chapter 10: Hollow Hearth

The cobbled path welcomed them in crooked turns, stone edges softened by age and moss. As the group stepped deeper into Thistledown, the lanterns drifted nearer, bobbing like curious eyes.

No one stopped them. No one asked who they were.

But eyes watched.

A woman lingered on a balcony above, her fingers dipping in and out of a bowl of ink as if stirring a spell. Her face was half-shadowed by strands of silver hair, and the ink clung to her fingers like oil. She didn't blink.

Below her, a man sat in a rocking chair that rocked itself, unmoving but alert. His gaze followed them, slow and deliberate, and his coat looked sewn from torn parchment or molted skin.

Children played beneath a hedge that hummed like bees, singing a rhyme in a language none of them knew. One child had extra joints in her fingers, moving them in delicate patterns as she sang. Another's eyes were too large, black and glinting, reflecting the group as if through water.

Everywhere they looked, the people were almost normal. Almost.

Cress slowed beside Sollene, her eyes tracking everything at once.

"This place is beautiful, but the people are…" she murmured.

"Creepy," Sollene said. "I think the word fits."

It was then the woman appeared—older, wrapped in a shawl of braided threads that shimmered like dusk. Her hair was white but coiled like vines, and her eyes were sharp, ancient things set in a kindly face that didn't quite match them.

"You're not from here," she said.

Thane stepped forward first, tense but not unkind. "We're just passing through."

"No one just passes through Thistledown." The woman smiled faintly. "But I won't stop you."

She looked them over one by one, then reached into her shawl and pulled out four small charms woven from thin silver thread and soft, dark leaves. They pulsed faintly in her palm.

"Take one," she offered, holding them toward the group. "They're for memory. For safety, if the place tries to blur."

Cress looked up at Sollene.

Sollene took one first, careful, fingers brushing the woman's. "Thank you." She tried to sound polite, though unease still clung to her voice.

Cress followed, her grip quick, nervous. Thane hesitated. Cael didn't move at all.

"You don't want one?" the woman asked, gaze flicking between the boys.

"We'll be fine," Thane said quietly.

Cael just shook his head once.

Maeril didn't argue. She tucked the remaining charms back into the folds of her shawl. "Suit yourselves," she said. "Just don't forget who you are."

"But you need somewhere to stay, don't you?" Maeril asked, tilting her head, her wide smile lined with something unreadable. "Wherever you go, if you show that charm, they'll let you stay."

Then she turned, her shawl trailing like mist behind her, and disappeared between two crooked houses without another word. The alley swallowed her as if she'd never been there at all.

The group stood in silence for a moment. Even the lanterns seemed quieter.

Thane just shook his head, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth as they started down the hill toward the village.

They followed the winding streets until the buildings grew thicker, the lanterns brighter. People passed them in ones and twos, never speaking. A man with flowers growing from the cuffs of his sleeves gave them a slow nod but didn't meet their eyes. A woman with four braids coiled like horns down her back balanced a basket of feathers on her head, walking backward down the street.

A pair of children watched them from beneath a stall draped in velvet and thistle, their mouths stitched shut with thread made of golden hair. Their eyes were calm.

Eventually, the group reached an inn its sign swinging gently in the breeze, depicting a faintly glowing hearth. Carved above the doorway in looping, curling script were the words: The Hollow Hearth.

A faint warmth rose from inside, and the scent of roasting meat and bread seemed to reach them from across the street. The building was old, but well-kept. Warm lamplight spilled through cracked windows, casting long, soft-edged shadows across the threshold. Somewhere inside, soft laughter and quiet conversation murmured through the air like a distant tide.

"I don't know," Thane muttered, peering at the building with a dubious look. "Feels too... welcoming."

"We don't have much of a choice," Sollene replied, glancing at Cress, who clutched the charm in her palm a little too tightly. "Besides, we could use a warm meal and some rest."

The door creaked open as they approached.

A thick-set man in a brown apron stood behind it. His cheeks were red from heat or drink, and his hands were still damp from scrubbing something invisible. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, but they didn't crinkle quite the right way.

