Smoke still clung to the air like a living thing, curling through the branches in ghostly ribbons. The fires Nyra unleashed in the Hollow's eastern edges had burned fast and bright, but now a suffocating silence fell—unnatural, thick, and watchful.
Elira moved cautiously, the Verdant Fang gripped tightly in her hand. Her cloak, singed and torn, clung damply to her back. Behind her, Caelum walked in tense silence, his beast form still partially revealed—horns glinting, claws flexed, golden eyes glowing beneath the fog.
"Too quiet," he murmured.
Elira nodded. "She's setting traps. Or worse… watching."
They had escaped the blaze, but not unscathed. The Thornbrand's magic had grown more volatile since Nyra's last summoning—each flare of its power sent tremors through the Hollow itself. Trees bled sap that shimmered like molten gold, and the very roots shifted like sleeping giants.
But Elira knew she was close.
The Grove of Whispers had whispered of a final relic—The Mirror of Embers—hidden deep in the Hollow's Veiled Vale. A memory-forged artifact that revealed not truth… but the cost of truth. What had been sacrificed. What could yet be lost.
Only by confronting it could she learn how to truly undo Nyra's curse.
They approached a cracked stone arch choked with brambles. Ancient runes flickered faintly across its face.
"We're here," Elira said.
Caelum frowned. "Are you sure this is wise? The Mirror reflects what burns deepest. Not everyone survives it."
"I know," she said quietly, stepping forward. "But I need to understand what my mother gave up… and what I'm becoming."
She reached out.
The arch shimmered.
And the fog swallowed them whole.
Elira stood alone in a field of ash.
No sky. No stars. Only a broken plain where twisted memories grew like dying flowers. Shapes moved at the edges—shadows of her childhood, of her mother's final scream, of her father walking away.
Then the Mirror rose from the ground—oval, tall, its surface rippling like liquid flame.
Her reflection didn't smile.
It wept.
Elira stepped closer—and her own voice echoed back.
"You think saving him will undo the beast within?"
Her image shifted—showing Caelum, broken and bleeding, claws soaked in red.
"You think she loved you? Nyra never hated you. She pitied you."
Then the scene shifted again—Elira as a child, reaching for her father's hand, only to watch him vanish into smoke.
"Every choice you make is built on lies."
"I know," Elira whispered.
The Mirror flared.
And then—silence.
Elira placed her hand on the glass. "I'm not here to escape the truth. I'm here to face it."
The mirror cracked.
Then shattered.
She fell to her knees as the vision vanished.
A voice—one she hadn't heard since she was young—broke the quiet.
"I'm proud of you, my little spark."
Her mother's voice.
Then, nothing.
When she opened her eyes, Caelum was kneeling beside her, concern etched into every line of his face.
"You were gone for minutes," he said. "But your body—burning. I thought…"
She reached up and touched his face. "I saw what I needed to."
He helped her up, steadying her.
"I'm not afraid anymore," she said. "Not of the Hollow. Not of what Nyra wants. I understand the cost."
Caelum studied her for a long moment. "And what is it?"
"Everything," she said. "But I'll give it. For you. For this place. For the legacy that deserves to be reborn."
Thunder rolled in the distance.
The final battle was coming.
But now, Elira carried more than hope.
She carried resolve.