Chapter 13. Whispers in the Hollow

The tunnel’s walls seemed to breathe around them, pressing inward not by any craftsman’s design but by the slow, relentless gravity of ages. Aeryn felt each inch of that weight as if it were a bruise, an ache settling into her bones like an old breath she could never fully exhale. Clay and root, earth and time had woven themselves into a living mosaic, the lines where one element met another blurred by centuries of quiet settling. No pick or chisel had carved this path; only something older than memory—dust drifting on winds older than human song—had coaxed these walls into existence.

Behind her, Sera’s steps were hushed ghosts on the packed dirt. Each footfall left only the faintest impression, quickly reclaimed by the damp soil. In the hush, her breath sounded too loud—each inhalation a gentle whisper through unseen cracks, each exhalation brushing against the clay like a distant shiver. She did not ask questions aloud. Her eyes, bright in the glow of Aeryn’s hand, held all