Echoes Beneath The Shrine
924 Words
Nightfall settled with unnatural speed.
Even the stars dared not shine.
A bitter wind howled through the northern cliffs, sweeping down toward Thornveil like a warning. The old wolves stayed indoors. The young ones shivered in silence. Not even the wind carried song—only silence, thick and choking.
Calla stood at the gates of the ancient path known as Whispering Hollow.
It was once a pilgrimage trail. Now, it was little more than bones and briars.
“Are you sure?” Riven asked beside her.
“No,” Calla whispered. “But it’s the only place she could hide without being sensed.”
Behind them, four scouts—handpicked by Riven—prepared silently. Garrin and Nessa were among them, their faces grim.
“Stay close,” Riven ordered. “No sounds. No trails. If you hear something you don’t recognize, don’t follow it.”
They entered the Hollow as a single shadow.
---
Mira crouched in the inner sanctum of the ruined shrine, eyes flicking over ancient texts. She had found the blade. The one named in prophecy. The one marked with blood older than any living soul.
The dagger of Verrun.
Forged in betrayal. Sharpened in grief.
“It’s almost time,” she whispered.
The creature behind her stirred—black-robed, faceless, humming with cold.
“They approach,” it rasped.
Mira didn’t flinch. “Let them come.”
She tied the dagger to her thigh and stood, dust falling from her cloak.
“They’ll never leave.”
---
As Calla passed the fifth standing stone, a noise broke the hush.
Laughter.
Not loud. Not joyful.
Familiar.
Mira’s laugh.
She turned to Riven. “Did you hear—”
But he was gone.
So were the scouts.
Panic surged.
She spun in place—trees warping, shadows stretching.
“Mira!” she screamed.
The laugh came again. Louder.
Calla ran.
Branches tore at her clothes. Roots clawed at her feet. The forest pulled at her—testing her resolve.
But she kept running, guided by that laughter.
It led her to the mouth of the shrine.
---
Riven staggered awake inside a circle of ash.
He cursed. They’d been separated. Enchanted.
He could smell the Hollow still.
But he could no longer feel Calla.
Not the bond. Not even her heartbeat.
She was beyond reach.
He howled.
And something ancient answered.
The echo was not wolf, but deeper.
The kind of voice that should not exist.
“Bound one,” it murmured, “the blood has been drawn. The flame will test her.”
Riven gritted his teeth. “Get out of my head.”
“Your head is not the prize,” the voice whispered. “Your heart is.”
---
Calla stepped into the shrine.
The dagger waited on an altar of bone.
And Mira stood behind it, beautiful and terrible in the flickering torchlight.
“Hello, old friend,” she said.
Calla didn’t move. “Why?”
Mira’s smile was pure venom. “Because you survived. Because you were chosen. Because I wasn’t.”
Calla’s voice cracked. “You left.”
“No,” Mira hissed. “I was taken. And while you were basking in Hollow light, I was learning truths.”
She lifted the dagger.
Calla took a step back.
“Mira, this isn’t you.”
Mira laughed again, eyes glowing with unholy fire. “No. It’s finally me.”
And she lunged.
Their bodies collided in the dust and shadows.
Calla blocked the first strike with her forearm. Pain exploded through her bones.
The second swipe cut her shoulder. Hot blood sizzled on stone.
Calla kicked Mira back with a grunt. “I don’t want to fight you!”
“Too bad!” Mira hissed. “One of us was always going to die. You just didn’t know it.”
Mira slashed again. This time, Calla ducked and rolled, grabbing a broken torch from the wall.
She swung it, fire sparking. Mira screamed as the flames brushed her cloak.
Calla stood, panting, her blood dripping onto the rune-carved floor.
The room shuddered.
The dagger pulsed.
A wind began to spiral around them—inside the sealed shrine. Ancient glyphs flickered along the walls.
Mira’s gaze widened. “You’re waking it.”
Calla’s eyes glowed golden-red.
“No,” she said softly. “We are.”
The dagger leapt from Mira’s hand.
It hovered in the air between them, spinning.
Both women stared.
Then the voice came.
Not Mira’s. Not Calla’s.
The bond has fractured. The seal is broken.
The dagger flew straight at Calla—
And stopped inches from her throat.
A black-robed figure stepped through the wall of the shrine like mist.
The creature from Mira’s ritual.
It reached for the blade.
Calla reacted.
She slammed her hand on the stone and screamed.
Light exploded from her chest.
The dagger shattered.
The creature wailed and disintegrated into ash.
Mira fell to her knees, coughing blood.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“I don’t need to,” Calla said, voice raw. “I saw what you became. And I won’t let it happen again.”
Behind her, the shrine groaned.
The walls cracked.
Riven burst through the entryway, blade drawn, eyes blazing.
He froze when he saw her.
Standing tall, ringed in light.
And Mira—broken on the floor.
“Calla?” he breathed.
She turned.
“I’m still me,” she said.
But her eyes told a different story.
Something inside her had changed.
And the Hollow would never forget it.
- Writer
