They left at dawn.
Not because the night had ended—but because it no longer promised safety. The rip in the sky had sealed without a sound, yet its echo haunted every step they took. Birds didn’t return. Wind didn’t stir. The Hollow had touched the world, and the world had begun to remember.
Rose walked ahead of the others, silent, her medallion now hidden beneath her tunic. Every footfall felt drawn toward something, like the earth knew her name and whispered it back in fragments. The tether pulsed faintly at her chest—not in pain, but as if something were trying to keep her here. Or perhaps remind her of the cost if she left.
The path to Liraeth was unmarked on any map. Solon had only said “north,” and even that felt too vague for what they were chasing. The old pacts were written in
