Mira stared at the book Rylan held, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked at it as if it might suddenly snatch at her, or worse, bite her hand. Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with shock and curiosity. "You're joking," she said, her voice almost faltering. "You really found this here?" Her gaze was fixed on the ancient-looking object, as if expecting it to jump out and surprise her at any moment.
Rylan nodded slowly, his face serious and intent. His eyes flicked around nervously, as if reluctant to speak too loudly about what he knew. "Under the roots," he said quietly, almost whispering. "They… moved." His words hung in the air, thick with meaning. The roots of the nearby trees, which had looked like ordinary parts of the landscape moments before, had shifted position. It was subtle but undeniable. Roots don't normally move on their own. Not unless something strong or strange is happening beneath the surface.
Mira's fingers hovered cautiously near the cover of the book, hesitating as if she sensed some invisible danger radiating from it. Then she pulled her hand back sharply, a shiver running down her spine. "It feels… wrong," she admitted softly. Her brow furrowed. "Not evil. Just… old. Like it's waking up." She paused, her voice lowering further. "Like it's been waiting for someone to find it, to open it again." Her words made the air feel heavier, charged with unspoken fear and curiosity. She didn't quite say what she was thinking—that the book might hold something powerful or dangerous, something that shouldn't be disturbed. But her instincts told her this was no ordinary find.
With careful movements, they lifted the book and began making their way down the hill. The terrain was steep and uneven, and they needed to shield the fragile object from prying eyes or accidental bumps. Their steps were cautious, as if walking through a sacred space. The feeling that it was too personal, too tied to something they couldn't yet understand, settled over them. It was as if this book had already begun to exert a strange, unseen influence. They knew enough to know they should wait until they examined it more closely, until they really understood what they were holding.
Once back at their camp, the others were already gathered at the very edge of the ruins. The remains of the old structures loomed around them, shadows stretching across the ground. Ash was nearby, practicing his favorite pastime—throwing stones dramatically into a dry creek bed, making a show of it as if trying to impress someone. Near him, Lina sat with her legs tucked under her, braiding a chain of vines around her wrist, creating what looked like a small charm or talisman. Her fingers moved carefully, winding the vines into a tight, intricate pattern.
Varyon was the first to spot the book, his face a mix of suspicion and curiosity. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the battered object. "You two disappear together," he said, voice edged with dry humor, "and this is what you bring back? It looks like it belongs in a tomb." His tone hinted that he might think the book was cursed or haunted, something best left undisturbed.
Rylan responded calmly, "I think it does." His voice was steady, packed with conviction.
Ash leaned closer, eager to examine the strange object. His brow furrowed in concentration. "What's it made of?" he asked, voice filled with genuine interest.
Mira hesitated before answering. "Don't know," she said slowly. "But it's not leather. Or wood. The cover's cold—so cold it almost numbs my fingertips. Like it's made of stone." She paused, shivering slightly. "Or bone. It feels… alive in a way, like it carries some kind of dark energy." She looked at the others, eyes shining with a mix of wonder and unease.
Lina stood up, dusting off her hands. "Where exactly did you find it?" she asked, her voice steady but wary.
"Buried," Rylan answered. "Under the roots of the arch near the northern hill."
Varyon frowned, his brow drawing together. "That part wasn't marked on the map," he said, voice low and cautious.
Rylan nodded. "I know. We only discovered it by accident." There was a heavy pause, each of them lost in thought. The significance of the location, the strange origins of the site—they all felt it was important.
They carefully placed the book on a flat stone slab in the center of their camp. It was roughly the size of a journal—small enough to hold comfortably in one hand. But it felt different. The weight seemed to go far beyond its physical size. It carried a presence that made everyone feel a little uneasy, a sense of something ancient lurking just beneath the surface.
Rylan reached out toward the book, his hand trembling slightly. The others instinctively tensed, watching him closely. Their voices caught in their throats as he slowly, deliberately, placed his hand on the cover. The moment of silence stretched long.
Nothing happened at first. The air remained still, as if nothing was about to change. Then, as if summoned by their unseen thoughts, a faint, almost imperceptible crack began to split along the seam where the covers joined. The sound was subtle but distinct—a tiny snapping noise that echoed in the quiet camp.
Gradually, the book seemed to breathe—its pages and cover pulsating with a slow, rhythmic motion. The shell of its closed form was gently pushed apart as if some ancient, unseen force was easing it open. A soft glow began to seep from the gap, casting a weak but strange light over the surrounding stones and dirt. A cool rush of air escaped from its depths, carrying with it a whisper of something old and forgotten, like a faint exhale from a long-dead creature awakening from slumber. The process was slow but unstoppable, as if the book was alive and breathing in its own way, revealing its secrets only when ready.
Inside the old, dust-covered book, the pages remained completely blank. For a long moment, Rylan stared at them, his mind rushing with doubts. He wondered if he'd been tricked, if the entire thing was just another dead piece of history—an empty shell with no secrets to reveal. The room was silent except for the faint crackling of the fire and the quiet breathing of his companions. Rylan's eyes flicked over the pages again, searching for any sign of movement or ink, but they stayed plain and untouched. It seemed impossible that the book had any life in it, especially after so many similar artifacts had failed to reveal anything meaningful.
