The Circle of Stones remained aglow long after the battle ended, the spectral chains still humming where the shadow had been bound. But the night around Clara Bennett and Evan was shifting—something unseen moving at the edges of the mist, drawn by the ancient power she had awakened.
Clara staggered to her feet, every muscle aching, but her mind sharper than ever.
There was no time to rest.
The Sleeper was stirring beneath Wrenstead.
"Evan," Clara said, voice ragged, "we need to get to the Cradle."
He paled. "The Cradle? But that's—"
"The heart of the Hollow," she finished. "The source. If we don't cut it off before the Sleeper fully awakens, it won't just be Wrenstead that falls. It'll spread across the entire valley… maybe even farther."
Evan hesitated, then gave a grim nod. "Lead the way."
The map they'd found in the Record of the Hollow detailed a path lost to memory—through the ruins of Old Wrenstead, deep beneath the village itself. A path only the Keepers had ever known.
Clara pulled the map from her jacket, its edges glowing faintly under the blood moonlight. Strange symbols writhed along the parchment, shifting when she tried to focus on them. The Hollow didn't want them to find the Cradle.
"Stay close," she said.
They moved into the woods again, but the trees seemed even more alive now. Branches twisted subtly as they passed, roots slithered beneath the soil. Whispers chased them—wordless, chilling.
At the base of Hollow's Hill, they found the entrance: a massive stone arch, half-collapsed and overgrown. Ancient symbols lined the arch, the same as those in the Archives. Clara traced them with trembling fingers.
"They're warnings," Evan said quietly. "This place was never meant to be opened again."
"I don't think we have a choice."
She pressed her hand against the center rune. The ground trembled, and with a groan of stone against stone, the archway split, revealing a dark stairway descending into the earth.
They entered without hesitation.
The air grew colder, denser. The light from Evan's lantern barely reached a few feet ahead. Their footsteps echoed hollowly down the spiral stairs, the oppressive silence pressing against their ears.
After what felt like an eternity, the stairs ended in a massive underground chamber.
And Clara froze.
Old Wrenstead.
The original village.
The ruins lay preserved in time, houses collapsed but eerily untouched by rot or nature. As they walked through the ghost town, Clara felt eyes watching from the broken windows, from the darkened doorways.
"This is where it started," Evan murmured. "The first breach."
Clara nodded grimly. "The first Keeper tried to contain it… and failed."
Flashback - 300 Years Ago
The first Keeper, a woman named Elowen of Wrenstead, stood at the center of the Cradle, chanting desperately in the ancient tongue. Around her, villagers writhed, possessed by the Hollow's first whispers. In a final, desperate act, Elowen sacrificed herself to weave the Circle, binding the Hollow within the earth—at least for a time.
But her blood had stained the soil.
And blood remembered.
Back to Present
A low rumble shook the ruins. From the cracked ground at the village center, a pit yawned open, wide enough to swallow a house. Mist poured from it, thick and black.
"The Cradle," Clara whispered.
From the depths, something shifted.
"You have to be sure about this," Evan said urgently. "If we descend, there might not be a way back."
Clara tightened her grip on the pendant around her neck. She thought of her parents, lost to the Hollow's call; of her grandmother, who had given everything to protect Wrenstead. She thought of every secret buried beneath generations of silence.
"I'm sure."
Together, they stepped into the mist.
The descent was a nightmare. The walls of the tunnel oozed, alive and pulsing. Sometimes Clara swore she saw faces pressing from the stone—mouths open in silent screams.
"Don't listen to them," Evan said sharply when she faltered. "They're not real."
But deep down, Clara knew they were real.
They were the echoes of every Keeper who had fallen, trapped in the Hollow's grip.
The tunnel opened into a colossal cavern, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center stood the Cradle: a stone altar covered in ancient runes, pulsing with sickly light. Roots as thick as tree trunks snaked from it, burrowing into the earth like veins.
Above the Cradle floated a form — shifting, amorphous, massive.
The Sleeper.
Not yet fully awake, but soon.
Clara felt its mind brush against hers: cold, endless, hungry.
"How do we stop it?" Evan asked, voice barely a whisper.
Clara swallowed hard. "We have to sever its connection to the land. Burn the Cradle."
"But that would mean—"
"I know."
Destroying the Cradle would collapse the Hollow—and everything tied to it. Including the town. Including them.
There was no other way.
Drawing a deep breath, Clara stepped forward, the ancient book clutched tight. She began to chant, words in a language that tasted of ash and blood. The air crackled around her, the ground buckling.
The Sleeper shuddered, its mass writhing.
Roots lashed out, striking at Clara, but Evan leapt in the way, slashing them back with the lantern's flame. Every blow he landed seemed to scream through the cavern.
The chant built to a crescendo, the symbols on the Cradle burning bright.
And then—
The Sleeper shrieked, a sound that shattered stone and soul alike.
Clara hurled the book into the heart of the Cradle.
The explosion of light was blinding.
The cavern shook violently, chunks of ceiling crashing down. Clara felt Evan's hand grab hers, and together they ran, sprinting through collapsing tunnels, through the howling mist.
Behind them, the Sleeper roared — a sound of pure rage, pure loss.
The Hollow was dying.
They stumbled out into the woods just as the ground gave way behind them, swallowing Old Wrenstead whole. The blood moon faded, replaced by the first hints of dawn.
Clara dropped to her knees, gasping.
It was over.
Or so she hoped.
She looked at Evan. His face was streaked with ash and sweat, but he was alive. They were alive.
But deep in her heart, Clara felt a warning echo.
This was not the end.
The Sleeper might have been buried once more… but it would never forget.
And neither would she.
She was the Keeper now, fully and forever.