The Witch In The Hollow

The forest swallowed them whole.

Every tree seemed to lean closer, every branch like a hand reaching out, whispering secrets in a language only the dead could speak. Derek walked slightly ahead, shoulders tense, jaw set. Diva followed in silence, her mind racing.

The image of the coiled serpent around the crescent moon lingered in her thoughts like smoke. She’d never seen that symbol before, but it made something in her chest twist—a deep, instinctive unease. Whoever left it behind had wanted them to see it. No, needed them to.

They crossed a shallow stream where the water shimmered with reflected crimson light. The blood moon wasn’t full yet, but already its color touched the world, casting the forest in muted shades of rust and gold.

Diva finally broke the silence.

“That mark… the serpent and the moon. You said it belonged to a forgotten sect.”

Derek didn’t stop walking, but he answered, voice low.

“Years ago, before Ronan rose to power, there were whispers of an ancient order—mages who practiced forbidden forms of magic. Not dark, exactly… but twisted. They believed time was a thread you could sever and sew back differently. They marked their places with that symbol.”

Diva blinked. “And Ronan has access to that?”

“He shouldn't,” Derek said. “They vanished after the Reckoning. Most believe they were hunted into extinction—or merged into other covens and diluted out of memory. But that seal… it was fresh.”

“So he’s using magic that shouldn't exist. And he’s using it to kill without leaving a trace.”

Derek stopped walking then, turned to face her. “Exactly. That’s what’s been bothering me.”

He crouched beside the gnarled roots of a twisted tree, tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick. “The Seer was powerful. Even old and blind, he had wards. Spells. Protections we couldn’t even see. No ordinary rogue could’ve killed him, not clean like that. There should’ve been resistance. Struggle. But there was nothing.”

Diva nodded slowly. “So how did Ronan do it?”

Derek looked up at her, the moonlight carving hard lines into his face. “I don’t know. But I know someone who might.”

Diva tilted her head. “Who?”

He stood, brushing dirt from his hands. “The Hollow Witch.”

Her breath caught. “She’s real?”

“As real as the curse on your blood,” Derek replied. “She’s older than the kingdoms, older than Ronan, older than the Seer. She’s lived through every regime and every lie. If anyone knows the magic Ronan is tapping into, it’s her.”

“I thought she was dangerous,” Diva said carefully.

“She is,” Derek agreed. “But we don’t have a choice.”

They traveled deeper into the woods, veering off the main trail until even the moonlight had to fight its way through the branches. The trees changed here—thicker, darker, older. Moss coated everything. The air was damp and smelled of iron and rot.

It was nearly dawn when they reached the Hollow.

It wasn’t a place on any map. It was a feeling—a pressure in the bones, a silence too deep to be natural. The trees here formed a perfect circle around a small sunken grove, where a single willow tree stood, bent low over a dark pool that never reflected the sky.

And beneath that willow, in the shadow of its twisted limbs, stood the witch’s hut.

Diva felt her skin prickle. “It doesn’t look lived in.”

“That’s the trick,” Derek murmured. “It’s always watching.”

They approached slowly, each step deliberate. No birds sang. No insects stirred. Time felt slower here, like the Hollow didn’t care for the rules of the outside world.

When they reached the door, Derek hesitated.

“She doesn't like visitors.”

“She’ll like murder less,” Diva said.

Derek gave a dry smile, then raised his hand and knocked once.

The door opened before his knuckles touched wood.

A low creak echoed through the grove, and a voice floated out—like smoke curling through cracks.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

The witch stood in the doorway, her frame small but bent, wrapped in layers of black and grey. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, yet they found Derek and Diva as if sight were a suggestion she had long outgrown.

Derek bowed his head respectfully. “We come for knowledge.”

The witch tilted her head. “Knowledge has a cost.”

“We’ll pay it,” Diva said.

The witch's lips curled into a smile that wasn’t warm.

“Oh, child,” she whispered. “You already are.”

Then she turned and walked into the dark, leaving the door open behind her.

Derek and Diva exchanged a look.

And then stepped into the Hollow.