The door opened without a sound, and yet the world seemed to shudder.

  A hush fell over the clearing — not silence, but something more profound. The girl stepped first across the threshold, her glowing staff dimming the moment her foot passed into the Hollow’s circle. The young man followed, suitcase in hand, his heart pounding with a strange anticipation. The stranger walked behind them, his dark cloak whispering against the dead grass.

  As they stepped into the Hollow, the landscape behind them faded — not vanished, but blurred, as if viewed through water. When they looked back, the Greenwood of Ellenar was still there, yet unreachable.

  Before them stood the door embedded in the blackened tree, wide open now.

  Inside, nothing.

  Not darkness.

  Not light.

  Just… void.

  The girl hesitated.

  Then stepped forward.

  And the world changed.

  They emerged onto a narrow path suspended in what seemed to be nothingness.

  Below, above, around — swirling clouds of muted silver, like smoke trapped in crystal. Fragments of old ruins floated in the air: broken pillars, staircases leading nowhere, fractured statues and bits of scorched parchment spinning slowly as if caught in invisible currents.

  A thin bridge of woven light extended before them, its shape flickering with every step.

  “I feel like I’m dreaming,” the girl whispered.

  “You are,” said the stranger, his voice softer now. “But this dream is older than any waking memory.”

  The girl turned to him. “What is this place?”

  “The Hollow,” the stranger said. “Not as mortals remember it — but as it remembers itself.”

  The young man frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The stranger gazed ahead, toward the horizon — if such a thing existed in this shapeless place.

  “Once, the Hollow was a sanctuary. A cradle of the old magic, where time did not pass as it does in the world above. Mages, spirits, and the last of the Starborn gathered here when the kingdoms first began to burn. They poured their memories into this place — not as words, but as living essence. The Hollow became a repository of all that was nearly forgotten.”

  The girl’s voice was faint. “Nearly?”

  The stranger nodded. “Memories are fragile. Even magic cannot preserve them forever — not without a price.”

  They walked in silence for a while. The bridge curved and twisted, always stable beneath their feet but shifting in hue and shape, now vines, now cobblestones, now glass.

  Eventually, the path led to an island of stone suspended in the mist — a circular platform surrounded by archways made of old bone and bleached ivory. In the center stood a fountain of silver water, rippling even though there was no wind.

  The girl approached it. “It’s beautiful…”

  “It is memory,” the stranger said. “Touch it, and it will show you the Hollow’s past.”

  She reached out, fingertips skimming the surface.

  Images burst forth — not visual, but emotional. A sense of wonder, of voices chanting beneath stars. The warm scent of parchment and ink. The cold terror of fire raining from the skies.

  A child laughed. A woman wept. A song was sung in a language no longer spoken.

  She pulled back, gasping.

  The young man caught her.

  “You saw it?” the stranger asked.

  She nodded, breathless. “I felt… everything. So many lives. So many voices…”

  The stranger knelt by the fountain and dipped his hand in.

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  The liquid clung to his skin like mercury.

  He turned to them then, for the first time without his cloak drawn close.

  His form shimmered.

  And shifted.

  His skin flickered pale, almost translucent. His eyes deepened into pools of swirling silver. His black hair grew lighter, edges glowing faintly. Around his shoulders, his cloak faded into smoke, revealing his true form — not entirely human, not entirely spirit.

  “You’re not from the world above,” the young man said, voice low.

  The stranger bowed his head.

  “I was born of the Hollow. Once human, long ago, but reshaped by memory and magic. I chose to remain behind when the last gates closed. To preserve the stories. To guard the door.”

  The girl stared at him. “Why leave now? Why follow us?”

  The stranger looked at the young man. “Because something has awakened. Something old. I felt it the moment you entered the Greenwood.”

  The young man tensed. “You mean the Pale Fang?”

  The stranger shook his head. “No. Something older still. A shadow that once fed on forgotten things. It slumbered when the Hollow was sealed. But your presence stirred it.”

  The young man frowned. “Why me?”

  The stranger’s gaze was heavy. “Because you carry something that does not belong. Something from outside all realms.”

  The suitcase.

  He looked down at it.

  “It’s just for carrying things,” he said.

  But even he didn’t believe it now.

  The path beyond the fountain split into three.

  One spiraled upward toward a floating observatory of glass.

  Another dove downward into a chasm lined with golden script.

  The third led straight ahead, into a hall of mirrors.

  They chose the third.

  Inside, reflections danced — not of themselves, but of others. Children running through meadows. Cities crumbling into sea. Armies marching in silence. Dragons made of light battling shadows that bled stars.

  “Each mirror holds a piece of the Hollow’s memory,” the stranger said. “Some are true. Some are dreams. All are dangerous.”

  As they walked, one mirror pulsed red.

  The girl stopped in front of it.

  A scene unfolded — a young woman, cloaked in green, standing atop a tower with her staff raised high. She was older, weary, but radiant with power.

  And beside her — the young man, wearing a black cloak of stars, holding a blade of impossible shape.

  They fought something that couldn’t be seen — only felt.

  A presence of hunger.

  A void with eyes.

  The mirror cracked.

  Then shattered.

  A tremor shook the hall.

  “Go,” the stranger urged. “It’s coming.”

  “What is it?” the girl asked.

  The stranger didn’t answer.

  Instead, he turned and faced the darkness pooling at the far end of the hall.

  It was not a shape, but an absence — a yawning, colorless hunger that devoured memory as it moved. The Hollow recoiled from it. Mirrors turned black. The floor fractured.

  The young man grabbed the girl’s hand. “Run!”

  They fled through the nearest arch as the void surged behind them, swallowing the hall.

  They burst into a chamber of crystal — spires of light jutting from the floor, humming with power.

  Here, the Hollow was strong.

  The stranger appeared moments later, panting, his form flickering.

  “She’s awakening,” he said.

  “Who?” the girl asked.

  “The Hollow itself. She remembers now. And she’s afraid.”

  The young man looked around. “What do we do?”

  The stranger looked at the staff in the girl’s hand. “You brought a seed of her memory back when you entered the Greenwood. Your staff — it’s not just a focus. It’s a key.”

  The girl raised it.

  The green light had changed.

  Now it was white-hot — pulsing with urgency.

  “She wants to live again,” she whispered. “But she’s broken.”

  The stranger nodded. “You can restore her. But the cost…”

  He looked at the young man.

  “…is yours.”

  The suitcase felt heavier than ever.

  “What’s inside it?” the girl asked.

  He opened it.

  Inside were objects from his world: a book, a pocket watch, a photo of people he didn’t remember, a worn coat, a device that blinked with dying light.

  Mundane.

  Meaningless.

  Yet… not.

  “These are my memories,” he realized.

  “Your anchor,” the stranger said. “The Hollow can only live if something else is forgotten.”

  The girl stepped forward. “But that’s cruel.”

  “It’s balance,” the stranger said. “To remember, something must be let go.”

  The young man looked at the girl.

  She held out her hand.

  “I won’t let you forget who you are.”

  He smiled.

  Then placed the suitcase on the ground.

  And let go.

  Light exploded from the staff.

  The Hollow trembled.

  And began to sing.