The gate groaned as it opened.
Emily stepped through first, flashlight gripped tight in one hand, her breath misting in the air despite the season. Beyond the threshold, the world changed.
It was still forest—but not the forest they knew.
Here, the trees were impossibly tall, stretching like cathedral spires into a black sky where no stars shone. Their trunks were smooth and bone-pale, and their bark resembled skin. Vines hung like nooses, swaying though no wind stirred them. A low hum filled the air, as if the trees themselves whispered secrets too ancient to understand.
"This place feels wrong," Ava murmured, her voice nearly swallowed by the silence.
"It is wrong," Marcus said, stepping in beside them. "We've crossed into the Hollow."
Emily blinked. "You've heard of this?"
"I read it in Devon's journal," Marcus said, pulling the battered notebook from his backpack. "He mentioned a place beneath the surface of the forest. Not physically underground—but hidden under layers of memory, shadow, and blood."
Ava looked around, eyes narrowing. "This is where the Watchers were born, isn't it?"
Marcus nodded. "It's where the games started. Where the forest made its first deal."
Emily swallowed hard. "With who?"
Marcus's eyes were dark. "The First Seeker."
They followed a winding trail through the Hollow.
Every step they took made the ground sigh beneath them, as if the earth itself was alive and breathing. Strange markings coated the path—crude drawings in red, shaped like children running, hiding, chasing, screaming.
They passed hollowed-out tree trunks with blackened interiors, and in some, bones were piled—small and brittle.
Emily had to look away.
At one point, a low crooning rose from the treetops—a lullaby, sung by voices that sounded disturbingly familiar. It was the same melody from the clearing where they had first seen the dark figure.
"It's them," Ava whispered. "The ones who were taken."
Marcus clutched his flashlight tighter. "They're still playing."
They reached a massive clearing.
In the center stood a monolithic tree, gnarled and blackened, its trunk scarred with thousands of claw-like etchings. Chains of bones hung from its limbs, clinking softly. Around the base, six stone totems stood in a circle—each carved into twisted figures of children with wide, screaming mouths.
Emily's skin crawled.
"This must be the source," she said.
Marcus opened the journal again. "Devon called it the Root Heart. It's the center of the Hollow—where all the paths lead."
"And the origin of the games," Ava added.
Emily stepped toward the tree.
Immediately, the air thickened. Her limbs felt heavy. The world bent around her.
A low voice spoke—not aloud, but directly into her thoughts.
Seeker…
Emily froze.
She turned to the others. "Did you hear that?"
Ava and Marcus nodded slowly. "Yeah," Ava whispered. "But it said my name."
Marcus shivered. "It's talking to all of us."
The voice deepened.
You returned. You chose to play again. You chose to remember.
"No," Emily said through gritted teeth. "We came to end it."
There is no end. Only turns. Roles. Rounds. This is not a curse. It is a covenant.
Suddenly, the Root Heart groaned.
Its bark split.
A doorway opened within its trunk—black as void.
A shape emerged.
It was childlike.
No more than four feet tall.
But its head was wrong—too large, with a mask of bark fused to its face. Empty eyes glowed red beneath it. Its limbs were jointed backward, and its fingers were long, bent like spider legs.
It stepped forward on soundless feet, holding a jagged branch like a scepter.
The First Seeker.
Marcus gasped. "That's it. That's the origin."
The creature didn't speak. But its mind pressed against theirs.
Emily staggered back, memories flooding her—games in the dark, whispering trees, teeth in the soil. She saw a time long before them: a village swallowed by forest, children lured by laughter, the first ritual born in desperation. A boy chosen. A game begun.
It had never stopped.
She fell to her knees.
Ava gritted her teeth. "Don't let it in. Don't let it win."
The First Seeker raised its hand.
From the trees, more figures emerged.
Dozens.
Children. Deformed, ethereal, eyes glowing with ancient hunger. Their mouths stretched in impossible smiles. Some crawled. Some hovered. All of them watched the trio like players waiting for their turn.
Emily stood, trembling.
"We break the Root Heart," she said. "Now. Together."
Marcus pulled a vial from his pocket—a small bottle of salt water, consecrated by a priestess he'd found after the first game. He'd kept it just in case. He poured it into a cloth and wrapped it around the branch Emily carried.
Ava lit a flare from her pocket and held it up. "We burn it from the inside."
They ran toward the Root Heart.
The First Seeker shrieked.
The children charged.
Emily swung the torch, fire licking the bark. The doorway pulsed, the tree groaning as if in agony. Black sap poured from its cracks, sizzling where it touched flame.
Marcus held off the child-figures with a second flare, sweeping it through the air as they hissed and recoiled.
Ava struck at the stone totems with her crowbar, toppling two before the others reacted.
Suddenly, the ground shook.
The Hollow began to collapse.
Roots snapped. Trees screamed. The sky cracked, revealing the pitch black void above them.
The First Seeker lunged.
Emily turned just in time to see its claws reaching for her face.
She drove the torch into its chest.
It didn't scream.
It just watched her—eyes glowing, unblinking—as its body caught fire.
Then it crumbled to ash.
They ran.
The Hollow fell apart around them, reality unraveling.
Flashes of memories played in the air—games from centuries ago, blood rites, chants in dead languages. They saw Devon. Saw him smiling faintly as the shadows swallowed him whole.
Saw the Watchers watching still.
They reached the gate.
Emily dove through first, dragging Ava behind her.
Marcus leapt last, just as the entire Hollow erupted in red flame and vanished.
The gate slammed shut.
Silence fell.
Real forest surrounded them again.
The birds were singing.
The trees were alive.
Morning sunlight filtered through the leaves.
It was over.
Wasn't it?
They didn't speak until they reached the edge of town.
Emily turned back to the woods one last time.
It was still. Peaceful.
But she knew it would never stay that way.
"These kinds of things don't die," Ava said softly. "Not really."
Marcus opened the journal one final time.
The last page had changed.
Three new names were written in crimson:
Emily. Ava. Marcus.
Beneath them, one final message:
Round Two Complete. Final Game Pending.