The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 26

Chapter

Twenty-Six

The Descent

The sky was a sheer white — no sun or moon visible through the pale, cloaking tract. It was as though time had stopped in this realm, waiting for Miya to return before oiling its rusty gears. There was no movement or sound, no indication of life.

Miya stood at the edge of the forest where the Dreamwalker had been waiting. She’d promised to follow her—wherever she went. But for now, Miya sensed she had time to spare. She ventured forward, leaving the village behind her.

The pale, blank sky turned to night, the moon high and the wind crisp. The familiar scent of pine and oak sent a reverberating current through Miya, the sound of rustling leaves and the thrum of the forest’s heartbeat quickening her steps. She could hear the wolf howling from somewhere within, waiting for her to find him.

Miya focused on drawing closer to the willow tree where she knew the wolf waited. There was no path to follow; she was lost in the labyrinth, his summon an invisible thread tugging her through wringing wooden walls—walls that had no intention of playing fair. They twisted and coiled, conjuring shadows that hampered her efforts to align herself in their midst.

Miya knew the Dreamwalker was watching, waiting to see if she’d pass her test—if she’d find her way back to the willow. She didn’t know what the Dreamwalker wanted with her, what the wolf wanted with her, but she felt compelled. As she moved deeper into the forest, the landscape behind her morphed with sentient expression. The frayed bark flaked from the trees, spirits crawling under their threadbare skin like snakes under sand, trembling and writhing in anticipation of what she would do next. A breeze passed through the branches—music inspiring the leaves to dance. Were they celebrating? She grew more frantic as the howls rung louder, closer, and more imminent.

When Miya reached the small, circular glade, the howls faded into the wind, and all descended into quiet. Only the quivering of the tiny emerald blades gilding the willow’s swaying canopy could be heard in the surrounding stillness. There, the willow stood waiting for her, anticipating her return. Overcome with familiarity and relief, Miya felt the grand tree breathing into the earth, welcoming her back. As she approached, the shroud rifted, revealing a shadowy figure nestled against a cleft carved into the tree’s impressive trunk. Its form was difficult to discern, masked by careening stems, their movement rhythmic like pendulums. But as the shadow’s wistful presence drew Miya in, her perception sharpened, and she became aware of something that rattled her equilibrium.

The shadow was not what she expected.