merciless.
Liora cried out, covering her face. "Aleron—!"
"I've got you!" he shouted, pressing her head down as embers whipped over the cart like burning hail.
The fire didn't behave like normal flame—it curled, alive and deliberate, snaking across the ground as if searching for a target.
As if searching for them.
Aleron's heart hammered. They needed to move. Now.
"We run for the well," he said, voice hoarse. "The stone will shield us from the heat."
Liora nodded, trembling.
The fire outside dimmed for a moment—just a heartbeat—but enough time for them to bolt. They sprinted from behind the cart, dodging patches of crimson flame licking the earth like hungry tongues. Villagers scrambled through smoke, some collapsing, some screaming names that vanished into the roar of destruction.
A section of burning roof crashed to the ground beside Aleron as he ran. He didn't stop. The well's stone rim appeared through the haze like a lifeline.
They dove behind it.
The flames surged past, unable to cling to the cold stone.
Liora coughed violently, pressing her back against the well. "Why is it doing this? Why is it after you?"
Aleron didn't answer.
Because he didn't know how to.
Because the creature had spoken with his mother's voice.
Because it had whispered his name like a memory.
Because the sigil carved into its chest had haunted his family long before Hollow's Edge even existed.
He swallowed hard. "We need to get out of the village."
"We'll never make it," Liora rasped. "Look at it."
The creature still stood at the center of the square, completely untouched by fire or chaos. Smoke twisted around it like obedient shadows, drawn to the sigil on its chest. Its head tilted slowly, unnervingly, as though listening to voices only it could hear.
Then its gaze snapped toward the well.
Toward them.
Aleron's blood iced.
"Move," he whispered. "Move!"
They darted from the well and into the narrow alley between two burning huts. Flames climbed the walls on either side, heat radiating so intensely Aleron felt his skin prickle. Liora stumbled, nearly falling, but Aleron pulled her upright.
Behind them, heavy footsteps—wrong footsteps—echoed on the burning earth. Slow. Measured. Too deliberate.
It wasn't rushing.
It didn't need to.
Aleron yanked Liora toward the tannery, where the stone walls were thicker. They burst through the back door and slammed it shut behind them. Smoke seeped through the cracks, but the air was clearer inside.
Liora leaned against a workbench, panting. "Aleron… who was your mother?"
He froze.
The question struck deeper than she intended.
He had told everyone his mother died.
Truth was more complicated. More frightening.
"She was—" He hesitated. "She was a healer. She studied old rites. Sigils, runes… things from before the kingdom."
"And she taught you some of it," Liora murmured, eyeing the faint scar on his left wrist—the one shaped suspiciously like half a rune.
He didn't deny it.
Before he could respond, a loud crack echoed through the tannery.
The far wall bowed inward.
Then something punched through the stone—long, skeletal fingers made of charred bone and glowing veins of molten red beneath the surface.
Liora screamed.
Aleron grabbed her hand. "Out the window! Now!"
They scrambled toward the small opening above the racks of drying hides. Aleron lifted Liora first, helping her squeeze through. Smoke poured in as the creature tore more of the stone away, its arm stretching into the room like a living ember.
"Aleron!" Liora cried from outside. "Hurry!"
He climbed onto the rack—
The creature's elongated hand seized his ankle.
Aleron gasped as heat seared through his boot. Pain shot up his leg. He kicked wildly, but the grip tightened, pulling him back toward the shattered wall.
"Aleron!" Liora's voice broke.
He reached for the window, fingers grazing the frame—
Then his boot burned away entirely.
For a split second he felt the creature's skin—hot, rough, and alive like burning bark.
A memory slammed into him.
A flash of a cabin.
A woman's voice.
His mother's hand guiding his wrist over a glowing sigil.
Her last words…
"If it ever finds you… run."
Aleron roared with desperation and twisted violently, bringing his other foot down hard on the creature's wrist. Something inside it cracked. The grip loosened for half a second—enough time for him to wrench his leg free and hurl himself through the window.
He landed hard on the ground outside, biting back a cry as pain flared in his ankle.
Liora dragged him away. "We have to get to the forest!"
"No," he said through gritted teeth. "It found us there too."
"Then where?" Tears streamed down her smoke-smudged face.
Aleron looked back at the burning village, vision swimming.
They had one chance.
"The old watchtower," he said. "The one near the cliffs."
Liora blanched. "Aleron… the tower is cursed."
"Exactly," he rasped. "And curses might be the only thing that can stop this."
Before Liora could argue, a thunderous crash erupted behind them. They whirled around just as the tannery exploded outward—stone and fire blasted into the air.
The creature stepped through the debris, pieces of shattered brick sliding off its shoulders.
Its cracked skin glowed hotter now, veins of molten red crawling across its face like fiery tears.
It raised its head.
And then…
Its chest split open.
Not like a wound…
Like a door.
From inside the opening, something moved.
Something with too many eyes.
All staring directly at Aleron.
"Found you."
A voice echoed—not his mother's this time.
Something deeper. Older.
Aleron's breath caught.
Liora clutched his arm. "Aleron, what is that—?"
Before he could respond, the ground beneath them trembled.
Then cracked.
Then collapsed.
Aleron and Liora plunged downward into darkness—
while the creature stepped to the edge of the forming chasm,
peering down after them,
its inner voice whispering:
"Fall, child. Fall home."