Hollow Roots
The Gate pulsed behind Cuco like a heartbeat exposed to the sky. Its roots twined upward in impossible spirals, alive with golden flame and dark hunger. And from its glowing threshold, Echo emerged—no longer clothed in skin and certainty, but in shifting vines and flickering eyes that weren't entirely his.
Still, Cuco didn't raise his blade.
Not yet.
"Echo," he said, his voice steady. "If you're still in there—fight it."
The creature laughed. Or maybe it wept. The sound was both.
> "He tried," it said. "He screamed. But roots that crack stone do not retreat.
He is mine now."
The wind swirled between them, filled with the rustle of leaves and voices that weren't quite human. Cuco held his ground.
"I've walked this path," he said. "And I came back. So can you."
"You didn't come back," the thing whispered. "You changed. And soon, you'll see the truth: there's no returning. Only growing deeper."
The mark on Cuco's arm flared again. The blade in his hand hummed—not with thirst, but with purpose.
"I won't fight you," Cuco said. "But I will stop you."
---
In the forest beyond, Nox and Isabela raced through the underbrush, the light from the Gate piercing through the trees like a beacon of everything broken. The air grew thicker with every step, laced with dream-energy and something fouler.
"He's there," Isabela breathed. "I can feel him."
"Both of them," Nox muttered. "And the Hollow."
The trees groaned around them—some shifting aside, others resisting. The forest itself was caught in the conflict, unsure whether to defend its new root or resist the corruption blooming within it.
They broke through into the clearing just as Echo raised his hand.
Vines erupted from the ground.
Cuco moved.
---
The clash was quiet.
No metal rang. No warcry was screamed.
Cuco ducked beneath the first sweep of vines, sliding across the moss as the blade in his hand sliced—not to kill, but to sever the spell's grip. Green light hissed as it bled from the wound.
Echo's corrupted form lunged, and the forest twisted around them, warping into a cage of thorns.
> "You always feared your own power," the Hollow said. "But I have none of your shame.
I am what grows when guilt is left to rot."
Cuco blocked another strike.
Then another.
Then he let the blade fall—not to the ground, but into the soil.
The roots drank it.
The earth trembled.
The blade sank like a seed.
And the forest bloomed.
> "You wanted to grow," Cuco whispered. "Then grow this."
---
Golden roots exploded outward from where the blade had fallen, weaving through the corrupted vines like threads of sunlight through shadow. They didn't tear. They transformed—each dark strand they touched turned to ash or memory, vanishing with a breath of wind.
Echo staggered back.
The light struck his chest—and for a moment, Cuco saw the Dreamer again. Just a flicker.
"Cuco…" Echo choked. "I… I didn't mean to…"
"I know."
And then the Hollow screamed through him.
> "WE WILL NOT BE UPROOTED!"
---
The Gate blazed.
But Cuco stepped forward, arms wide, the forest behind him rising in defense.
He placed a hand on Echo's chest.
And whispered a word the Tome had taught him long ago:
> "Rest."
The Hollow fought.
But roots, when they choose peace, are stronger than when they seek control.
Light and shadow tangled.
And Echo collapsed.
---
When it ended, the forest was silent.
The Gate had closed.
The blade lay dormant, embedded like a relic in the heart of the glade.
Echo breathed—but he was no longer the vessel. The Hollow had fled. For now.
Cuco sank to his knees.
Not in defeat.
In grief.
In relief.
In both.
---
Isabela and Nox reached him moments later.
"He's alive," Cuco said, voice raw. "But the Hollow's still out there. This was just one root."
Nox nodded slowly. "Then we dig deeper. We find the others."
Cuco looked up at the sealed Gate.
And for the first time in what felt like forever—
He smiled.
> "Then let's grow something better."