Chapter Twenty-Six #2
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to look bigger than I feel, trying to pretend his assessment doesn’t hit uncomfortably close to home. I am out of my depth here, and we both know it.
“How about I ask the questions?” I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing in the Hollow?”
“I live here,” he says simply, straightening up and meeting my stare.
I let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You live here?” I question, glancing around the tent—the mismatched wood, the furs, the weapons. Lived-in, yes. But willingly? Not a chance.
“Yes,” he repeats with a shrug. “Is that so hard to believe?”
I gape at him and nod slowly. He chuckles.
“Look, it’s not just me. A whole bunch of us do… better in here than out there.” He gestures vaguely toward the outside world.
“You can’t be serious,” I blurt. “We were literally attacked by a giant demon centipede an hour ago, and then almost eaten by flowers.” I hold up a hand. “Flowers, Ziek.”
“So you met the tenari.” His mouth pulls into a knowing smile. “I know the dangers here—every single one of them. I know this forest like the back of my hand. But out there…” His smile fades. “Out there, there are monsters much worse than anything in here.”
His tone is calm, but the truth weighs in it. Whatever he’s faced outside the Hollow… he believes it. Fully. Instinctively, a tremor runs through me. Because I understand. Because I’ve seen a monster with a human face. And I would take a thousand tenari over The General any day.
“Where did you go, just then?” Ziek asks quietly.
“Nowhere,” I say, shaking myself free. “I just… I get what you mean.”
He nods, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. “How long have you lived here?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Long enough,” he sighs. He moves to the table and picks up a flask, turning to offer it to me. “Now, are you going to answer my question?”
I take it gingerly, swigging it slowly. “We’re looking for something,” I say. “A gem.”
At that, he goes still.
“Oh, yeah?” He returns to his seat, guarded now.
“Yeah. The Crescent Gem. Have you heard of it?”
His eyes flick away from mine. “Erm… no. I haven’t.”
Lie. My instincts prick like needles.
“Oh really?” I tilt my head, tracking his gaze every time it dodges mine.
He avoids my eyes again. “What do you want with that thing, anyway?”
“So you do know what it is.”
“It’s a fool’s mission,” he mutters. “Half the people who come through here are chasing that gem. None of them make it back. If you think the Hollow is bad… wait until you reach Mourn Peak.”
“How do you know that?” I ask quietly, watching the fire paint his jaw in shades of gold.
“Wha—”
“You said they don’t make it back,” I repeat. “How do you know?”
His back straightens, and his brow tightens as something shifts behind his eyes.
“There are spots in this forest where the power block is thin,” he says slowly. “The deceased… they talk to me.”
A chill prickles down my spine. The dark of his pupils glints in the firelight as he lowers his head just slightly, watching for my reaction.
“You’re a Mourna,” I breathe.
“I haven’t been called that in a long time.” He gives a short, humourless laugh and runs a hand through his blonde curls.
“How comes?” I ask, more fascinated by him than I’d ever admit out loud.
“There are no Gods in this forest,” he says. “Just people trying to survive.” His voice dips lower, softer. “We don’t have our powers here. So there’s no point following the rules.”
“What about the trials… how do you deal with them?” I ask, pushing myself slowly to my feet.
My legs tremble, but they hold, and my vision doesn’t blur as it did moments ago.
The wall of weapons draws me in like a magnet—an arsenal carved from nature itself.
Knives fashioned from bone. Spears trimmed with feathers.
Arrows chipped from stone that glints dangerously in the firelight.
Ziek lifts his brows. “The trials only show up for those who are worthy.”
There’s something new in his voice—curiosity, maybe even interest. I run my fingers along the tip of a stone arrowhead, surprised by its sharpness. It feels like it was carved without a single drop of magic. Pure skill. Pure survival.
“Are you not worthy?” I ask without looking at him, letting the stone bite gently against my fingertip.
He chuckles—light, careless, but with something hidden underneath. “Apparently not.”
“Count yourself lucky,” I murmur. The memory of the last trial creeps up my spine like cold breath. It presses at my neck, a shadow I can’t turn away from.
Ziek’s eyes linger on me a second too long—me, the girl trembling in front of his weapons, but somehow chosen, somehow marked.
“Most people beg for its worth,” he says. “You speak of it like it’s a curse.”
That’s because it feels like one.
But I don’t say that. Not out loud.
“Asha? Oh my Gods—you’re okay.”
Ryder bursts into the tent, breathless, eyes wide with panic. Before I can say a word, he’s at my side, hands on my arms, shoulders, face—everywhere at once, as if making sure I’m not a hallucination.
“I’m okay,” I murmur into his shoulder as he pulls me into a tight embrace. My voice is swallowed in the fabric of his shirt.
He pulls back only enough to search my face again, then the rest of me, frantic and disbelieving.
“I’m okay,” I repeat, softer this time. It finally sinks in, and I watch his shoulders fall as the tension drains out of him in what seems like one long breath.
My gaze flicks to Ziek. “Ziek saved us.”
Ryder turns to him sharply. Ziek lifts a hand in a half-sheepish gesture. “Well, I can’t take all the credit. There were a whole bunch of us.”
Ryder takes his hand, giving him a small, solemn nod—silent gratitude wrapped in a warrior’s restraint.
“I met some of your buddies out there,” Ryder says, a crooked smile twitching at his mouth. “Interesting place to call home.”
Ziek laughs. “It has its perks.”
“I’m not judging,” Ryder says, studying him with newfound respect. “If you can survive in a place like this, you can survive anywhere.”
“How’s Nala?” I cut in, turning to Ryder. My stomach twists as I wait for the answer.
Ziek steps in before Ryder can speak. “Is that the other girl we brought in?” I nod. “She’ll be okay. The medics worked on her—gave her elixirs to speed things up. We removed the spike, but she’s gonna be off that leg for a while.”
My heart sinks. “How long is ‘a while’?”
“At least three weeks,” he says gently. “No Gifts in here, remember. It has to heal the old-fashioned way.”
Three weeks. We don’t have three weeks.
“But you said there are weak spots—places our Gifts might work—”
“Good luck finding them.” Ziek huffs a humourless laugh.
“The forest shifts, and the weak spots shift with it. Never in the same place twice.” He leans back slightly, eyes distant.
“Some of us used to chase them, trying to track a pattern. But the Hollow likes its games. Nothing stays where it’s meant to be. ”
A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Don’t I know it.”
Ryder’s jaw tightens beside me, and the same tension coils in my own.
“Wait,” I say, replaying something he’d mentioned earlier. “Did you say medics? How many of you are there?”
He quirks a brow, almost amused, and nods toward the tent flap.
“Why don’t you come see?”