Beneath a Hollow Sky

Star POV

The sky cracks open as we run.

Not with thunder. Neither with lightning.

With loud terrifying screams.

The forest swallows the sound, but I can still hear it—echoing in my bones, trailing after us like blood in the water. The Seeker burned too easily. No body should burn like that—no flesh should melt so fast.

The ember didn't just kill him.

It consumed something else inside him.

And it liked it.

Kael crashes through the underbrush ahead of me, blade drawn, body tense. His bad arm swings free, useless, but he doesn't stop. He hasn't looked at me since the fire. I don't blame him.

I haven't looked at myself.

Because I saw it too—right before he died.

In the Seeker's eyes.

Worship.

We stop beneath a gnarled tree bent like a spine. Its bark is carved with ancient sigils—some dead, some pulsing faintly. Kael wipes blood from his cheek, eyes scanning the treetops.

"They'll hunt us now," he says. "The Seeker cult. They're not many, but they're everywhere. And they don't forget."

I lean against the tree, my chest heaving. The ember pulses erratically beneath my ribs, wild and eager. I try to slow my breathing. I try to think.

"They wanted to use me," I whisper. "As a vessel."

Kael nods grimly. "That's what they do. They feed relics into human bodies—like keys into locks—and hope one opens a god."

"They act like it's holy."

"To them, it is."

I close my eyes. "But it's not."

"No," he says. "It's possession. Ritualized. Celebrated. And irreversible."

A beat.

Then, softer, "You burned him before he could finish the rite. That wasn't mercy. That was war."

I meet his gaze. "Then we're already in it."

We press deeper into the woods.

This forest isn't mapped. Isn't charted. It's a scar on every known territory—a place where compasses spin and magic clings to the air like rot. Kael calls it Velmire's Hollow. Named after a dead god who vanished into it centuries ago.

No one ever found the body.

Only bones that whispered.

And trees that moved.

By dusk, the forest changes.

The sky is still visible—barely. But it's wrong. Sick.

Clouds hang too low, like they're draped across the treetops, dragging against the branches like veils. The light turns a pale violet, and the wind no longer moves with the trees.

It moves against them.

Kael stops suddenly. "Don't move."

I freeze. "What is it?"

He points with the tip of his sword.

A flower grows from the middle of the path.

Black petals. Veined with gold.

At first, it seems harmless.

Until I look closer.

The center of it is pulsing.

Like a heartbeat.

Kael lifts a stone and tosses it at the bloom.

The moment it hits, the flower lets out a high, keening scream—then explodes into ash.

The wind devours it.

"That's a relic bloom," Kael says tightly. "They grow where gods have bled."

"Gods bled here?"

He nods. "Velmire was the god of secrets. Some say he was torn apart by his own lies. Others say he was bound inside the Hollow."

"And now we're walking through his grave."

"Grave," Kael echoes. "Or cage."

We make camp in a ring of silver-root trees—Kael says they repel corrupted creatures, but he doesn't sound convinced.

I sit by the cold firepit, rubbing my hands. The ember has gone still again. That worries me more than when it burns.

Kael paces like a trapped wolf. His cloak is damp. His hair plastered to his brow. He hasn't spoken since we stopped.

"I didn't mean to kill him like that," I say.

He stops. Looks at me.

"I didn't even try. It just… happened."

Kael approaches, kneels before me, and places a hand over the ember mark on my chest.

I flinch.

But he doesn't let go.

"That ember is waking," he says. "And when it fully opens, it won't care what you want."

I whisper, "Then what do I do?"

"You either control it…" His voice drops. "…or you let it consume you."

I fall asleep against the roots of the tree.

And I dream.

This time, I see the antlered god clearly. No longer dying. Smiling.

He walks across a bridge made of bones, each step leaving fire in his wake. Around him, stars burn like candles in a void too deep to name.

He lifts a heart made of flame. My heart.

And he places it in my chest.

"You are not a girl," he says. "You are the ember of me."

I scream.

I wake choking.

Not on air.

On smoke.

The trees are burning.

Kael is gone.

I stumble into the clearing, and find him surrounded—three masked figures closing in. Relic Seekers.

One holds a chain of bone. Another a vial of black liquid. The third—a woman with silver hair and blank white eyes—raises a blade etched with runes.

I don't think.

I ignite.

The fire rips from me like a beast uncaged, and the ground splits beneath my feet. The first Seeker is incinerated instantly. The second howls as the flames twist into claws and drag him down into the soil.

But the third—the woman—laughs.

"You burn beautifully," she whispers. "Just like He did."

Then she vanishes into mist.

Kael stumbles back to me, bleeding from his shoulder.

"Lira—" he coughs. "You—"

"I saw him again," I whisper. "The god."

Kael's face hardens. "He's not just inside you. He's calling to you."

I look up.

The sky is shredding—clouds pulled back like curtains.

A single black star blinks through.

Kael swears under his breath. "We have to leave. Now."

"Why?"

"Because something answered."