The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 50

Chapter

Fifty

Miya

Everything was a haze. Miya strained to make out the silhouettes of towering tree trunks as dim, foggy light peaked through their crooked boughs. She was in the forest from all her dreams. Urgency and longing welled up inside her—locked up memories thrashing to get out. She now understood that her dreams had been taking her back to the same place, each and every time.

Feeling more at home than ever before, Miya began to walk, knowing she was supposed to go somewhere. She knew her intended destination; she just didn’t know how to get there or what it looked like. No matter , she thought. She’d recognize it when she saw it.

Just as Miya drew close to the place she thought she was supposed to find, she grew unsure of what she was seeing.

“Is this it?” she wondered aloud.

She fixated on a white oak nestled in a bundle of birch trees. Its leaves looked as though on fire, their edges blurred and flickering like flames. Miya thought this must have been it, so she stopped and turned to move towards the tiny grove.

“Not yet,” a voice whispered—so close that she felt breath tickling her ear. Dark violet and black shadows crept around from behind her, licking the backs of her legs and sending a chill up her spine.

It was the Dreamwalker.

“Keep walking,” the spirit hissed, and Miya chose to obey.

The Dreamwalker followed, tracing her every step. Miya didn’t dare turn to look for fear the phantom might possess her. Instead, she traipsed silently through the woods, ignoring the eerie presence hovering behind her until once more, something caught her eye, and she thought she may have reached her destination.

Again, the Dreamwalker whispered, “Not yet.”

Miya’s breath caught, her body feeling suspended, like some force was holding her in place. She stumbled forward, disoriented as the forest warped around her. Objects and colours bled into one another until they were unrecognizable. Miya’s senses were muted, rendered useless by the onslaught.

But her destination didn’t change, no matter what happened, no matter how different everything around may have appeared. With the world spinning, Miya pushed onward, focused on a point in the distance until finally, she found herself at the willow tree—the only constant in this illusory maze.

In front of it stood a boy—no older than twelve—with short, midnight black hair that had a peculiar, feather-like sheen. His irises were inky black—so large they monopolized the entirety of his eyes. He was wearing a feathered cloak, not unlike the Dreamwalker’s, and there was something painfully nostalgic about his presence. Miya realized he was the tiny figure from her first dream.

“Welcome,” he said, the cloak resembling raven wings as he spread his arms.

Taking a step forward, Miya called out to the boy.

“Kafka?”

A sharp smile cut across his face—a frightening smile that looked like someone had taken a knife to his lips. Without answering, he turned and walked straight through the willow, disappearing from sight.

Miya chased after him, the Dreamwalker—now strangely tranquil—still at her heels. As Miya reached up to touch the willow, her hand moved directly through the trunk. The air stilled as time and space halted, and the forest fell away, dissipating like dew being wiped from a window. The willow dispelled before her.

Once through to the other side, she stood on a lake of still, clear water that seemed to stretch out infinitely with no land in sight. In the willow’s place was a colossal, doorless red gate in the shape of a pi symbol, ornate carvings swirling around the massive, round wooden posts. Miya craned her neck to gauge the gate’s size as she wondered how it could possibly stand on water—and how she could too.

She looked down, expecting to see her reflection, but the water was now murky and clouded. Nothing down there resembled her. In fact, she couldn’t see anything at all.

“The mirrors of this world are different from the ones you make in yours,” the gate told her in a serene, androgynous voice. The water around it rippled out with every word. “These mirrors show you exactly what you are. Your reflection is as it should be. At least for now.”

Miya looked down again and discovered that the water was now a bottomless, white void. Nothing in this place made sense. The rational part of her wanted to escape—to return to a place where the rules of collective knowledge still applied. And yet, there was something here that felt like home. Should she have denied it merely because it didn’t make sense?

And that, of course, was the trick. The First capitalized on the human desire for simple truths, for answers to questions that were all wrong to begin with. Miya had been so overwhelmed trying to orient herself in a world she assumed foreign, she didn’t allow herself a moment to sink into the familiarity of it. This was no maze or prison; it was a sanctuary.

Miya’s reveries triggered a tidal wave—a realization that would forever elude the corpses under the tyrannical king’s watch: this place was the deepest part of her. Nestled in the darkest corners of the dreamscape, Miya had fallen asleep on a hill and found her own soul.

This was where she stopped.

“ He promised me answers.” She suddenly remembered their deal. “He promised to end this. To take me home.”

“He will tell you nothing,” said the gate. “But he doesn’t have to. You can find the truth right here, reflecting from within you. All you have to do is look.”

Miya turned her gaze towards the water a third time but again saw no reflection.

“Closer,” the gate urged, so Miya got on her knees, placed her hands on the cool, wet sheet, and leaned in.

As she did, something fell from the sky, breaking the perfectly still surface. She gasped and pulled back as the water swelled. She could feel the tiny crescendo rolling beneath her feet until gradually, the ripples calmed, and an image began to form.

It was the Dreamwalker; she was staring back at Miya through her bone mask. On either side of her stood a man—their faces not yet clear. They were both the same height, the outline of their bodies revealing unruly, mane-like hair and a warrior’s build. Miya focused on the image, but all that became clear were two distinct pairs of eyes: one red, and the other gold.

“This is it,” she spoke to the reflection, then looked at the shadow with golden eyes. “There’s nothing to wake up from.” The Dreamwalker’s lips moved in time with Miya’s. “I’m not dreaming.”

The shadow’s lemony eyes narrowed, and Miya knew she’d won their wager.

“You just didn’t want me to know who I really am, where I really belong.” Her mind flashed back to the unconscious women littering the hills. “You made them think they were lost, that they needed your help getting back. But they were already home,” she realized. “I’m home.”

Miya reached out towards the perfectly still reflection in the water. As her fingers grazed the surface, she caught the red eyes flash with recognition, coming alive as they focused on her. A dark, spectral hand burst from the mirage and grabbed her wrist. Miya cried out and fought to tear her arm back, but its grip was too powerful. Bits of shadow flaked away from the phantom’s limb, passing through her like vapour. A deep, rumbling voice reverberated from all directions.

“As promised.”

It was the last thing Miya heard before she was dragged under the water.