CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Hollow’s Secret

Zylia’s POV

The forest changed the deeper we went.

The air grew colder, heavier, like it carried the ghosts of everything that had died here. Even the wind sounded different. It blew lower, almost human.

No one spoke. Not Raven, not even Mason.

We just followed the fading path that wound through the mist, where the trees bent toward each other like they were whispering secrets we weren’t supposed to hear.

When the ruins appeared, it didn’t feel like finding something. It felt like something finding us.

Stone arches clawed at the sky, covered in moss and frost.

Symbols were carved along the walls , old, sharp, wrong.

I didn’t recognize the language, but my bones did.

My skin prickled as if my blood remembered what my mind couldn’t.

Raven was the first to step closer. “The Hollow,” she said quietly. “Didn’t think it was real.”

Her voice carried something I’d never heard before , fear.

Mason looked around, his jaw clenched tight. “Looks real enough to me.”

He brushed a hand across one of the carvings. The lines pulsed faintly, like they’d been waiting for that touch.

Raven pulled him back. “Don’t. You don’t touch things you don’t understand.”

“Then maybe you should tell us what you do understand ,” he shot back.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking toward me. “These markings… they’re stories. About a wolf born from moon and alpha blood. Not a witch though. A special wolf blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. Blessed with powers that can do good and be dangerous at the same time.”

Her throat worked like the words hurt. “They said this wolf was made to end dangerous creatures.”

“Maybe the wolf is Zylia,” Mason joked, knowing fully well I carried no Alpha blood, but omega.

“First ever joke I found funny,” She joined him.

But I focused more on the symbols.

I didn’t realize I’d taken a step closer until my palm brushed one of the symbols.

The world stilled.

Light crawled beneath my skin, slow and alive. Threads of silver snaked across my hand, following the lines of the carvings. My heartbeat matched their rhythm , wild, frantic, wrong.

“Zylia,” Mason said sharply. “Step back.”

“I… I can’t.”

The stone flared. The glow spread from my hand to the walls, tracing every mark like fire through veins.

A hum filled the air, deep enough to make the ground tremble.

Then came the whisper.

Not out loud. Not from anyone near me.

Not all prophecies speak truth. Some speak choice.

I gasped. My knees nearly buckled, but Mason was there, steadying me. His hand closed over mine, warm and grounding. The light dimmed where his skin met mine, the hum softening into silence.

When I looked up, he was staring at me like he could see the whole storm in my eyes. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” My voice shook. “But it felt… familiar.”

Raven circled us like she was ready to strike at any second. “That wasn’t wolf magic,” she said. “And it sure as hell wasn’t normal.”

She turned to Mason. “We should leave. Before whatever this place is decides to wake all the way up.”

Mason didn’t move. “She needs answers.”

“She needs control,” Raven snapped. “And this…” she gestured to the glowing carvings “…this is how people die chasing answers.”

I swallowed the tremor in my throat. “Then I’ll die knowing the truth.”

Something in my voice made her pause. Not strength , just exhaustion.

The silence that followed was long and heavy. Raven finally looked away. “You’ve got a death wish,” she muttered, and turned toward the entrance. “Fine. But don’t expect me to bury you.”

Mason gave a small, crooked smile. “She’s starting to like you.”

I almost laughed , almost. “That’s what that was?”

“Trust me,” he said. “That’s the closest she gets.”

We moved deeper into the ruin. The air grew warmer, the stones slick beneath our boots.

At the center stood an altar , cracked, half-sunk into the earth. Runes spiraled across its surface in looping, endless lines.

When I reached out, Mason stopped me. “Maybe don’t touch this one.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to. Not really. But something in me ached to know why the air here felt like it remembered my name.

The ache became pressure. A pulse.

And then,

A whisper again. Louder this time. Zylia.

My blood went cold. “Did you,” I turned to Mason.

He shook his head. “Did I what?”

“You didn’t hear that?”

“No.”

Raven froze, hand on her knife. “What did you hear?”

I swallowed hard. “Someone… someone said my name.”

The shadows between the arches shifted.

Raven moved first, blade flashing. Mason stepped in front of me.

But the voice came again, soft and certain, cutting through the dark.

“Zylia.”

A shape flickered at the edge of the ruin. Too far to see, too near to ignore.

The whisper crawled down my spine. “You’re waking,” it said, almost tender. “Good.”

Raven’s blade sliced through empty air , the figure was gone. Only the echo of that voice remained, clinging to the stones.

Mason’s eyes found mine. “Who was that?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because deep inside, past the fear and confusion, a small part of me already knew.

The Hollow showed me a glimpse of home.