Chapter 5 #2
The air smelled of rot and flowers and something chemical that made my nose burn.
I saw what Kaelren meant about outcasts and radicals—these were people who’d been changed by magic or birth or choice, people who’d ended up here because they had nowhere else to go.
A group huddled around a fire that burned without wood, passing around a pipe that released smoke that swirled in patterns of violet and green.
Another cluster seemed to be trading goods that writhed in their containers, while a fight broke out near the platform’s edge over what looked like a handful of teeth.
“Stay close,” Kaelren said, his hand on my arm again, possessive and controlling. “They can smell the human on you, even with the marks. Some of them haven’t had fresh meat in years.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s not a joke.”
A figure approached from the shadows of the tree—tall, thin, with bark-like skin and eyes that glowed soft green. They wore robes that seemed to be made of living moss, and when they walked, flowers bloomed in their footsteps only to die seconds later.
“Kaelren,” they said, their voice like wind through leaves. “You bring strangers to the Hollow.”
“I bring someone who needs answers, Sage Willowmere.”
The Sage’s eyes turned to me, and I felt them looking not at me but through me, into me, at things I didn’t know existed.
“The marked one,” they breathed. “The one who shouldn’t be.” They moved closer, and I smelled earth and growing things and decay all at once. “May I?”
They reached out toward my collarbone where the marks were visible above my armor.
“Whoa, hey, personal space.” I batted their hand away. “What happened to consent in this realm?”
The Sage tilted their head, curious rather than offended. “You object to being examined?”
“I object to being treated like a specimen. I’m a person, not a science experiment.”
“You’re both,” they said simply. “And if I don’t examine the marks, you’ll be a dead person in within days.”
“Everyone keeps saying that like it’s supposed to make me cooperative.”
“Elle.” Kaelren’s voice had that edge that meant he was running out of patience. “The Sage can help you. Let them.”
“Or what?”
“Or you become something that isn’t you anymore.” For once, there was no cruelty in his tone. Just fact. “Your choice.”
I looked down at the marks spreading across my collarbone, remembering the vision I’d had when they first appeared—every cell remembering something it had forgotten, being rewritten from the inside out.
“If this goes wrong—” I started.
“Then it goes wrong,” the Sage interrupted. “But doing nothing guarantees the wrong outcome. Doing something at least gives you a chance.”
I hated that they were right. “Fine. But you owe me an explanation after. A real one, not cryptic sage nonsense.”
“I promise nothing but honesty.” The Sage reached out again. “Which is often worse.”
This time I let them touch me, but I didn’t relax. Didn’t trust it. Kept my eyes open and my guard up, even as their bark-rough fingers made contact with the golden lines on my skin.
The moment their skin touched my marks, the world exploded.
Not literally—though in this realm, that was always a possibility.
But suddenly I could see everything. Every root beneath the ground, every leaf on every tree, every connection between every living thing.
The realm was a web of light and life and power, and I was part of it, had always been part of it, would always be—
Time lost meaning. I could see centuries in a heartbeat—the first growth, the first bloom, the first death.
The marks spread across my skin, golden vines reaching for my face, and I didn’t care.
Didn’t want to care. Why would I need a human face when I could be forest?
Why would I need thoughts when I could be pure growth?
Something was happening to the platform. I was vaguely aware of it—flowers blooming beneath me, roots cracking through ancient mushroom flesh. The crew was shouting. Or were they? Sound was strange now. Everything was strange except the connection, the perfect, terrible connection—
“ENOUGH.”
Kaelren’s hand clamped down on my wrist, his corruption flooding my marks with cold silver-black light, severing the connection like an axe through roots. The vision shattered. The Sage stumbled back, and I fell to my knees, gasping, shaking, my human lungs suddenly remembering they needed air.
“Fascinating,” the Sage said, looking at their fingers, which were now traced with golden lines that matched my marks. “She’s not just marked. She’s becoming.”
“Becoming what?” Kaelren demanded.
“Something new. Something that hasn’t existed since the first growth.” The Sage looked at me with something like pity. “You poor child. You have no idea what you’re carrying.”
“Then tell me,” I managed, getting shakily to my feet.
“I cannot. The knowledge must come from within, or it will destroy you.” They turned to Kaelren. “You know this. You’ve felt it through your—connection.”
“We’re not connected,” Kaelren said quickly, too quickly.
The Sage laughed, a sound like trees falling. “Lie to yourself if you must, but don’t lie to me. Your marks call to hers. Hers answer. Whether you admit it or not changes nothing.”
“Can you help her or not?” Kaelren’s voice was sharp, dangerous.
