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Fire ignited around Orzen’s hands. Burning blue flame illuminated the fog in an aura around him. He stumbled further out of reach. The flames surged, climbing his body, swallowing him bit by bit.

His eyes glazed as if he wasn’t seeing the Hollow at all.

“Orzen! Please!”

Wren would never reach him in time. She pushed forward faster. The cold, fetid water clung to her clothes. Each step cost precious seconds. She dragged her hooves toward him, water rising past her thighs. Nearly there. Please, hold on. The heat coming from him hit her like a wall, but she lunged anyway. Grabbed hold of his arm. The vision struck like lightning.

An older man with thick black hair at a forge. Da. His father. Sparks rose. Oil burned. Flames devoured everything. His father cried out as the fire consumed him.

Dark, inhuman eyes gleamed through the smoke—Not his father’s. The monster’s.

Dead. Gone. Because of you.

The heat coming through his armor blistered her fingers. She stifled a cry and rammed her Spirit into him—compelling the vision to release him. This isn’t real. Orzen, please—come back.

The flames flickered. Emotions not her own flooded across the connection—fear, anguish, shame, and above them all a desire to never feel that way again. For a moment, she thought she’d lost him, but she held on and the pain eased.

Heat snapped away, like a chain torn apart. The fire withdrew from his arm and blade like a dying breath. Wren staggered as the forge collapsed around them. Orzen blinked, unable to shake himself from the clouded remnants of the vision.

Before them, the Matriarch reared back, hissing, dozens of mouths screeching in fury all along its body.

Wren seized Orzen’s arm, dragging him toward the path. Her burned hand throbbed, blisters tearing open as she pulled him desperately through the sucking mud. Orzen reached for his sword. It wobbled and fell back into the scabbard, his muscles too sluggish to wield it.

A whistle cut through the Hollow. An arrow hit the Matriarch’s shoulder with a wet thud. Black ichor splattered across the surface like a slick of oil. The creature shrieked, staggering sideways. Its clusters of eyes darted in every direction at once.

Wren’s head snapped toward the source of the arrow, high upon the rocky wall behind the creature. A figure splashed from a shelf along the wall of the Hollow—a woman, short and wiry, with purple-black curls springing in every direction around an impish face. Even standing still, she vibrated with restless energy.

Her bow was already drawn again. A grin as wicked as a knife’s edge split her features. “Thought we’d killed you already,” the woman called toward the Matriarch, voice bright with mockery.

The monster swung away from the path, mouths yawning wide. The words echoed back, broken and doubled.

Kill you. Killled you. Kiiiill…

Another figure slipped from the mist opposite her—broader, calmer, crimson hair almost black at the roots, tendrils curling low across his brow. He lunged forward, daggers glinting in his hands.

“Guess we’ll need to try harder this time, sister,” he said.

The Matriarch jerked toward him, its mouths parroting.

Try harder…sister…harder this time…

But his dagger plunged into its torso, oily black filth spilling into the water. It shrieked, claws lashing. The woman vaulted backward with a bright, delighted laugh, loosing another arrow into its abdomen.

Wren’s skin crawled as she dragged Orzen onto the path. Whoever they were, they weren’t afraid. She wasn’t sure whether that was comforting or deeply alarming.

“She looks worse than last time,” the woman called, loosing another arrow, quick as breath.

“Hard to imagine,” her brother replied, daggers flicking in smooth, merciless arcs.

The two moved in perfect rhythm: her bowstring snapping, his blades sinking deep. Black ichor frothed in the Matriarch’s mouths as they muttered garbled fragments of speech.

The monster’s head jerked wildly between them, too many eyes trying to track two targets who refused to stay still. Its voice tangled, stuttering. Worse. Last time…imagine…immmagine…

Jessa whistled low. “Should we…I don’t know, help?”

Wren pressed her fingers into Orzen’s armor, steadying him—steadying herself—as they dragged themselves back onto solid ground. The twins circled like wolves, exchanging quips as easily as they traded blows.

“I…I think they’ve got this.”