A thick silence settled over the land as the party crossed the last ridge of the Frostfang frontier. The sky above had dimmed to a violet bruise, as though twilight itself held its breath in anticipation. Before them stretched a chasm cloaked in a veil of silvery mist—shimmering, whispering, alive with a quiet magic that tingled in the bones.
Kael dismounted first, his boots crunching on frost-kissed grass, the crackle echoing in the stillness. His eyes narrowed as he studied the unnatural fog swirling like liquid moonlight. "This is it," he said, his voice low, reverent. "Silver Hollow."
Behind him, Aria slid from her mare, her golden hair bound in intricate braids that glittered with woven strands of enchantment. Her fingers grazed the mist—it recoiled, then curled around her hand like a living thing. "It's sentient," she whispered. "Or... aware."
"Legends say the Hollow knows its visitors," Maerlyn murmured as he approached, staff glowing faintly with sapphire light. His robes rippled in a wind none of them could feel. "It offers visions, truths, and sometimes madness. All depends on what you carry inside."
The Queen remained silent, her expression unreadable beneath her obsidian crown. Her wolf companion, Sable, let out a low growl and stepped beside her, hackles rising.
Kael turned toward the group. "Once we cross, there's no turning back. The Hollow bends time and memory. We need tethering—charms, relics, anchors to keep our minds intact."
Maerlyn nodded, reaching into his satchel to produce a set of crystal shards. "Each of you, hold one close. These are attuned to your soul-lights. Should you lose yourself, they'll guide you back—if you're strong enough."
One by one, they accepted the shards. Aria's pulsed with a pale gold glow; Kael's shone silver-blue; even the Queen's, when touched, burned with a dark, starless violet. None questioned the depth of the Hollow's reach—they had all heard the stories of those who entered and emerged... changed.
As they stepped into the mist, the world shifted.
The air thickened, cool and heady like the breath of ancient trees. Their surroundings twisted—branches arched over them like cathedral spires, their leaves made of translucent crystal. Light fractured through the canopy, casting kaleidoscopic patterns that danced across their skin and armor.
And then came the voices.
Not spoken words, but emotions—memories folded in on themselves and whispered through the leaves. Kael saw flashes of his father's face, bloodied on the battlefield. Aria glimpsed a young girl with her eyes—a sister she never knew. The Queen saw a throne of bones and flame. Her jaw tightened.
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
From the mist ahead, shadows moved—tall, spindly figures with skin like polished stone and eyes like dying stars. Hollow Sentinels. Guardians of the realm. They bore no weapons, yet radiated a presence that made even Maerlyn grip his staff tighter.
A voice rippled through the Hollow like a wave crashing in silence.
"Only the truthwalkers may pass."
One by one, the travelers were confronted with illusions that clawed into their deepest fears. Kael was dragged into a vision of his mother's execution. Aria found herself standing atop a tower of ash, her magic fading, surrounded by the ghosts of the elemental fae.
But it was the Queen who faced the most brutal of them.
A mirror of herself appeared—regal, cruel, eyes soaked in shadow. "You wear the crown, but you deny the throne," the reflection hissed. "You fight for mortals, but forget what you are."
The Queen stood firm, breathing slowly. "I know what I am. And I choose who I protect."
With a scream that fractured the vision, the shadow shattered, and the Hollow trembled as if acknowledging her will.
Then, silence fell.
The mists began to part, revealing a clearing bathed in ethereal silver light. At its heart stood a massive archway—ancient stone entwined with glowing vines, and carved runes pulsating softly like a heartbeat.
"The Gate of All Paths," Maerlyn said, breathless. "It leads to the next realm."
"But which one?" Aria asked, awe-struck.
"That depends," he said, "on which part of your soul steps through first."