Chapter Twenty-Seven
The world I step into is nothing like the Hollow.
In fact, it’s almost impossible to believe it exists inside the same nightmare forest. Hundreds of lanterns hang from the branches above, swaying gently, their warm glow spilling across towering trees and hand-built wooden walkways.
Tents—like Ziek’s, but larger and more intricate—are scattered across the clearing in a patchwork of stretched hides, woven cloth, and carved wooden pillars.
Between them rise small huts, their roofs layered with leaves and bark, forming what can only be described as a hidden village.
It isn’t huge, but it isn’t crowded either, unexpectedly bigger than I’d imagined.
My mouth falls open. Ziek notices and chuckles.
Animals roam freely: goats and chickens grazing, horses tied near water troughs. And children—actual children—laughing, racing past us, weaving between adults who move with the ease of people who belong here. My mind wanders as the lanterns crackle, questioning the faces around me.
People who look… alive. Settled. Built into the spine of the Hollow as if it were nothing more than home.
I can’t help but wonder, in a place like this, could any of them be like me?
Born from two sides.
Carved from contradictions.
I search their expressions, their laughter, their scars… but here in the Giftless Hollow, they’ll probably never know.
A towering fence encircles everything, thick as tree trunks and reinforced with brambles so dense they might as well be iron. Whatever this place is, danger has a very hard time getting in.
I take another step forward, still trying to process it all.
This world—this impossible oasis—was hidden right under the forest’s nose.
Ziek hands each of us a warm cup filled with steeped herbs and crushed petals.
The steam curls around my fingers, warming the chill that’s settled in my bones.
I stare into the bonfire at the centre of the village—its flames dancing high, painting everyone in strokes of gold and ember.
The people here have been nothing but welcoming, crowding around to share stories of the Hollow, unravelling its secrets like they’ve been waiting years to tell them.
Nala is on bedrest in one of the larger tents, but she’s alive, and that alone feels like a small miracle.
“But how do you keep the creatures out?” River asks, leaning forward with the curiosity of someone who’s already imagining worst-case scenarios. “I get the wall, but the tenari can dig. What happens then?”
Ziek smiles into his cup. “Runes. We use Enchantra to keep the village unseen. To anything outside—creature or person—this place just looks like another patch of Hollow. The forest walks right past us. It’s a misdirection.”
River whistles low under his breath.
“That’s… clever,” I say, watching the scripture carved faintly into the posts around the firelight. Clever doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s genius—and maybe the first truly safe place we’ve had since entering the Hollow.
“And we take extra precautions for when we venture outside.” Ziek lifts his sleeve, revealing Enchantra etched up his arm and spiralling across his palm.
“Whoa.” River catches his wrist, leaning in to inspect the markings. “Do you all have these?”
Ziek nods, as do several of the people gathered around us. “You can never be too safe in the Hollow.”
My eyes are particularly drawn to the one on his palm; An unfinished, upside-down triangle rests at the centre, its lowest point snapped off before it could form—an arrowhead frozen mid-descent.
Two horizontal lines cut cleanly through its middle, slicing the shape into three uneven tiers.
At each of the four outer points sits a symbol:
A sun on the left, glowing with etched rays;
A moon on the right, curved like a silver sickle;
A star crowning the top;
and at the bottom, sitting at the apex of the arrow, a tree with roots curling downward into nothing.
“What does that one mean?… On your palm.” I ask.
“This is an important one; it allows you to see through the fables of the forest.”
Oriah’s words ring in my mind—‘Mourn Peak will deceive you.’
He shows his palm to us, pointing steadily at each respective mark, “The sun stands for light and clarity,” he explains, his finger tracing the symbol.
“It cuts through the dark, reveals what hides in shadow. The moon is intuition—perception sharpened—so you can see what’s real, even when the Hollow twists the path beneath your feet.
The star guides you through the confusion, a marker when everything else feels lost. And the tree…
” his hand rests on the final point, “the tree anchors you. It’s grounding, a connection to the Hollow itself.
It keeps you steady when the illusions try to pull you under. ”
“Do they work at Mourn Peak as well?” I question.
“Yeah—everywhere around here.” Ziek gestures loosely to the forest, as if it’s all one enormous breathing organism.
“Can you do it on us before we go?” I ask, my voice more hopeful than I intend.
River’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are we sure we need that?”
“I think we could use all the help we can get,” Ryder says before I can open my mouth. His tone leaves no room for argument.
Ziek studies him for a heartbeat, then nods. “I think so too.” Their eyes meet in a mutual understanding that makes something in my chest settle. “Eat. I’ll gather the artists.”
“Thank you,” I say, soft but sincere.
A little girl approaches, carrying a wooden bowl brimming with rice and stewed meat. “Here you go,” she says, handing it to me with both palms, and I take it gratefully.
“I like your eyes,” she adds shyly. “They’re so pretty.”
