I pull myself upright, finding the cold comfort of the rock at my back.My chin tilts toward the ceiling above, as my eyes flutter closed, waiting for breath to fill my lungs.
The dream still clings to me like a stubborn stain; the pale golden hair, the weight of her presence, and the way her voice wraps around my name.
Coldness strokes my face, forcing my eyes to open.The shadows stir restlessly, my eyes tracking their movements across the walls, landing at the top, poised like silent sentinels.
They swirl, circling like vultures around a mark that has suddenly appeared.
I recoil as if struck, the truth hitting me harder than a physical blow.I wipe away the fog clouding my mind with the back of my hand, until my thoughts become clear.
A crescent.
My palms fumble against the rocky ground, the stones leaving tiny imprints where my weight forces them into my skin.My head tilts, neck straining as I scramble to my feet.
It’s so clear now; the perfectly formed shape carved into the stone above, black and impossible.
But how?Who could have done this?
A gust of cold night air sends shivers cascading down my skin as the pendant at my throat begins to warm.
My hand drifts to the metal resting on my collarbone, fingers tracing the shape until the tip nicks my skin.A small bead of blood hangs there, threatening to topple.
In the Hollow, it marks those who once served Nyx—the same symbol etched into ruins, the one whispered about in warnings.But as the years passed, so did the days of her reign, and her mark withered and died along with her.Or so the stories go.
The pendant’s been mine for as long as I can remember, passed down from a mother I never got a chance to know.It stays hidden under my clothing, away from scrutinising eyes that see only its ties to a lethal faith, rather than its weight of loss.
Luminaries forbade her name—and her mark—after the Cleansing; anyone caught worshipping her was consigned to the pyre, their memory scattering like ash in the wind.
The metal feels heavier in my palm, as if it belongs more to this place than to me.Heat spreads down my fingertips, almost in acknowledgement of my thoughts.
I grasp tighter, welcoming the pain as the sharp points cut into my skin.It brings a sense of justice as blood trickles down through my palm.
Something stirs in the corner of my vision as my shadows flinch, slithering back to my side.
And then I see him.
A shadow in the cave’s mouth.Cloaked.Watching.
My stomach lurches, threatening to release what little food I have left in my body.Blindly, I sweep up the scattered contents, shoving them into the bag with a reckless haste.The threat of those watching eyes burns against my back, urging me to run.
The satchel swings as it lands on my shoulder, the straps of Yara’s bag weighing heavy as the secrets within turn to stone.
My heart takes off like a startled bird, fluttering wildly in my chest as the unwanted presence has me staring into the shadows.The faint outline of the figure I was so sure I saw, is nowhere to be seen.Still, I can’t risk staying here, I’ve got to go.
I bolt for the nearest opening in the stone.As if already knowing the way, the shadows surge ahead, and the tunnel swallows me whole.
* * *
Darkness becomes absolute,a lightlessness that eats at the edges of my vision.The pull at my spine only grows the further the shadows go, guiding me through this ink-stained maze.
Mustiness hangs like a sodden shroud.Ancient, acrid fumes writhe and coil, boring into my lungs until my very blood begins to hum with a restless static.
Damp spreads across my coat as the walls press in close.I’m glad I have no time to pause and observe my surroundings, claustrophobia would only eat away at my insides.
My boots slap against the layer of water that covers the ground like a film of black, the only sound that adds to my sawing breaths.The path twists and turns in a never ending loop, until it opens into a wide chamber.Luminescent grubs dot the room, casting an eerie, green glow, like fireflies on a Hollow summer’s day.
Four doorways are spaced evenly around the walls like the points of a compass.The domed, circular ceiling has me trapped like a bug beneath one of Yara’s mixing bowls.In the very centre stands a single black stone.Its surface is smooth and flat; the light from the grubs making the exterior gleam like a shard of volcanic glass.
I stagger forward, clutching at my knees as I fight for air.My eyes dart to each doorway, searching for the mysterious figure that seems determined to make me his captive.But there’s nothing but an empty silence.
