A prayer to the Divine Mother stumbles from my lips—an impiety I never thought I’d utter.I thank her for this velvet shroud, for the way the street’s blackest corners stitch me into the night.
I gulp down the air before slipping out, past the stagnant canals and into the dense, breathing forest of Wyrmwood Cavern.My breath comes in sharp bursts as I collapse against a Dragonious tree.Its spindly trunk towers over me, a skeletal hand reaching for a sun it has never known.Above, the leaves are so dark they look bruised, forming a canopy that smothers the world below.
I scan the path behind me, looking for any blur of white among the soot-stained trunks.The forest is a graveyard of skeletal hands, and for now, it seems to have consumed my trail.A heavy breath releases into the quiet, a wisp of cloud following in its wake.
The bark is rough and scaled beneath my touch, mirroring the dragon-hide of its namesake—silent, prehistoric sentinels in this realm of stone.
Effervescent plants and fungi erupt from the blanket of leaves, their ghostly glow staining the bedding of decay.The ground is soft and yielding, a mulch of life and rot beneath my careful steps.It’s been years since I touched this hide; the texture is a childhood ghost rising to greet me.
It’s just as I remember.But instead of fear, I’m captivated by its eerie beauty.I am a creature of the dark, returning to where I belong.
I move deeper into the growth, my hands tracing the tree trunks as I go.The cave entrance widens before me like a mouth trapped in a frozen, jagged yawn.Bioluminescent ivy and moss braid across the stone, coating the walls like a layer of hair and skin.
A wave of feverish warmth catches in my chest, washing over me and thawing the perpetual chill from my marrow.My soul seems to settle into its hollow, finally locking into place with a silent, resounding click.
Home.
I take a tentative step forward, letting the phantom fingers of the dark draw me deeper, until the light of the forest is severed.I’m consumed by a deeper blackness—a void that doesn’t just hide me, but reclaims me.
10
SEREN
An icy touch snares my fingers, pulling me deeper into the void.Each step a battle against the dense, ancient air—a stagnant fog thick enough to chew.
Minutes crawl by before the dark begins to fracture into shapes.The space around me bursts open, as if I’m standing within the exposed guts of the Hollow—a serrated, violent tear in its very skin.A bone-deep hum vibrates through the floor, a heavy pressure that grinds against my eardrums until my stomach heaves.
Vaulted black ceilings tower above, their stalactites hanging like obsidian spears—a lingering, silent threat.I am that lost, little girl again, the crushing vastness of the cave reminding me of just how small I am in this world.
Massive onyx rocks circle the cenote, forming a craggy, protective barrier.I can’t tell if they are meant to shield what lies beneath, or to guard against what looms above.
My eyes almost mistake the basin for a sheet of volcanic glass.The polished water is perfectly, unnaturally still, offering no reflection—only a sinister calm that feels like a held breath.It’s quiet; so quiet that the vast silence feels like a sound in itself.
Black tendrils of shadow unspool from my feet, skittering away like hounds on a fresh scent.I scan the cavern, straining for a single recognisable line of rock, but the environment refuses to mimic my dream.
The inky waters offer no hint of a familiar face—only a cold, featureless anonymity.A lead-heavy weight fills my chest, anchoring me to the stone.I knew the vision was a cruel delusion, but a small, stubborn ember within had hoped for a miracle.
I’m sure this is the place; the truth of it hums in my very bones.But here—in the gut of the world—there is nothing but cold rock and stagnant water.What am I missing?
Stone crunches beneath my boots, the sound rippling through the dark.The echoes scour the walls before rebounding into the depths of my being.
A frenetic ballet of shadows plays out in the distance, vibrant and hungry against the cavern wall.Their tendrils caress every inch of the rock with a reverence of a long-lost friend.Then, they freeze—sensing my gaze—before gliding over the water, leaving ghostly ripples in their wake.A comforting chill settles deep, their ecstasy confirming the truth I felt in my bones.
I am home.
They coil around my legs like black vines desperate to feed.A wisp of smoke skims my cheek, and I find myself leaning into the touch— cold like fog on glass.My shoulders hunch, and my head hangs heavy on my thin frame as the relief leaches the strength from my muscles.
Exhaustion claims me, turning my mind into a dense fog of grief and memory.The shadows braid around my body, lifting the burden from my shoulders.They move me with a tender precision that is almost obscene—a haunting contrast to the venom they showed Sylas.
Maybe Yara was right.Maybe they only wanted to end his suffering.Maybe it’s a good thing he’s gone.The mere taint of those thoughts makes my stomach lurch.
Guilt floods me—toxic, heavy, and suffocating—for even daring to entertain the mercy of it.The gnawing void in my chest fractures wider as the hisses of my own mind turn into an endless scream.Tears scald my face, leaving bitter, salty tracks behind.
I surrender to the shadows, letting their dark pull drag me toward a cluster of rocks in a far, forgotten corner.Yara’s bag lands with a dull thump on the floor, the shadows sliding the straps from my shoulders with a sickeningly tender grace.They set me against the largest stone, their touch hauntingly soft, before they try to melt back into the dark.I reach for one of the tendrils, cold wisps of black braiding around my hand like a ghostly promise.
They mold to the shape of my fingers, intertwining with my own in a strange, silent dance.We sit in a heavy stillness, both of us savouring the pulse of this new connection.
Eventually, the silence—and my precarious hold on it—fractures.
