Chapter 40

The town square of Eldenwood lay cloaked in the stillness of early evening, its cobblestones slick with the remnants of a passing drizzle. Aria stood at its center, cradling Rollan in her arms, his small form a warm weight against her chest. His tiny fingers curled around her thumb, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, drawing strength from his innocent trust. Around her, the group gathered in a tight circle, their faces etched with exhaustion and resolve.

Caden’s voice cut through the quiet, low and steady. “We need to split up—cover more ground. Torren, you scout the town for any sign of those agents. Elara, you and Thalia dig deeper into the orb’s history. Aria and I will seek out other resources—maybe there’s a sage or an elder who knows more.”

Torren nodded, his rogue’s instincts already attuned to the shadows. “I’ll be a ghost. If they’re here, I’ll find them.”

Elara adjusted her pack, the orb’s faint glow seeping through the fabric. “Thalia mentioned hidden archives. I’ll see what I can uncover.”

Aria met Caden’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. “We’ll be careful,” she said, her voice firm despite the flutter of fear in her chest.

With a final nod, they dispersed, each step echoing softly in the empty square. Torren melted into the alleyways, his form blending with the dusk, while Elara slipped back toward the library, her cloak billowing like a whisper. Aria and Caden turned down a narrow street, Rollan nestled between them, his wide eyes taking in the world with quiet curiosity.

The town’s silence pressed against them, broken only by the distant creak of a sign swinging in the breeze. Aria’s senses prickled, her healer’s intuition alert to the undercurrent of tension that hummed beneath Eldenwood’s stillness. “It feels like the town itself is watching us,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Caden’s hand rested on his sword hilt, his jaw set. “Let it watch. We’ve faced worse.”

They found themselves before a small apothecary, its windows dark but for a single candle flickering in the depths. Aria pushed the door open, the bell above it chiming softly. The air inside was thick with the scent of dried herbs and old parchment, shelves lined with jars of powdered roots and vials of murky liquids. An old man stood behind the counter, his spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, his gaze sharp despite the wrinkles framing his eyes.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice a rasp. “What brings you to my humble shop?”

Aria stepped forward, Rollan shifting in her arms. “We’re seeking knowledge—about ancient artifacts and prophecies. We were told Eldenwood holds secrets.”

The apothecary’s eyes narrowed, flicking to the orb’s faint glow in her pack. “Secrets, yes. But not all are meant to be unearthed.”

Caden’s voice was a low rumble. “We don’t have a choice. There are forces at play that threaten more than just us.”

The old man sighed, setting aside a bundle of herbs. “Very well. There’s a woman—Matilda—who lives on the outskirts. She was once a scholar of the old ways, before she retreated from the world. She might help, if you can convince her.”

Aria’s heart lifted, a spark of hope igniting. “Thank you. We’ll find her.”

As they turned to leave, the apothecary’s voice stopped them. “Be warned—Matilda is… guarded. She’s seen too much of the world’s darkness. Tread carefully.”

Meanwhile, Torren slipped through Eldenwood’s backstreets, his footsteps silent on the cobblestones. The town’s layout unfolded in his mind—a maze of alleys and hidden courtyards, perfect for ambush or escape. He paused at a shadowed corner, his keen eyes catching a flicker of movement—a cloaked figure darting between buildings, too swift to be a mere townsfolk.

He followed, his hand resting on the dagger at his belt. The figure led him to a dilapidated warehouse, its windows boarded, its door slightly ajar. Torren crept closer, peering through a crack. Inside, three figures huddled around a table, their voices hushed but urgent.

“the orb is here,” one said, his tone sharp. “We need to seize it before they leave.”

Another shook his head. “The Hollow Ones are already moving. If we act rashly, we’ll draw their wrath.”

Torren’s blood chilled. Cultists. He edged closer, straining to hear more, but a loose stone shifted under his boot, the sound echoing like a thunderclap in the stillness. The figures froze, their heads snapping toward the door.

