The mountain air thinned as they rode eastward. The path wound low into pine-filled valleys, where sunlight shimmered off dew-drenched leaves and silence ruled between the hills.
Cid was the first to complain.
"My bones are freezing," he grumbled from the back of the cart, buried beneath two cloaks. "Remind me again why we left the village with free pie and warm beds?"
"Because someone was starting to knit your face onto tapestries," Bell replied.
"That was a flattering tapestry," Cid argued. "They got my jawline perfect."
Seria, walking alongside Bell's horse, rolled her eyes. "The temple was important. So is Hollowmere. If what I read is right, the abbey there holds records older than the Crown's."
Bell raised a brow. "That's why we're walking through fog instead of eating jam?"
Seria gave him a side glance. "Do you want to be remembered for killing one wyvern and nothing else?"
Cid groaned. "I'd like to be remembered for sleeping in."
Hollowmere came into view by afternoon, a lakeside settlement wrapped in fog like a secret. Its rooftops were dark, timbered, and slanted. A stillness hung in the air—too quiet for comfort, as if the village had exhaled and forgotten how to breathe again.
They crossed a wooden bridge and passed a sign etched in fading silver:
Welcome to Hollowmere. Speak Softly. Walk Kindly.
"Creepy," Cid muttered. "I like it."
The inn at the center of the village, The Moon's Respite, welcomed them with firelight and the smell of root stew. A woman with silver hair and eyes sharp enough to cut stood behind the counter.
"You're here for the abbey," she said simply. "Everyone who sees the ruins ends up here."
Bell glanced at Seria, who simply nodded. They didn't ask how she knew.
That night, the three sat near the hearth. The fire snapped gently, and Bell nursed a cup of warmed cider while Seria flipped through her journal.
"There's a legend," she said, tapping a page, "about a woman named Evelyne."
Cid perked up slightly. "Ah, here we go. Forgotten queens and cursed tombs."
Seria ignored him. "She was called the Daughter of Flame. Some say she was too powerful—others say she tried to change the kingdom and was silenced."
Bell frowned. "I've heard the name. Once. My tutor refused to speak of her."
"She's not listed in royal archives. Almost like someone erased her," Seria said. "But her name shows up in ruins, just like the one we found."
Cid popped a berry into his mouth. "Sounds like a lovely bedtime story."
Bell stared into the fire. "What if she was real?"
Seria looked at him curiously. "Why does that matter to you?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But that obelisk we touched—it felt like it was grieving for someone. Someone the world forgot."
Seria's voice softened. "You think it remembers her?"
"Maybe," Bell said.
Later that night, while the inn fell quiet and the fog thickened outside, a figure moved far from Hollowmere.
Beyond Valkheim Pass, in the ruins beneath the stars, shadows shifted. The obelisk stood undisturbed, humming faintly with energy no one alive could name.
From the trees, a serpent glided forward—pale as moonlight, silent as breath. It coiled near the stone and raised its head.
A figure stepped from the dark—hooded, faceless, still.
The serpent bowed.
Neither spoke.
The obelisk pulsed once.
And then, all was still again.