The Hollow was silent — too silent.
For days after Clara sealed the well, Wrenstead seemed frozen in a fragile peace. No more whispers in the trees. No more shadows at the windows.
But beneath the earth, something still stirred.
Clara sat alone in her grandmother's study, the cursed book — now an extension of herself — resting against her chest like a second heartbeat.
She could hear it sometimes.
Not in words, but in feelings — hunger, rage, sadness — emotions older than memory itself.
The villagers kept their distance, watching her with wary eyes.
They called her a savior.
A witch.
A harbinger.
None of them knew the truth: the well was not truly sealed.
It had only adapted.
And deep within the Hollow's ancient soil, something forgotten had awakened — something even the original Keepers had feared to name.
Tonight, under the blood-red moon, Clara would be forced to face it.
Not as a girl.
Not even as the Keeper.
But as the last shield between her world and the darkness hungering to devour it whole.
And this time, not everyone would survive.
The Hollow slept uneasily beneath the blood-red sky.
Clara Bennett stood at the edge of the woods, staring into the thick mist curling from the ancient trees. The night was eerily warm for late autumn, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older — something wrong. Her fingers curled tightly around the pendant that once belonged to her grandmother, the last Keeper before her.
She could feel the hum of the Hollow beneath her boots.
It was waking up.
"You can't delay it," a voice whispered behind her.
Clara turned slowly. Evan stood there, his face pale, his brown eyes serious. He held a lantern, its flame guttering in the wind that wasn't truly there.
"I know," Clara said, her voice rough from sleepless nights. "But I hoped… maybe we'd have more time."
"There's never enough time with these things," Evan murmured. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The well wasn't the end, Clara. It was the beginning."
She shivered, even though the night was warm. Deep down, she'd always known. When she closed the well, she'd merely forced the Hollow to adapt — to spread its roots deeper, reaching for something even darker.
Something ancient enough that the villagers' old tales only hinted at it: The Sleeper Beneath the Hollow.
A tremor shook the ground under their feet. The trees groaned as if breathing, their twisted limbs clawing at the blood-moon sky.
"We have to go," Clara said. "To the Archives."
Evan hesitated. "The Archives were sealed after the last Keeper fell."
"Then we'll unseal them."
They moved quickly through the woods, the path nearly invisible in the mist. Strange noises drifted through the trees — soft murmurs, the rustle of unseen creatures. Twice, Evan caught Clara when she stumbled over roots that hadn't been there a moment before.
The Hollow was trying to stop them.
When they reached the old church ruins, Clara paused. Half-buried in ivy and shadow, the entrance to the Keeper's Archives lay hidden beneath a crumbling statue of Saint Orlaith — the protector of Wrenstead, or so the myths claimed.
Clara knelt before the statue, brushing away moss to reveal an ancient keyhole carved into the stone. Her pendant pulsed warmly against her skin. Taking a deep breath, she pressed it into the slot.
A deep click echoed through the ground, and with a low groan, the earth beneath the statue split open, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
"Stay close," Clara whispered.
They descended into the gloom, lantern light barely piercing the blackness. The air grew colder with each step, and the walls were lined with carvings — strange, twisting sigils that seemed to move if she stared too long.
At the bottom, the Archives opened into a massive cavern, shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes and relics crowding the space. In the center stood a pedestal, upon which rested a book bound in dark leather.
Clara approached cautiously.
The air around the book shimmered.
"This is it," Evan said hoarsely. "The Record of the Hollow."
Clara reached out, her fingers trembling. As she touched the book, a flood of images slammed into her mind — visions of the past Keepers, of battles fought and lost, of sacrifices made. She saw her grandmother, standing where she now stood, tears on her face.
And then, something new: a memory not her own.
A figure cloaked in shadow, standing in a circle of stone. Chanting in a language that made her skin crawl. Summoning something from beyond the veil — something that was never meant to be awakened.
The Sleeper.
Clara gasped, pulling her hand away. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a caged bird.
"It's not just the Hollow," she whispered. "It's… older. Bigger. It was buried here long before Wrenstead existed."
Evan's face was grim. "Then we're not just fighting to save the village anymore."
"No," Clara said, her voice steady. "We're fighting to save everything."
A sudden roar shook the cavern, dust raining from the ceiling.
Something had followed them.
Something hungry.
"Come on!" Clara grabbed the book and ran, Evan at her heels. As they reached the stairs, a massive shadow surged from the far end of the cavern — a shape stitched together from the fears of a thousand generations, its eyes burning like coals.
The Hollow had sent its first true servant.
They scrambled up the stairs, the earth shuddering beneath them. Clara could hear it gaining, hear the scrape of claws on stone. They burst into the ruins, the mist swirling wildly around them.
"We can't outrun it forever," Evan gasped.
"We don't have to," Clara said. "We just need to get to the Circle."
The Circle was an ancient grove, sacred to the first Keepers. It was the only place strong enough to bind a creature of the Hollow.
If they could survive long enough to reach it.
They sprinted through the woods, the shadow creature crashing through the trees behind them. Clara could feel its hatred — a living, searing thing — trying to drag her down, to smother her hope.
She gritted her teeth and pressed on.
At last, they broke into the clearing. The Circle of Stones loomed before them, bathed in the bloodlight of the moon.
Clara turned to face the oncoming shadow, heart hammering.
No more running.
She lifted the book high, chanting the ancient words etched into its pages. The ground within the Circle began to glow, and the stones vibrated with power. The shadow shrieked, recoiling — but it didn't stop.
With a howl, it lunged.
At the last possible second, Clara slammed the book down onto the altar stone. A shockwave blasted outward, sending the creature tumbling back. Chains of spectral light erupted from the stones, wrapping around the shadow, binding it, forcing it down.
It fought. It screamed. It begged.
But Clara held firm.
"I am the Keeper!" she cried, voice ringing through the night. "And you will not have this world!"
With a final shriek, the creature dissolved into mist, sucked into the earth. Silence fell.
Clara dropped to her knees, exhausted beyond words.
Evan knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"You did it," he whispered.
"For now," Clara said, staring up at the blood moon. "But the Sleeper… it's still waking."
And she knew, deep in her soul, that this was only the beginning.