“I can teach her to not die immediately. Whether that’s helping is debatable.” The Sage turned back to me. “You have perhaps days before the marks consume you entirely. Unless you learn control.”
“Days?” I felt cold despite the warm air. “What happens after days?”
“You become something else. Something that might save this realm or destroy it.” They smiled, and it was terrible. “No pressure.”
“Oh good, no pressure. Just the fate of an entire realm. That’s totally manageable.”
“Sarcasm,” the Sage observed. “How wonderfully human. Try to hold onto that. You’ll need something to anchor you when the power tries to take your mind.”
“Again, not reassuring.”
“Reassurance is for those with hope. You have something better.”
“What?”
“Inevitability.” They turned and began walking toward the tree. “Come. We have work to do, and not much time to do it.”
I looked at Kaelren, who was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, but I could tell he was lying. Something about what the Sage had said bothered him. The connection, maybe. Or the fact that I had days, not weeks or months.
“Look,” I said, “about this connection thing—”
“There is no connection,” he cut me off. “The Sage is wrong. Whatever you think you feel, it’s just proximity. Nothing more.”
“I didn’t say I felt anything.”
“Good. Because you don’t. And neither do I.”
He turned and followed the Sage, leaving me standing there feeling oddly rejected, which was stupid because I didn’t want a connection with him anyway. He was angry and bitter and had literally threatened to kill me multiple times.
But still.
“He’s lying,” Peeble said, appearing on my shoulder. “About the connection. He feels it. It terrifies him.”
“Why?”
“Because connections mean caring. And caring means pain when you lose someone. He’s had enough of both.”
I followed them into the tree, trying to ignore the weird awareness of Kaelren somewhere ahead of me.
The Sage had said our marks were connected, but that didn’t mean I had to feel it, right?
Except I could feel something—a thread I could almost touch, a pulse that matched mine.
I told myself it was just the aftereffects of having moss-person show me the entire history of plant life.
Not a connection. Definitely not a connection.
Behind us, the crew dismounted their bees.
Bryx was cooing over Kevin, telling him what a good bee he was.
Vashael was already spreading her pollen, marking territory.
Nimor had half-vanished into shadow. Eltrien was checking supplies with the methodical care of someone who knew everything could go wrong at any moment.
Sarnyx was watching me with those blood-colored eyes, probably calculating how many pieces she could cut me into.
“Welcome to Vyn Hollow,” she said as she passed me. “Try not to die on your first day. It sets a bad precedent.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what they all say.” She paused, looking at me with something that might have been pity. “You know he’s going to get you killed, right? Kaelren. He destroys everything he touches.”
“Including himself?”
“Especially himself.” She walked away before I could respond.
The inside of the tree was hollow, carved into spiraling chambers that went up beyond what I could see and down into darkness. Lights floated freely, little wisps of luminescence that followed people around like pets. The walls were covered in writing that shifted languages when I tried to read it.
“Don’t look too closely,” Eltrien advised, appearing at my side. “The writing here can drive you mad if you’re not prepared for it.”
“What does it say?”
“Everything. Nothing. The truth you most need to hear and the lie you most want to believe.” He guided me away from the walls. “The Sage likes their games.”
“Games?”
“Tests. Lessons. Tortures. In the Hollow, they’re all the same thing.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Yes,” he agreed simply. “But it’s also effective. If you survive.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll burn your body with honors and Kaelren will blame himself for the rest of his probably-short life.”
“He’d blame himself?”
Eltrien looked at me with those silver eyes, and I saw knowledge there, the weight of witnessing patterns repeat. “He blames himself for everything. It’s his most consistent trait. Well, that and the brooding.”
“He does brood a lot.”
“It’s an art form with him. Professional-level brooding. Sometimes I think he practices in the mirror.”
Despite everything, I laughed. The sound echoed strangely in the hollow tree, bouncing off surfaces that shouldn’t exist.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For being kind. For treating me like a person instead of a problem.”
“You’re both,” he said gently. “But person comes first. Kaelren forgets that sometimes. Don’t let him forget it with you.”
Before I could respond, the Sage’s voice echoed through the hollow: “Come, marked one. Your education in not dying begins now.”
I looked at Eltrien, who gave me an encouraging nod, then headed deeper into the tree, toward whatever fresh horror passed for education here.
Behind me, I felt Kaelren watching. Always watching, always calculating, always carrying the weight of failures that might not even be his.
But I didn’t feel any connection. Definitely not. That would be ridiculous.
Even if our marks pulsed in perfect sync with each other’s heartbeat.