He cursed under his breath, melting back into the shadows as the door creaked open. A cultist stepped out, his eyes scanning the alley. Torren held his breath, his body pressed flat against the wall. After a tense moment, the man retreated, but Torren knew their time was short. We’re not the only ones hunting secrets.

In the library, Elara and Thalia pored over ancient texts, their fingers tracing faded scripts and brittle maps. The orb rested between them, its light pulsing softly, as if alive. Elara’s brow furrowed as she deciphered a passage. “It says here that the Worldheart was shattered by a great betrayal—a guardian who sought its power for himself.”

Thalia nodded, her expression grave. “The Hollow Ones were born from that betrayal, cursed to wander until the heart is whole again. But the prophecy speaks of bearers who can mend it—or wield its destruction.”

Elara’s gaze flicked to the orb. “And we’re caught in the middle.”

A sudden hum filled the air, the orb’s light flaring brighter. Elara gasped as a vision flooded her mind—a shattered landscape, a figure cloaked in shadow, a pulsing heart of light cradled in their hands. The figure turned, their face obscured, and a voice echoed: “The heart’s true power lies not in unity, but in sacrifice.”

She stumbled back, the vision fading, her breath ragged. Thalia steadied her, concern etched in her features. “What did you see?”

Elara’s voice trembled. “A warning. The prophecy isn’t just about mending—it’s about choice. And sacrifice.”

Aria and Caden found Matilda’s cottage at the edge of town, a ramshackle hut surrounded by overgrown herbs and wildflowers. The door creaked open at their knock, revealing a woman with wild gray hair and eyes that gleamed with a mix of wisdom and wariness. “You’re the ones stirring up trouble,” she said, her voice a gravelly whisper. “Come in, then. Let’s see what you’ve brought.”

Inside, the cottage was a clutter of scrolls and strange artifacts. Matilda’s gaze settled on Rollan, her expression softening for a moment before hardening again. “The child is marked,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “His fate is bound to the heart’s.”

Aria’s chest tightened. “What does that mean for him?”

Matilda’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It means he’s both key and lock. His blood can awaken the heart—or seal it forever.”

Caden’s hand rested on Aria’s shoulder, his touch grounding. “How do we protect him?”

Matilda’s eyes flicked to the orb in Aria’s pack. “You can’t. Not without understanding the cost.”

Before she could elaborate, a sharp cry echoed from outside—a child’s wail, piercing and desperate. Aria’s heart seized. “Rollan—”

But Rollan was still in her arms, his eyes wide with confusion. The cry came again, from the woods beyond the cottage. Matilda’s face paled. “It’s a lure,” she hissed. “They’re here.”

The door burst open, and cloaked figures flooded in, their eyes gleaming with malice. Aria drew her dagger, but the cultists were too many, their hands reaching for Rollan. Caden fought fiercely, his sword a blur, but a blow to his head sent him crashing to the floor.

Aria screamed as a cultist wrenched Rollan from her grasp, his tiny form disappearing into the throng. “No!”

The world tilted, and darkness swallowed her as a heavy fist connected with her temple. Her last thought was a desperate plea: Find us.

When Aria awoke, the cottage was empty, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke. Caden lay beside her, unconscious but breathing, his face bruised. The cultists were gone—and so was Rollan.

Her heart shattered, a raw sob escaping her throat. They have my son.

But as she rose, her gaze fell on a hidden door in the floor, cracked open, revealing a glimpse of ancient stairs descending into darkness. Matilda’s voice echoed in her mind: “Eldenwood holds more secrets than you know.”

With trembling hands, she shook Caden awake. “They took him,” she choked out. “But I think I know where.”

Together, they descended into the hidden chamber, the air growing colder with each step. At the bottom, a vast underground library unfolded, its walls lined with forbidden tomes and artifacts. And at its center, a pedestal—empty, save for a single, cryptic message carved into the stone: “The heart’s true guardian lies within.”

Aria’s resolve hardened, her grief tempered by fury. We’ll find you, Rollan. And we’ll end this.