The Hollow Path

The morning sun was a soft glow against the canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Liora sat on a large stone, staring at the overgrown remnants of what had once been a bustling village. The air here was still thick with magic, but it was a different kind of magic, one that felt ancient, forgotten, and cursed. Even the wind seemed to whisper in strange tongues as it danced through the gnarled branches of long-dead trees.

She hadn't meant to find this place. It had drawn her in like a pull on her heart, a whisper that had grown louder and louder in the back of her mind until she had no choice but to follow it. She knew she was walking the path of danger—an ancient trail where few had survived—but something deeper in her soul urged her forward.

The village, or what was left of it, appeared to have been abandoned for centuries. Crumbled stone walls, blackened beams that had long since decayed, and twisted roots that had grown through the cracks where homes once stood. Yet, there was a faint energy here, a pulse beneath the earth that spoke to her in ways words never could.

Liora's fingers twitched at her side as she felt the stirrings of her magic. It was restless, eager, as though it recognized something in this place. Something important. The whispers that tugged at her thoughts had grown stronger.

This was no mere village. It was a sacred site.

With steady hands, she began to walk deeper into the heart of the ruins. Each step took her further into the tangled undergrowth, past charred remains of what might have been a temple, and towards the crumbling stone archway in the distance. The arch was untouched by time, the carvings still sharp and vivid, despite the wear of centuries. Symbols of protection and forbidden knowledge intertwined in a dance that she could almost understand.

Stopping before it, Liora closed her eyes and reached out with her magic. A chill ran through her as her senses were flooded with the weight of the place. It was a burial ground, but not just for bodies—it was a resting place for souls.

But there was something wrong.

The dead here were not at peace. They were restless, bound to the place, unable to move on. The scent of decay mingled with the acrid sting of unresolved magic, and for a moment, Liora felt herself caught between the world of the living and the dead. A suffocating heaviness pressed in on her chest.

"Who… are you?" she whispered into the silence.

The answer came not in words, but in the gust of wind that swept through the village, swirling dust and leaves in the air. Something cold, something ancient, stirred behind her.

Liora turned.

From the depths of the shadows, a figure emerged—a wraithlike form, its face hidden beneath a tattered cloak. But even without a visible face, the presence radiated power. The thing that stood before her was not of this world. Not a ghost. Not a simple spirit. It was something far older, far darker.

A soulkeeper.

A being whose purpose was to guard the boundary between life and death. But this one, unlike the guardians she had encountered before, was twisted. There was something warped in its form, something that didn't belong. It was bound to this place, but it was also its prisoner.

"I have come for the key," the wraith rasped, its voice low, like the wind through the cracked stones. "The key to set them free."

Liora's heart skipped a beat. "Key? What key?"

The wraith moved closer, its form flickering as if it were struggling to hold its shape. "The one who walks between worlds. You. You are the one who can release them."

Her breath caught in her throat. She understood what the wraith was implying. The key it spoke of was her. It had to be. She was a necromancer, someone who could see and communicate with the dead, someone who could break the chains that held restless spirits.

But this wasn't just any village. This place had been abandoned because of what had been buried here. This was no simple burial ground. This was a place where the dead had been trapped, bound by old, forgotten rituals, and it was her power that would unlock their release.

The question was whether she could—and whether she should.

The wraith moved closer still, its hand outstretched toward her. The air around them began to freeze, a chill so deep it seeped into her bones. It wasn't just the dead that lingered here—it was something older, more dangerous. Something that fed on souls. Something that craved her power.

"You don't have to do this," Liora said, her voice steady, but the panic rising in her chest. "You're bound here for a reason."

"You misunderstand," the wraith rasped, its head tilting slightly. "I am not the one bound. You are. And you are the only one who can release me."

The weight of its words pressed in on her. She had always known there was a deeper layer to her magic, that it wasn't just about summoning and controlling the dead. There was an ancient curse attached to her power—an inheritance, perhaps. A consequence.

If she used her power here, she would be bound to this place, bound to the same fate that had claimed the souls before her. She would become part of the curse.

But there was a part of her that wanted to release them. To set these souls free, to rid them of the pain and torment that had shackled them to this place. Could she undo centuries of suffering? Could she wield her magic for good and not just for control?

Liora's fingers twitched as she reached for her staff, but the air around her thickened, tightening like a noose. She could feel the weight of centuries pressing in on her, the souls calling to her, beckoning her to set them free.

But the cost would be high.

"I can't do this," she said, more to herself than to the wraith. "I can't release you."

"You already have," the wraith whispered, its voice a faint rasp in the air. "You already have."

With that, the wraith lunged forward, its cold, skeletal hand wrapping around her wrist. The world around her shattered.

Liora awoke with a start, her heart racing, her hands cold with sweat. She was no longer in the ruined village. She was back in the woods, her back against the cool stone of a forgotten shrine. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she tried to steady herself.

It had been a dream. Or had it?

The memory of the wraith lingered, its cold fingers still pressing against her skin.

Liora stood slowly, her knees weak, her mind swirling with questions. Had she really been the one to awaken that curse? Could she truly be the key?

And more importantly—was she strong enough to hold it back?