They thought it was over.
For weeks, Veer and Aarohi stayed hidden in the forest hills beyond Hollowridge.
The nightmares faded.
The sky cleared.
Villages that had fled began to rebuild.
But deep inside, they both felt it:
The silence wasn't peace.
It was waiting.
Aarohi's powers came in waves.
Some days she glowed with fire and wind, able to hear whispers from miles away.
Other days, her body trembled violently, as if something inside her was trying to claw its way out.
Veer held her through it all.
"Whatever's in you," he said, "we'll face it together."
But Aarohi wasn't sure anymore what was in her.
The Hollow God had retreated.
But… she still dreamed of eyes in the dark.
Not one.
Not two.
But thousands.
One night, while gathering herbs, Veer found a symbol carved into a tree near their cottage:
A spiral made of black crows.
Under it, in dried blood, were the words:
"THE FALSE GATE MUST FALL."
By dawn, Desai found them.
His hair was nearly white now, his eyes sunken.
"You've started something you don't understand," he whispered. "There are others. Older cults. Older gods. The Hollow One was only the first layer."
He dropped a book at Aarohi's feet.
"The Sleepers. They believe the Hollow God was a keeper, not a destroyer. A prison guard. And now that you sealed it…"
He looked at her.
"…you've unlocked something much worse."
That night, strange people surrounded the forest.
Not like the Hollow cultists—these wore wooden masks shaped like animals.
No mouths. No eyes. Only holes.
They didn't chant.
They didn't speak.
They simply watched.
Then they started leaving offerings at the door.
A skinned rabbit. A child's tooth. A jar of old blood.
Veer tried burning them.
They returned the next day—multiplied.
Aarohi screamed at the trees one night, her voice turning unnatural, echoing through the woods like thunder.
"Leave us!"
The forest answered:
"You are the key that turned too early."
Desai tried to perform protective rites.
On the third night, he was found outside the cottage—his eyes missing, his tongue stitched with salt.
Before he slipped into unconsciousness, he gasped:
"The true god…
was never the Hollow One.
It's the one that sleeps under it."
And then Aarohi began to change.
Her skin grew pale as bone.
Her veins glowed faintly gold.
She whispered strange words in her sleep.
And one morning, she looked at Veer and asked:
"What if…
this was always meant to happen?"
The masked ones finally came on the seventh night.
Thirty of them.
Silent.
Weapons made of glass and stone.
They circled the house, laying down ash and blood, forming a massive spiral.
Aarohi stared from the window.
"They're not here to worship," she said.
"They're here to kill me."
Veer grabbed a rusted axe.
Aarohi touched his shoulder gently.
"No," she said. "Not yet."
She stepped outside barefoot, her hair blowing like silver silk in the wind.
The masked ones bowed.
One stepped forward, holding a scroll wrapped in skin.
He opened it.
Read aloud, in a voice like cracking stone:
"The False Gate brings the deeper hunger.
We are the Watchers of the Core.
Your light has disturbed the End.
We will silence you."
He raised a blade.
Aarohi raised her hand.
And the ground exploded.
Fire erupted in all directions.
Screams filled the trees.
Some masks cracked open—revealing faces long-decayed, puppeted by something beneath.
Veer pulled Aarohi back as the forest began to burn.
The Watchers retreated into the night.
But their message remained.
This wasn't revenge.
It was a warning.
Later, as they stood in the ashes, Aarohi whispered:
"There's something still below.
Something deeper.
Something even the Hollow God feared."
Veer asked, "What do we do?"
She looked to the horizon.
And said:
"We go back.
To Hollowridge.
To where it all began."