Chapter 3 The boy who walks between

The wind did not guide.

It watched.

As Aria, Kael, and her mother-whom the boy called "Guide," though Aria had never dared speak her name aloud-set westward through the quiet groves, the air pressed tighter around them. Trees leaned in, roots curled like fingers, and every sound echoed too long, as if reluctant to leave.

Kael walked just behind Aria, silent but alert. He did not speak often, but when he did, his words came as though borrowed from someone else-measured, ancient, heavier than they should be.

"They're listening now," he murmured once. "The Hollow doesn't like when names are remembered."

Aria clutched the feather beneath her cloak. Since meeting Kael, it had grown warmer. Almost alive. She had once believed the feather was a gift from the wind. Now she feared it was a promise.

Her mother led with unwavering purpose, her long hair bound in threads of bark and silver, her staff striking the path with soft thuds. She had never been a woman of many words, but since Kael arrived, she had spoken even less.

They camped at the edge of a ridge that night, overlooking a vast plain where no grass grew.

Aria could feel it even from here-the stillness, thick as stone, bleeding outward like a wound across the land.

"The Hollow is spreading," Kael said, breaking the silence.

The Guide gave him a long look. "Then we must reach its heart before it forgets itself."

Aria watched the horizon. There were no stars above the plain. No moonlight. Just dark that swallowed dark.

That night, as Kael drifted to sleep beside the fire, Aria whispered toward the wind.

"Do you remember my name?"

It didn't answer.

But it did rustle the leaves beside her.

By morning, the plain was no longer empty.

Dozens of stones, standing upright and curved like broken ribs, jutted from the earth.

Between them moved shadows-not of men, but of voice.

They didn't have shape. Only sound. Whispers that slithered across the air, curling around Kael and Aria like curious snakes.

Kael pressed the stone to his chest. "They know we're here."

The Guide stopped walking.

"This is the Field of Forgotten," she said. "Those who passed here were not taken in body-but in memory."

A soft voice came from behind a standing stone. "Aria."

She turned.

No one.

Another voice. This time: "Kael."

He froze.

"They're trying to use what we've left behind," the Guide warned. "Do not speak. Do not listen too long."

But Aria did listen-only for a moment.

And she heard her mother's voice. Not the one walking beside her now. The other one-the voice that sang to her as a child. That whispered lullabies beneath the moon. That laughed like the river.

Aria's breath caught.

"Mother?"

The wind stiffened.

Kael grabbed her arm. "It's not real."

But it was too late.

The whisper had formed a shape.

And it wore her mother's face.

The face that stepped from the stone was not her mother's.

Not really.

It had her shape, her voice, her soft, knowing eyes-but none of the weight behind them. It was a mask built of memory, held together by longing. Aria stood frozen, her breath shallow, her hand clutching the feather like a lifeline.

"Aria," it said again, stepping forward.

Not a sound-a feeling. Like hearing someone speak underwater, beneath layers of silence. It felt right, but wrong. Close, but hollow.

Kael moved between them. "It's not her," he growled. "They only wear what you miss."

The Guide planted her staff, and a pulse of wind circled outward. The false mother flinched but did not vanish.

"She's stronger," the Guide murmured. "It's not just a whisper anymore. The Hollow is shaping thoughts now."

The wind whispered at Aria's back-gentle, coaxing.

Don't speak. Don't follow. Don't forget.

But the echo-mother tilted her head and said, "Come home, my little bird."

And with those words, Aria nearly stepped forward.

She remembered that phrase. Her real mother used to say it when Aria came in muddy from the orchard, when she brought back broken nests to repair, when she sang wind-songs into jars and pretended they were spells.

The echo knew that memory.

Which meant something else had been listening.

"I'm not your little bird," Aria whispered.

The echo's smile faltered. "Aren't you?"

Its voice twisted-too high now, too smooth. The illusion cracked, features shifting like melting wax.

And behind her, Kael gasped.

Another figure had stepped forward from the stones-a boy with Kael's own face.

But younger. Smiling. Before the stone. Before the silence.

Kael took a step back, fists clenched.

"Get out of my head."

The wind turned harsh-whipping dust, flattening the grass.

The shadows hissed, recoiling from its presence, and for a heartbeat, the silence broke.

A single, clear tone echoed through the Field of Forgotten-low, steady, like a tuning note from the world itself.

The Guide raised her staff again.

"No more listening," she commanded. "Run."

And then the earth beneath them split.

Not a quake-but a memory unraveling.

The field shattered like glass-stones crumbling, shadows shrieking. Aria felt the world tilt sideways, and suddenly she wasn't standing in the plain anymore.

She was in her home.

Or something shaped like it.

The kitchen was warm. Bread on the table. The scent of thyme and lemon.

Her mother stood at the window, humming a tune.

It hurt to see.

It hurt to know it wasn't real.

The feather pulsed in her hand-one beat, two-then glowed.

"Aria," her mother said, turning.

But this time, the illusion didn't smile.

It glared.

"You left me."

And the wind howled through the window like a blade.

Aria raised the feather.

"I never forgot," she said.

And the false mother screamed-not in pain, but in fury.

The dream cracked.

The walls fell.

And Aria was back in the field, breath ragged, kneeling beside Kael.

He was shaking, but alive.

His hand was on the stone. Her hand was on the feather.

The Field of Forgotten was gone.

Only broken earth remained.

And silence.

Real silence.

The kind that follows truth.

Later, when the wind returned and the Guide lit their fire, Kael looked at Aria and asked, "What did you see?"

Aria stared into the flames.

"A lie I almost believed."

He nodded.

"That's how the Hollow works," he said. "It doesn't destroy the world. It convinces us to do it for it."

And for a long time, neither of them said anything more.

But far away, the Hollow Wind stirred.

And remembered their names.