Bound by Moonlight and Magic
The Hollow had known war.
It had known silence.
It had tasted the ink of forgotten lives and the blood of remembered pain.
But now, it knew peace.
Not the kind born of surrender or silence, but the peace earned through defiance, through rewriting, through rising.
Liora sat beneath the Sigil Tree—the first one, though now it stood beside a second. The new tree had grown fast, impossibly so, as if the world couldn’t wait to hear its story. Its bark shimmered with threads of possibility, not yet named, not yet fated. A living manuscript.
In her lap lay a book.
Not bound in leather, nor sewn with magic, but living parchment, pulsing faintly with light. A record of the Hollow. Of everything.
She hadn’t written in it yet.
Not a word.
Because this time, sh
