The creature tilts its head at me, its tangled hair spilling over a frame that barely qualifies as a body. It’s like someone took the idea of a person and sketched it wrong on purpose.
My stomach curls, but I’ve learned my lesson from the cottage. You can’t avoid the trials. The Hollow is a sick maze, designed to circle you back no matter how far you stray. I swallow hard and force myself towards it.
“H-hello,” I attempt, though my voice wavers and sounds small even to me.
I take a step forward. Then another. Each one feels like it’s prying my ribs apart, letting my frantic heartbeat echo through the gaps. The memory of the village—the warmth of the fire, the taste of steeped herbs, Nala’s laugh—feels like it’s slipping away, too fragile to hold onto in the face of this.
Another trial.
So soon.
The Hollow isn’t giving me time to breathe between blows.
Maybe that’s the point. Wear me down. Strip me hollow. Break me.
The creature extends its arm slowly, the bones shifting beneath its papery skin. It lifts its head, but still I see no face. Its muscles move with such stiff, rigid precision that I half expect to hear an engine whir beneath its skin, or the squeal of a hinge begging for oil.
“Do you accept the challenge?”
The voice is a grinding rumble, like stone dragged across stone. Too deep for its fragile frame.
My mouth dries. I swallow again, this time, the lump in my throat refuses to give. “…yes.”
Before the sound fades, its skeletal fingers whip forward and clamp around my forearm. The speed steals my breath. I jerk, a strangled sound escaping me, as my teeth clack together.
Behind me, all three boys gasp—finally seeing what I’m seeing.
The creature leans in, its breath cold and rancid, and speaks:
“For the gem to rise, let truth be spoken.
Speak your heart, or ties fall broken.
When choice is made, and fear is close…
Kiss the soul you trust the most.”
Another riddle.
Another damn riddle.
My mind replays the words again and again until thought itself begins to fracture. The gravestone. The cottage. Now this. These trials aren’t just physical—they’re psychological, stripping me bare. Like peeling the coating off a live wire, they unravel my sanity one coil at a time.
I trust Ryder. I do. But the Hollow wouldn’t have chosen this trial if it were meant to be easy.
Part of me wants to run—to leave and never come back, to let the world burn. At least then I might know peace. I might know a world that doesn’t ache for my help. But I know better. Even with the legs of a cheetah and the heart of an elion, I can’t outrun the Hollow. And I can’t outrun my destiny.
My stomach drops. I look at Ryder first. His eyes are wide, fear drowning every ounce of colour in them. There’s hurt there too—he’s already bracing for something, like he’s preparing for impact.
Then River.
He’s not hiding his hope.
It flares like a spark in dry grass. One kiss—that’s all it would take for that spark to become a wildfire.
My heart trusts Ryder.It always has. Even when it scared me.
But my mind—my mind still remembers the serum.