"Welcome, travelers! You've found your way to The Hollow Hearth. What brings you to Thistledown on such a night?"

"We've been on the road for days," Sollene explained. "A bed would be nice."

"We've got plenty of room," the man said, his eyes lingering just a moment too long on the girls. "Come inside. Warm yourself by the fire."

Inside, the hearth crackled in greeting, casting dancing light that reached too far up the walls. The shadows moved like they were listening.

The low hum of conversation filled the air but distant, muted, like hearing it through water. Figures sat at tables: a tall woman with a raven perched on her shoulder, feeding it crumbs from a plate of untouched food; a man hunched over a mug, his head bent low, though his mouth moved constantly as if speaking to something unseen beneath the table.

"Sit, sit," the innkeeper said, gesturing to a corner table. "You're our guests tonight. Nothing to worry about. Stay as long as you like."

Thane frowned but said nothing, following the others as they took a seat.

The innkeeper busied himself behind the counter, muttering to himself as he pulled down a dusty bottle from the shelves. "Dinner will be out soon," he assured them.

As the night wore on, the warmth of the fire soothed their muscles, and the food that arrived roast vegetables, thick stew, bread was filling enough, if not extraordinary. But something lingered in the air, a sense of disquiet that none of them could shake.

The other patrons never looked their way. They whispered in voices too low to hear, hands twitching over the tablecloths, eyes glassy or half-lidded. One man stirred his drink for an hour and never drank. Another guest seemed to flicker faintly in the firelight, edges vanishing and reappearing, as if unsure he belonged at all.

Cress kept glancing around the room, her hand still clutching the charm.

"Maybe I should go get some air," she said quietly, standing up without waiting for an answer.

"Not alone," Sollene said immediately, rising from her seat to follow. Thane and Cael exchanged looks, but neither moved to stop her.

"I'll come with you," Sollene added, her tone final.

But before they reached the door, the innkeeper's voice rang out, stopping them.

"Don't go wandering about in the dark, girls," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "The village is not what it seems at night."

Sollene's hand tightened on the doorframe, but she said nothing. It was only when they stepped outside that she realized the air had changed the crispness of the night hanging heavier, pressing against her skin

Outside, the village had grown quiet.

The floating lanterns drifted slower now, their light dimmed to a soft pulse. The streets, once gently winding, seemed too narrow in the dark, like they had crept closer when no one was watching. Still, the girls didn't go far just to the edge of the courtyard beneath the inn's front windows.

Cress leaned against the wall, the charm warm in her hand. "Did it feel strange in there to you?" she asked softly.

Sollene nodded. " something doesn't feel right."

They watched the street in silence. A figure passed no, glided across the alley at the far end. It had no feet, only long trailing folds of cloth, and its head was wreathed in moths. Neither of them spoke. They only watched, and waited, until the chill of night made their bones ache and they returned inside without a word.

Sollene and Cress slept, but something curled at the edges of their sleep like smoke.

---

Morning.

Light poured through the cracks in the shutters, cool and silver. Thane stirred first, sitting up with a start. His cot was stiff and cold. He blinked at the wooden walls, then frowned.

There was no warmth.

No smell of cooking.

No voices.

He swung his legs down and stood slowly. The floor creaked. The whole place felt different. Hollow. Too still.

"Cael," he said. The boy sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Where are the girls?"

The beds on the far side were empty.

Blankets folded neatly.

No sign they had ever been there.

Thane's pulse jumped. "Sollene?" he called, louder now. "Cress?"

No answer.

They rushed downstairs and stopped dead.

The inn was gone.

The door they'd opened last night now creaked open to a dusty, broken husk of a building. No lanterns. No fire. No innkeeper. The tables were gone, and the hearth was long cold. Vines crept through the cracked windows, and dust coated everything in a thin, dead layer.

It had been abandoned for years.

Cael stepped outside first, his face pale. The street beyond hadn't changed but the inn had. Only the inn. The rest of Thistledown still shimmered faintly in the sunlight, strange and beautiful. But the Hollow Hearth was a shell.

Thane turned to Cael, his voice grim.

"They're gone."