“Thank you,” I smile back, warmth blooming in my chest despite everything. “Yours are pretty too—deep blue like the ocean.”
Her cheeks flush pink as she pushes loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’ve never seen the ocean. Have you?” The question jolts an ache in me that I never knew I had. Such innocence in a place like this.
“Yes,” I answer, the memory of salt air brushing across my mind. “I had to cross one to get here.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. Are they really as big as people say?”
“Bigger,” I enthuse, unable to hold back a soft laugh. She giggles too, delighted, and Ryder glances over at me. There’s a gentle look in his eyes—fond, amused, almost peaceful.
And then—
“What’s that?” she asks suddenly, pointing at Ryder’s arm—at the dark, inky veins threading up from his wrist.
“Kalia, let them eat in peace,” her mother calls from across the fire.
“It’s fine,” Ryder reassures her with a small smile.
“That’s his magic arm,” I tell her with a grin, playing into her curiosity. “It gives him powers and makes him stronger than anyone else.”
“Stronger than Daddy?” she asks, turning to look at Ziek—who has just returned with two other men.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ryder says, raising a teasing eyebrow.
Kalia beams, then darts toward Ziek, leaping into his arms. He catches her easily, spinning her once before setting her on his hip.
The sight is disarming—gentle, unexpected warmth in a place built from fear and shadows. For just a moment, the Hollow feels almost… safe.
***
The pain throbs in my palm, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, and I squeeze my eyes shut to ride it out. Xylar—the artist working on me—moves with as much care as he can manage, but with a makeshift needle carved from Hollow twigs, even gentle hurts.
Ryder barely flinched when he got his done.
Now he sits flexing his fingers, clenching and releasing his fist as he studies the fresh mark stamped into his skin.
The ink they use is made from crushed beetle blood—Hollow beetles, the kind whose metallic shells shimmer like oil.
Their blood doesn’t fade, and in certain light, the tattoos almost glow.
“Will this get me out of the next trial?” I ask, hope lingering on my tongue even as I wince.
“Sadly, no.” He pauses, glancing up at me. “But it may help you get through them.”
A quiet settles between us. All I can hear is the soft scrape of his tool and my own breathing as he fills in the last of the design. The final strokes are slow and deliberate, as if he’s sealing something more than ink into my skin.
“And… done,” Xylar announces, scraping his chair back as he reaches for a small clay jar on the table beside us. The tent is similar to Ziek’s, though the rug beneath my feet belongs to an animal I do not recognise—thick, dark, and oddly patterned.
“This should help with the healing.” He smooths a cool salve over my palm. I flinch, but the relief spreads quickly, the throbbing easing into something dull and manageable.
“Thank you.” I lift my hand, admiring the design. The lines are precise, almost elegant. He really has done a beautiful job.
“You did well,” Xylar says with a small grin. “Less squeamish than the blonde boy.”
“River?” I laugh, and he nods before ducking out of the tent.
Ryder steps closer, eyes drifting to my palm. “I didn’t think you could get any sexier… I was wrong.” He breathes, kissing the design.
Heat blooms in my cheeks, and my fingers lift instinctively toward his shirt—but stop just short of touching him. And then the tent flap rustles, pulling both Ryder and me from the moment. Nala hobbles inside on a pair of crutches fashioned from wood and bark.
“Nala, what are you doing? You’re not supposed to be walking.” I dart to her side, slipping an arm around her and guiding her to the nearest chair.
“I know, I know,” she sighs, easing herself down. “But I was bored, and Ziek said you were in here, so…” Her eyes brighten. “Let me see it.”
She grabs my wrist with surprising eagerness and tilts my palm toward the light.
“Cool, right?” I grin through the lingering sting.
“So cool!” she beams, her whole face lighting up.
“So how’s the leg?” Ryder asks, pushing off the tent wall and strolling over.
“It’s… still there,” she says with a half–laugh. “The medics said I should make a full recovery, but…” Her smile wavers. “I don’t think I can finish the journey with you. I’ll just slow you down.”
My heart sinks. I knew this would be the case, but I didn’t want to believe it.
“Ziek said I can stay here,” she adds quickly, forcing the smile back into place. “Just—come get me when you save the world, okay?”
I glance at Ryder. His expression mirrors mine—sadness wrapped in acceptance.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask softly, worry crinkling my forehead.
“Don’t worry about me,” she reassures, glancing toward the bustling village outside. “This place is a fortress.” Then her eyes narrow with concern. “Are you going to be okay?”
I nod, though it feels flimsy. “Ziek said he’ll go with us. At least until we reach the end of the Hollow.”
“Good,” she murmurs, relief softening her shoulders. She turns to Ryder. “Promise me—no more bickering with River. You’re all each other has out there, so look out for one another. The Hollow is a scary place.”
Ryder straightens and gives a small, solemn nod. “Copy that.”
Though I know River won’t make it easy for him.