CHAPTER 26: THE PRICE OF TRUST

The Verdant Hollow’s eastern grove is a cathedral of sorrow, its ancient trees weeping sap that glistens like blood in the dim light of failing wards. Their gnarled branches twist skyward, etched with runes that pulse faintly, their hum a dirge that claws at my mind. The black stone altar at the clearing’s heart throbs with shadow-realm power, its runes flaring with a hunger that mirrors the dread coiling in my chest. My crescent mark burns, a silver fire beneath my skin, urging me to act, but doubt anchors me—destroy the anchor and risk the Hollow’s collapse, or spare it and let Voren’s whispers fester. Cassia slumps against a tree, her blood soaking the moss, her crimson flames flickering like a candle in a storm. Renn kneels nearby, his face streaked with tears, his blue aura shattered by the weight of his betrayal—his sister’s life traded for a Syndicate relic that guided Voren’s scouts. Maddox stands by the altar, his shadow tendrils coiling like serpents, his star-flecked eyes sharp with a pain he won’t name. Lysa’s violet aura shimmers, her psychic wound a shadow I thought I’d misjudged, her gaze distant but steady. The lunar-eyed stranger lingers at the clearing’s edge, their twin-moon eyes an echo of my mother’s light, urging me to flee this cursed stone. I need Sylvara’s truth, but the wards scream, a warning of Voren’s approach, and time is a blade at my throat.

My claws twitch, lunar wings flickering unbidden, their silver glow casting jagged shadows across the grove. “We can’t stay here,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos in my heart, carrying a trace of Jorah’s command. “Cassia needs a healer, and this anchor—it’s Voren’s leash. We need Sylvara. She knows what this is, why it’s here.”

Cassia coughs, blood flecking her lips, her grin weak but fierce. “Sylvara’s hiding something, Lena. Always has. Don’t… don’t trust her blind.” Her flames flare briefly, singeing the air, a reminder of her strength even as her aura dims.

Maddox’s tendrils trace the altar’s runes, his voice a low, bitter murmur. “She’s not wrong. This thing’s a shadow-realm heart, woven into the Hollow’s roots. Pretty, for a world-ender. Reminds me of a relic I once burned—cost me my kin, my home. Sylvara’s playing a long game, Convergence. Question is, whose side?”

Lysa steps closer, her hands trembling, psychic echoes swirling in her aura. “The altar’s alive,” she whispers, eyes unfocused. “It remembers… pain, sacrifice. The Conclave bound it to save the Hollow, but it’s tainted. Elara fought against it, said it’d corrupt us. Sylvara… she pushed for it, centuries ago. She’s guarding its secret, but it’s breaking her.”

I clench my fists, claws pricking my palms, the memory of Kael’s interrogation—his screams, his blood—mingling with Lysa’s words. Sylvara, my guide, a pillar of my parents’ Conclave, complicit in this shadow-realm sin. The lunar-eyed stranger’s warning—Don’t tell Sylvara—rings louder, but I need answers, not riddles. “Then we cleanse it,” I say, the plan forming like a spark in the dark. “Lysa, you said a ritual could purge the taint. My blood, my lunar power—it’s tied to the Veil. Can we break Voren’s hold without shattering the Hollow?”

Lysa nods, hesitant. “Maybe. Your blood’s the key—lunar, primal, Veil-touched. But it’ll draw attention. Voren’s relic… it’s hungry for you. If we do this, he’ll see.”

Maddox’s smirk fades, his shadows tightening. “He’s already coming. That wraith was his scout. Do it, or don’t, but decide fast.”

Renn lifts his head, voice small. “I’m sorry, Lena. I didn’t mean… my sister, they’ll kill her. I’ll help, whatever you need.” His aura pulses, raw, desperate, and I want to believe him, but trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

I draw my dagger, pricking my palm, silver blood welling like starlight. “Then help. Lysa, guide me. Maddox, ward the clearing. Cassia, stay with me.” I meet her eyes, her pain a mirror to my own. “We’re not losing you.”

She nods, leaning on a tree, flames steadying. “Damn right, kid. Let’s burn this shadow crap to ash.”

Lysa kneels by the altar, her psychic touch weaving violet threads into the runes, her voice a chant that hums with ancient power. I step forward, my blood dripping onto the stone, each drop flaring silver, the altar’s hum shifting to a greedy pulse. My crescent mark blazes, lunar threads spilling from me, merging with Lysa’s psychic weave. The grove’s air thickens, ozone and decay choking my lungs, the trees’ whispers rising to a wail. Maddox’s shadows form a barrier, his aura a void that drinks the light, while Renn clutches a relic from his satchel, its glow a faint shield.

The ritual builds, my blood igniting the runes, silver light clashing with shadow. I feel Voren’s relic in the distance, its thunderous hum from my vision, seeking me. The Veil will fall, and I will rise. My wings unfurl, claws extending, the Convergence form stirring, but shadow-realm energy flickers in my light, a taint I can’t shake. Lysa’s chant falters, her aura spiking with fear. “It’s fighting back,” she gasps. “The anchor—it’s tied to something deeper.”

