CHAPTER 12: THE HOLLOW THAT BREATHES

The next ruin wasn't on any map.

They found it while following a narrow stream that cut through a gully of red stone and gnarled birch trees. The sun was low, casting thin gold over the water as it babbled along smooth rocks. Dragonflies skated across the surface, occasionally lifting when Seria's horse splashed too close.

Bell rode ahead, his posture loose but alert. He had a way of looking relaxed when he was anything but.

The stream should have veered east toward the plains.

Instead, it twisted sharply into a narrow hollow—one that didn't show on any of Seria's charts. The terrain dipped without warning, the slope swallowing the path in shadows and silence. Birch trees leaned inward, their trunks contorted like dancers frozen mid-twist. And in the center of it all stood the monoliths.

Shattered. Half-buried. As if some titan had tried to grind them back into the earth.

Bell dismounted first, sliding from his saddle with a grunt. He narrowed his eyes at the basin below.

"What is this place?"

Seria stepped beside him, adjusting the strap on her satchel. Her eyes scanned the ruins with the kind of focused attention she usually reserved for arcane diagrams or bloodstains.

"It's old," she murmured. "Look—those symbols."

The stones were etched with spiraling serpents, their bodies looping endlessly, their eyes inlaid with glinting black glass. Some had been worn down by centuries of wind and rain, but the craftsmanship was still visible. Still deliberate.

The air hung heavy. Not just still, but weighted. Like holding your breath inside a tomb you didn't know was yours.

Cid hopped down from the back of the cart with a lazy bounce, chewing something. Dried fruit, probably—he always had some in his pocket. He squinted toward one of the standing stones.

"That one has a skull inside it."

Bell frowned, already stepping forward. "You mean carved into it?"

"No," Cid said, his voice unusually steady. "I mean… inside the stone. Look."

They gathered around the cracked monolith. And there it was—embedded deep in the center, partially fossilized, was a humanoid skull. Twisted and elongated, with fangs curved inward like a serpent's. One of the eye sockets had collapsed, the other glared outward, as if still watching.

Seria took a step back, voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't a tomb."

Bell looked at her. "Then what is it?"

"A seal."

As they ventured deeper into the hollow, the monoliths grew thicker—rows upon rows of them, some split and tilted like broken teeth. The feeling of being watched sharpened with every step. Even the birds had gone silent. No rustling leaves. No insects.

At the hollow's heart was a shallow basin, maybe twenty feet wide. Its walls were smooth, curved, with steps carved into the stone, leading downward into a circular depression.

"Someone built this intentionally," Seria said, crouching to run a hand over the rim. "This isn't natural. It's ritual architecture."

Bell unsheathed his sword slowly. Not because of a threat—at least, not a visible one—but because his instincts were crawling. "Any idea what kind of ritual?"

Seria shook her head, brow furrowed. "No. And that's the strange part. It's been scrubbed."

Cid raised a brow. "From memory?"

"From history."

He snorted. "Sounds like royalty. 'Oops, we summoned a blood god, better erase it from the books.'"

Bell shot him a look, but Cid just grinned, tossing the last of his dried plum into his mouth.

They descended carefully.

The stone steps creaked underfoot, not with sound, but with memory—like they remembered each footfall, even after centuries. At the bottom was a circular room, open to the sky. A single column stood in its center, untouched by collapse. Around it, scrawled in the looping script of Elderic, were words faded but legible:

We silence the name.We bind the blood.We bury the flame.

Bell read the inscription aloud, the words catching oddly in his throat, like they didn't want to be said.

He looked at Seria. "Who did they bury?"

Seria didn't answer right away. Her gaze lingered on the column, her hand resting unconsciously on the pendant around her neck.

"No one we're supposed to remember," she said finally.

The wind stirred above. Dust spiraled from the stone, dancing briefly in the sunlight that filtered down. The column gave off a faint hum, barely audible—but deep, like the echo of a bell lost beneath the earth.

Cid tilted his head. "Do you hear that?"

They stilled.

Yes. A sound.

Soft.

Breathing.

Not theirs.

The room was empty, but the sound lingered. Faint. Almost curious.

Seria's hand drifted to her dagger. "The hollow is alive."

The ground shifted beneath them. Not a quake—more like… breathing, again. From the cracks in the basin floor, tendrils of black mist began to rise—thin and searching, like smoke given thought. The column pulsed once, a dim heartbeat of light.

Something ancient stirred.

Bell didn't wait. "Time to leave."

Cid was already halfway up the steps. "Glad we agree for once!"

The mist chased them. Not fast—but deliberate. Reaching. It flickered in and out of shape—sometimes arms, sometimes claws, sometimes faces half-formed and moaning.

Bell slashed at one with his sword. The blade met resistance, like cutting through soaked cloth or grief. A scream—dry and distant—echoed through the basin as the mist recoiled.

They didn't stop running until they were back at camp.

Night had fallen. The sky was dark and clear, the stars cold and too sharp. Fire crackled low in the center of camp.

Seria sat beside it, staring at her hands. She hadn't spoken since they left the ruin.

Bell sat across from her, slowly feeding kindling into the flames.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She looked up, startled. Then slowly: "That someone went to great lengths to erase whatever this was. And now… it's waking up."

He was silent for a moment.

"Do you think it has something to do with her?"

Seria didn't need to ask who he meant.

She nodded once.

"She's not just a ghost," Seria whispered. "She's a scar on the world."

Bell frowned. "And someone doesn't want that scar to heal."

On the edge of the firelight, Cid turned over in his bedroll and muttered, "Remind me why we don't just burn every cursed ruin we find?"

Seria gave him a tired look. "Because some things are sealed for a reason. And some... don't burn."

High above the hollow, where trees grew thick and the light of the moon rarely reached, a pair of pale eyes opened.

They watched the stones below.

No body.No breath.Only presence.

And the whisper of a name long banned from mortal tongue.

A name that, once spoken, would never be forgotten again.