The massive silhouette stepped through the mist, each footfall shaking loose dust from the shattered roots. The air thickened with a resonance so old it felt like the forest itself bowed under its weight.

Elira clutched Elias tighter. “Lirien… what is that?”

Lirien didn’t answer at first. His eyes were locked on the shape emerging from the haze — not with fear, but with the stunned recognition of someone seeing a legend step out of memory.

The creature was enormous — wolf‑shaped, but wrong in all the ways that made it ancient. Its fur shimmered like moonlit ash, threaded with faint silver runes that pulsed in rhythm with the earth. Its eyes glowed with a deep, steady resonance that cut through the devourer’s silence like a blade.

A Howler‑Ancient.

A guardian older than the Loomwake.

Older than the Spiral.

Older than the devourer itself.

Lirien exhaled shakily. “Well… that explains the howls.”

The devourer hissed, its form flickering violently. It backed away, limbs twitching, the edges of its body unraveling like smoke in a storm.

The Ancient’s gaze locked onto it.

The devourer froze.

Then the Ancient growled — a low, rolling sound that vibrated through the ground, through the trees, through the bones of everyone in the clearing. The devourer’s body spasmed, its limbs collapsing inward as if the sound itself crushed its shape.

Lirien staggered forward, pulling Elira and Elias behind him. “Stay close. If this thing decides we’re a threat, we’re done.”

The Ancient stepped fully into the clearing, towering over them. Its breath came out in slow, heavy waves, each exhale stirring the mist into spirals.

Elira whispered, “It’s… beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” Lirien muttered, “and capable of ripping the devourer in half with a sneeze.”

The devourer shrieked — a silent, vibrating distortion — and lunged at the Ancient.

The Ancient didn’t move.

It simply opened its jaws.

A pulse of resonance erupted from its throat — not sound, not light, but something deeper. Something that struck the devourer like a hammer made of memory and moonlight.

The devourer’s body shattered into fragments of shadow.

The fragments tried to reform.

The Ancient growled again.

The shadows dissolved into dust.

Silence fell.

Real silence — not the devourer’s hollow void, but the quiet that follows a storm.

Elira held Elias close, tears streaking her face. “Is it… gone?”

“For now,” Lirien said, though his voice was thin. “Ancients don’t destroy devourers. They… reset them. Send them back to whatever nightmare they crawled out of.”

The Ancient turned its head toward them.

Lirien stiffened. “Don’t move.”

The Ancient stepped closer, lowering its massive head until its glowing eyes were level with Elira and Elias. Elias whimpered, burying his face in Elira’s shoulder.

The Ancient inhaled — a deep, slow breath that pulled the mist inward.

Then it exhaled, a warm gust washing over the children.

Elias’s breathlight flickered… then steadied.

Elira gasped. “It helped him.”

Lirien blinked. “That’s… new.”

The Ancient lifted its head, gaze shifting toward the distant treeline — toward the Spiral, toward Beast’s trial, toward something none of them could see.

Then it turned and walked back into the mist, its massive form fading with each step until only the echo of its resonance remained.

Lirien let out a long, shaky breath. “We need to move. Before the devourer finds its way back.”

Elira nodded, lifting Elias into her arms. “Where do we go?”

Lirien looked toward the direction the Ancient had stared — the direction of the Spiral.

“Back to Beast,” he said. “Because whatever that thing was warning us about… he’s going to need us.”

And the three of them began the long walk back through the broken forest, unaware that the Spiral had already shifted again — and Beast’s trial was far from over.

The forest didn’t stay quiet for long.

As they moved, the mist thickened again, curling around their ankles like hesitant fingers. The trees leaned inward, their branches creaking with a warning the wind refused to carry. Every few steps, Elias flinched, his breathlight flickering as if reacting to something only he could feel.

Elira tightened her hold on him. “It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

But Lirien’s jaw tightened. “Safe is a strong word.”

He kept his hammer drawn, shadows coiling around the handle like restless serpents. His eyes scanned the treeline, searching for movement, for distortion, for anything that might hint the devourer had returned.

It hadn’t.

Not yet.

But the forest felt… unsettled.

As if the Ancient’s presence had stirred something deeper.

Elira noticed it too. “The trees are whispering.”

“They do that,” Lirien said. “Usually when they’re scared.”

Elias whimpered softly. “It’s following us.”

Elira froze. “What is?”

Elias pointed weakly behind them, toward the path the Ancient had taken. “Not the devourer. Something else. Something… cold.”

Lirien’s stomach dropped. “Cold how?”

Elias shook his head, eyes glassy. “Like… like forgetting.”

Lirien swore under his breath. “A memory‑hollow. Perfect. Just what we needed.”

Elira’s breath hitched. “Those are real?”

“Unfortunately.” Lirien quickened his pace. “They feed on what the devourer leaves behind. Empty spaces. Broken echoes. They’re scavengers, but dangerous ones.”

Elias clung to Elira’s cloak. “It’s hungry.”

Lirien didn’t look back. “Then don’t let it catch your eyes. Or your thoughts.”

The forest darkened as they moved deeper, the canopy thickening overhead. The Spiral’s distant glow flickered between the branches like a heartbeat struggling to stay steady.

Elira stumbled over a root, catching herself before she fell. “Lirien… how much farther?”

“Far enough that I’m regretting every life choice that led me here,” he muttered. Then, louder: “Not long. The Spiral’s pull is stronger now. Beast must be deep in his trial.”

Elias whimpered again, burying his face in Elira’s shoulder. “It’s closer…”

Lirien spun, hammer raised.

The mist behind them rippled.

A shape formed — thin, wavering, like a shadow trying to remember how to be solid. Its edges blurred, its center hollow, its presence cold enough to make the air crystallize.

A memory‑hollow.

Elira gasped. “Lirien—”

“I see it.”

The hollow drifted toward them, its movements slow but deliberate. It didn’t walk. It floated, as if tethered to the ground by threads of forgotten moments.

Elias trembled violently. “It wants… my breathlight.”

Lirien stepped between them. “Of course it does. Everything wants your breathlight.”

The hollow tilted its head, its empty face stretching into something like a smile — a smile made of absence.

Elira backed away, clutching Elias tighter. “Can you fight it?”

“Not really,” Lirien said. “You don’t fight hollows. You outrun them.”

The hollow drifted closer.

Elira’s voice shook. “Lirien—”

“Run.”

They bolted.

The hollow glided after them, silent and relentless. The forest blurred around them as Lirien led the way, weaving between roots and fallen branches with desperate speed. Elira followed, Elias clinging to her like a lifeline.

The Spiral’s glow brightened ahead — faint, but growing.

Almost there.

Almost—

A cold wind swept through the trees.

The hollow surged forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

Elira stumbled.

Elias cried out.

Lirien skidded to a stop, spinning back toward them. “Elira!”

The hollow reached for Elias.

Its fingers brushed the edge of his breathlight.

Elias screamed.

The forest shook.

And somewhere deep within the Spiral, Beast’s flame flared — as if he felt the echo of that scream through the roots of the world.