“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.