Then, suddenly, something shifted. Beneath Rylan's hand, a single symbol blazed into existence on the page. It was as if the space itself had decided to reveal a secret. The symbol was a perfect circle, simple but powerful. Inside it, seven jagged strokes cut through the space like sharp claws or lightning bolts frozen in time. At the very center of the circle, a small flame flickered, bright and lively despite the darkness around them. The lines shimmered with a strange, liquid glow—like gold molten and flowing, moving as if they were alive. The glow was mesmerizing, pulling their eyes into its shimmer, making it seem as if the symbol pulsed with energy.
Ash, standing just behind Rylan, tilted his head and frowned. His brow furrowed as he asked, "Did you draw that?" His voice was quiet but filled with confusion. For a moment, Rylan hesitated, then shook his head slowly. "No," he said softly. "It just… appeared." His voice hinted at surprise and awe, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It had come from nowhere, without his hand touching it or any ink or pencil nearby. This was no ordinary drawing.
Mira leaned forward, peering closely at the symbol. She carefully tilted her head and reached out to touch the page. Her fingers brushed against it gently, but they encountered nothing—no ink, no residue, just empty paper. Her brow knit in curiosity. Then she reached out again, this time trying to turn the page with her hands. To her surprise and frustration, it refused to budge. The page was stuck, almost alive, resisting her efforts to flip it. It was as if the book had become stubborn, guarding whatever secret was hidden inside.
Lina, watching the scene unfold, suggested softly, "Try touching it again," her voice calm but encouraging. Rylan nodded and extended his hand once more. His fingertips made contact with the symbol, and suddenly, the page beneath him flipped on its own. Without any effort from him, it turned as if pushed by an invisible hand. With this movement, another symbol emerged on the new page—a spiral sunburst. It pulsed with a flickering light, expanding and contracting like a heartbeat, radiating energy. After a few moments, the image gradually settled into a still, steady shape. It was as if the symbol itself was alive, responding to their presence.
Varyon, quietly observant, spoke up with a note of certainty. "It's responding to you," he said. His voice came with a sense of awe, as if he understood something that the others couldn't yet grasp. Mira, speaking more softly, added, "It knows you." Her words carried weight, implying a connection far beyond simple magic or chance. They all looked at Rylan, whose eyes now searched the symbols as if trying to understand their meaning, or perhaps uncover some deeper truth.
Rylan looked up sharply and said, "This doesn't feel like a book." His voice was firm, carrying the weight of a revelation. The others watched him closely, waiting for him to explain what he meant. Lina asked gently, "What does it feel like, then?" Rylan paused, searching for words that could explain the strange sensation crawling through his mind. Finally, he spoke clearly: "A door." His voice felt certain, as if he had glimpsed into something far bigger than himself. The symbol, the responses—it all pointed to the idea that this was not just an ordinary collection of pages. This was a threshold, a gateway to something unknown.
Later that night, as the friends sat around the campfire, they remained quiet. The fiery glow cast flickering shadows across their faces. The book sat in the center of their circle, closed now, silent, but undeniably present. Its stillness felt heavy, filled with unspoken questions and possibilities. Rylan couldn't stop thinking about the second symbol, the spiral sunburst that pulsed with life. He wasn't just recalling its image—he knew it. Not in words, but as a shape he recognized deep inside. It was a shape he'd drawn dozens of times as a child, and it felt familiar in a way that made his chest ache. It was like parts of him had once been made of this symbol. Like it had been woven into his bones.
Mira sat close beside him, her eyes flickering with concentration. She held a faint piece of charcoal, sketching slowly on a scrap of paper. Her hand moved almost automatically, reproducing the first symbol—the circle with seven jagged strokes—without her even looking at the book. "Do you ever wonder," she asked softly, breaking the silence, "if maybe we're just remembering instead of discovering?" Her voice was quiet but filled with curiosity. It sounded as if she was questioning whether their memories were the real key, not any hidden truths waiting to be uncovered. Rylan looked at her, puzzled.
She continued to draw despite her words. The image she was copying was clear—she was tracing the circle of seven, the jagged strokes, the flickering flame—like it was already etched into her mind. Then she said softly, "I didn't mean to do that. My hand just… started on its own." Her voice was almost a whisper, trembling with a strange mix of fear and wonder. They looked at each other, sharing a silent understanding. This was no ordinary coincidence.
Far beyond their camp, deep inside the thick woods surrounding Hollowmere, something else shifted. A tree suddenly split open without a sound, the split fast and clean. A dark shadow peeled away from a nearby stone, stretching like shadowy smoke. It was as if the very land around them was responding to some unseen force, planting the first pieces of a much larger puzzle. The quiet morning air grew heavy with the feeling that something had been set into motion. The silence of the night was broken — Hollowmere was no longer asleep. It had begun to wake up.