The Eidral Hollow was nothing like the maps suggested.
Once marked as a dried-out valley, its true nature revealed itself only when Rael and his companions crossed the shattered stone ridge that sealed it. From above, it resembled a crater — a wound torn into the world's flesh. From within, it was something worse.
There was no sky here.
Only swirling clouds that never parted, dyed a dull violet. The land was a mess of fragmented paths and fractured memories. Trees grew sideways out of cliffs. Rivers flowed into themselves. And shadows moved even when no one walked.
The very laws of existence bent inward.
"The Buried Temple of Echoes is at the center," Laria said, her voice hushed.
"And the eighth seed lies within," Rael murmured.
Selene narrowed her eyes at the terrain ahead. "So why does it feel like we're walking backward every time we blink?"
"Because we are," Shaevari said from above, crouched on the broken ruins of a stone arch. "The Hollow isn't a place. It's a mirror."
"A mirror of what?" Nyssira asked.
"Of yourself."
They tried to make camp twice — only to find themselves in the same grove no matter where they walked.
It took Rael several hours of silent thought to realize the pattern.
"You don't move through the Hollow by distance," he said. "You move by confrontation."
"What does that mean?" Kessai asked, hand on her blade.
"You go forward… when you stop lying to yourself."
He stepped away from the group, staring into the misted landscape.
"I'll go first."
The path unfolded as he walked.
It didn't stretch outward — it opened. A line of broken stone lifted beneath his steps, drawing him toward a still obsidian lake with a surface like glass. It showed no depth. No movement.
Only reflection.
Rael stared into the water.
But the image looking back wasn't quite his own.
The man mirrored him in form — but not in soul. His eyes were colder. His mouth curved with arrogance. The throne beneath his feet was carved from bone. And behind him knelt women: Selene, Nyssira, Laria, Kessai — all in chains, gazes blank.
"You crave power," the reflection said.
"I crave freedom," Rael replied.
"You crave dominion. Obedience. You lead, and they follow. How long before you begin to expect it?"
Rael clenched his fists. "They follow because they choose to."
"Do they?" the image sneered. "Selene would kill for you. Nyssira surrendered herself. Laria guides you like a high priestess. You didn't take them — they offered. And you... accepted."
"I never asked."
"But you didn't refuse. You say you're different. But deep down, you enjoy it. Their submission. Their loyalty. Their bodies."
Rael stepped forward, eyes burning. "I respect them. I don't own them."
The reflection's smile faded.
"But one day… you might. And by the time you realize it, it will be too late."
Rael walked into the water.
The image shattered.
And the Hollow shifted.
The landscape melted around him.
Suddenly, he stood before a vast, sunken cathedral. The temple curled inward like a coiled serpent. Towers leaned sideways. Doors opened into staircases that twisted downward, into the bones of the Hollow.
And Selene was waiting at the entrance.
She stepped forward, stopping him.
"You saw something," she said.
He nodded. "It showed me what I could become."
"And did you believe it?"
"I believed that it was possible… if I forget myself."
Selene stared at him — then took his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him.
Her lips were fierce. Unyielding.
When she pulled back, her eyes burned. "Then don't forget. Or I'll be the one to remind you."
That night, they made camp in one of the temple's shattered spires — its ceiling open to the swirling violet sky. The false stars overhead blinked faintly, too slow to be real.
Kessai snored softly against her cloak, her blade laid across her lap.
Laria was already deep in meditation, her brow furrowed — perhaps dreaming of flame and truth.
Nyssira sat by the fire, idly braiding her hair.
Shaevari crouched atop a broken statue, eyes glowing faintly in the shadows.
Selene moved with quiet purpose.
She crossed to Rael, took his hand, and without a word, led him into a side chamber — one walled in black stone and long-forgotten murals.
She closed the door.
And leaned back against it.
"You've kissed others," she said softly. "Held them. Claimed them."
Rael's voice was low. "You were always the first."
"Then why did I feel like the last?"
He moved to her.
"I thought you were strong enough not to need reassurance."
"I am," Selene said. "But I still wanted it."
Rael cupped her jaw. "Then I was a fool."
Selene leaned in, pressed her lips against his.
And this time — she didn't stop.
Their clothes came apart in silence.
Not ripped, but unfastened — as if both were tired of pretending. Selene climbed onto him the moment his back hit the bed of furs. Her thighs straddled him, hips grinding down in slow, testing circles.
Rael groaned.
Selene smiled. "You forgot I was still a warrior, didn't you?"
"I forgot you were dangerous like this."
Her lips found his neck. His chest. She kissed along his ribs, where old scars rested, then ran her tongue up his throat.
"Tell me you want me," she whispered.
"I always have."
Then she took him inside her.
And everything else faded.
Their pace was unrelenting.
Selene moved with hunger — not for pleasure, but for connection. She rode him like a storm, their bodies slick with sweat, her cries echoing against stone. He sat up, buried his face in her neck, and held her tighter than he ever had.
"I need you," he breathed.
She bit his shoulder gently. "Then show me."
He flipped her onto her back and thrust deeper, slower, drawing gasps from her lips.
"I hate how much I love you," she whispered, clutching him.
He kissed her as they climaxed — together, breathless and shaking.
They lay tangled for a long time.
Her fingers traced his collarbone. His thumb brushed the curve of her hip.
"When this ends," she said, "don't forget this night."
"I'll carry it into every war," Rael replied.
She smiled. "Then I'll be your blade."
Shaevari watched from a broken pillar overhead.
She hadn't meant to follow.
She told herself she was just patrolling the perimeter.
But when she heard the sounds — the gasps, the moans, the breathless declarations — something in her froze.
He was no longer just powerful.
He was loved.
And she… was circling that flame.
She dropped down quietly near the fire, but Nyssira's eyes flicked toward her.
"You heard it too," the shadow-fae said softly.
Nyssira nodded.
Shaevari scoffed. "What are we becoming?"
"A family," Nyssira whispered. "One that's still figuring out how to love."
Shaevari's gaze lingered on Rael's resting form through the cracks in the chamber wall.
Then she looked away.
"I don't know if I can be part of that."
Nyssira smiled gently. "Then stop trying. Just feel."
Shaevari didn't answer.
But she didn't leave, either.
That night, Rael dreamed.
But it wasn't a dream.
It was a summoning.
He stood in the deepest part of the Buried Temple — before a door of breathing stone. Veins pulsed through it like living roots. Murals lined the walls: not of gods, but him.
Dozens of versions of Rael.
Some wore crowns. Others wore chains. One sat alone. One was impaled. One stood triumphant with a hundred lovers behind him, and another knelt in ash.
The door opened.
And a voice spoke from the abyss within:
We are not seeds. We are stars that failed to burn. You woke the seventh. But the eighth... the eighth is memory made flesh.
Rael stepped forward.
And the eighth seed pulsed inside the heart of the temple.
Waiting.
Watching.