Before I can respond, Sylvara’s jade-green aura floods the clearing, her vine-hair coiling like a storm. “Stop!” she commands, her voice resonant, ancient. “You’ll destroy us all.” Her emerald eyes meet mine, heavy with guilt, and I see it—a fracture in her aura, a secret she’s carried too long.

I lower my hands, the ritual pausing, my blood still glowing on the altar. “You knew,” I say, my voice low, sharp. “You bound the Hollow to this shadow-realm anchor, let it fester. Voren’s using it, Sylvara. Why hide it?”

She steps forward, her aura weaving through the wards, steadying them. “I had no choice. The Veil was collapsing, rifts swallowing lives. Elara warned us, but the Conclave voted—bind the anchor or lose everything. I was young, Lena, but I believed it was right. I’ve guarded it since, strengthened it, to protect the Hollow. Without it, we’d have fallen centuries ago.”

Cassia snarls, her flames flaring despite her pain. “Strengthened it? You let Voren’s threads in, helped his moles. Kael, Renn—how’s that protection?”

Sylvara’s gaze falters, but her voice holds firm. “I made mistakes. The anchor’s taint enabled the shadow-threads, yes. But I can rebind it, with your blood, Lena. Sever Voren’s link, save the Hollow. It’s risky—your life could be the cost—but it’s our only chance.”

The lunar-eyed stranger steps from the shadows, their twin-moon eyes blazing. “No,” they say, their voice Elara’s, distorted by Veil-chaos. “Blood rituals are Voren’s game. Elara foresaw this—she feared the anchor’s hunger. There’s another way, Lena. A First Ones’ sanctuary, beyond the Veil, holds a ritual to unmake Voren’s relic. Seek it, or become the sacrifice.”

Maddox’s shadows snap, his voice a growl. “Sanctuary? Sounds like a trap. I’ve chased shadow-realm lies before—lost my brother to Voren’s relics. Bind the anchor, Lena. End this now.”

I’m torn, my crescent mark burning, the altar’s pulse syncing with my heartbeat. Sylvara’s plan could save the Hollow but risks my life, tying me to the shadow-realm’s hunger. The stranger’s sanctuary offers hope, but the Veil’s dangers are unknown, and their motives—Elara or not—feel like a blade’s edge. Renn’s sobs, Cassia’s labored breaths, Lysa’s trembling chant—they all weigh on me, the Convergence, the bridge my parents died for.

Lysa’s aura spikes, her eyes widening with terror. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her hand slamming onto the altar. The runes blaze, a rift tearing open, shadow-realm wraiths spilling forth—writhing masses of black tendrils and hollow eyes, their screams a storm of shattered glass. My new sight catches it: Lysa’s psychic wound, a Syndicate trap woven deep, forcing her to betray us. She’s the second mole, manipulated, broken.

“Lysa!” I roar, shifting fully, lunar light and primal fury erupting. My wings blaze, claws slashing as I meet the wraiths, their tendrils tearing at my aura. Maddox’s shadows bind one, but a wraith’s claw rakes his chest, blood spraying, his grunt of pain raw. Cassia’s flames surge, burning a wraith to ash, but her wound slows her, her aura fading. Renn throws his relic, its light staggering a wraith, but there are too many.

Lysa’s voice cuts through, a sob. “They tortured me… made me theirs. I can’t let this happen.” She seizes the altar, her psychic power flooding the runes, violet light clashing with shadow. The rift pulses, wraiths screaming, and Lysa’s aura burns out, her body collapsing, lifeless, as the rift snaps shut. The altar dims, its hum silenced, but the wards flare—Voren’s forces, alerted, breaching the Hollow’s outer defenses.

I kneel by Lysa, her face still, her aura gone. My claws retract, wings fading, the Convergence form heavy with grief. “Why?” I whisper, but there’s no answer. Cassia staggers to me, blood dripping, her hand on my shoulder. “She saved us,” she murmurs. “At the end.”

Maddox rises, clutching his wound, his voice hoarse. “Saved us for now. Voren’s here, Lena. That rift was his signal.”

Sylvara’s aura flares, her vine-hair coiling. “Bind the anchor, Lena. Your blood, now, before he takes it.” The stranger steps forward, their form fraying, Elara’s echo fading. “The sanctuary, daughter of moonlight. It’s your only hope.”

The grove shakes, wards collapsing, Syndicate shadows massing beyond the trees. Renn’s eyes meet mine, pleading, Cassia’s breath falters, Maddox’s blood stains the earth. The altar waits, hungry, and Voren’s thunderous hum grows closer. I’m the Convergence, torn between a ritual that could kill me and a sanctuary that might not exist. Lysa’s sacrifice burns in my heart, a reminder of trust’s price, and I know—whatever I choose, the Hollow, my parents’ dream, hangs in the balance.