Alina didn't scream when the fire took her. She didn't even flinch.
The flame swallowed her, not like a predator, but like an embrace. Heat danced across her skin, reading every scar, every secret. It didn't burn her.
It accepted her.
Selene cried out, trying to reach her, but the flame held Alina in a sphere of memory and light. The blade hovered before her, and with a breath as steady as destiny, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt.
The blade pulsed.
And the Hollow—what remained of it—shuddered.
The symbols etched in the stone began to rearrange themselves. The altar cracked open to reveal a staircase spiraling downward, into a chamber that had not been opened in a thousand years.
Selene stepped in beside her, breathless. "What did you just do?"
Alina didn't answer.
She descended.
The chamber below was filled with murals, depicting not war—but love. Forbidden, broken, reborn. Across the far wall, two women stood hand-in-hand, one cloaked in light, the other shadow.
Selene stared. "Is that... us?"
"No," Alina said quietly. "It's the first bond."
The flame in the blade began to glow brighter.
Then, a whisper filled the air:
"The heir has taken the hollow. The curse shall now speak with her voice."
Selene grabbed Alina's arm. "Wait. If you become the voice—do you lose yourself?"
Alina's eyes glowed faintly. "I don't know. But I think the real question is: what if I already did?"
Above them, the world groaned. Something was stirring. Something vast.
A darkness older than the curse.
And it had just felt the shift.