The fog was thick by morning, stretching across Hollowmere's lake like a woolen blanket. Bell stood at the edge of the water, his reflection distorted in the ripples. Behind him, Seria adjusted the strap on her satchel.
"The abbey should be just past those trees," she said, pointing to the eastern ridge.
Cid emerged from the inn still chewing on something. "Do cursed monasteries come with breakfast? Asking for a friend."
"No," Seria said.
"Yes," Cid replied immediately, popping the rest of his bread into his mouth. "Because I'm bringing mine."
The trail took them through sloping forest where the mist grew colder. After a short hike, a crumbling stone arch appeared between the trees, vines coiling around its base. Beyond it, Hollowmere Abbey stood in quiet ruin—its tower half-fallen, its windows blind and dark.
Seria stepped through the arch. "They say the monks here once kept records older than the Kingdom."
"Why hide them in a ruin?" Bell asked.
"Because truth gets heavier with age," she replied.
Inside, the abbey was a skeleton. Light streamed in through cracks in the roof, casting beams across dust-choked pews and shattered murals. They moved quietly through the nave, past fallen pillars and a long-dry fountain shaped like an eye.
At the far end, behind a warped altar, a spiral staircase curved into the earth.
Cid peered into the darkness. "If I die down there, I'm haunting someone. I'm not picky."
Bell led the way, torch held high, casting flickering light across the stone walls.
They descended into a vault — cold, silent, lined with shelves of scrolls and books sealed in wax and time. The air was thick with forgotten ink and something else. Something ancient.
Seria's eyes lit up as she scanned the room. "Some of these are pre-Kingdom. Elders' Era. And... here—look."
She pointed to a long scroll half-unraveled.
Bell leaned in, reading slowly. "'Daughter of Flame... silenced by decree... name stricken from record…'"
"Evelyne again," Seria whispered. "Someone powerful. Feared. Maybe betrayed."
Bell frowned. "There's no royal crest on this. No confirmation."
"Exactly," she said. "It wasn't meant to be found."
From the corner, Cid's voice broke in. "Guys. I found a drawing."
They turned.
Cid had uncovered a faded tapestry hanging behind a broken case. He yanked it down, revealing a stitched image of two figures—one cloaked in gold, the other in shadows.
The golden figure held a sun-shaped sword.
The shadowed one had no face—only a pale serpent at its feet.
"Prophecy?" Bell asked.
"Or poetry," Seria said.
Cid shrugged. "Could also be an ancient fashion guide."
They all laughed—but the laughter didn't reach the corners of the room.
On their way out, Seria carefully tucked one of the scrolls into her satchel. Bell watched her closely.
"You're going to study this, aren't you?"
"Until it makes sense," she replied.
He smiled. "You never stop chasing truth."
"And you never stop running toward danger."
From behind, Cid mimicked a gagging noise. "I feel like I walked into a romance novel."
"You walked into a dungeon," Seria said, smirking.
"A dusty one," Cid added. "I demand a raise."
That night, back at the inn, Hollowmere was quiet again.
Bell stood alone on the balcony, watching the moon rise over the lake. He thought of the tapestry, the scroll, the silence in his father's halls when Evelyne's name came up.
A forgotten hero.
A missing piece.
A shadow beside the light.
Behind him, Cid snored softly in the other bed, one leg tangled in the blanket.
Bell sighed and leaned against the rail. "Some names are too loud to be erased."
Far from Hollowmere, in a clearing slick with mist, the obelisk pulsed again.
A figure in shadow stood still beneath its glow.
The serpent appeared—slow, gliding—its body as pale as bone. It curled around the figure's leg. Watched. Waited.
The figure lifted a hand.
No voice.
No sound.
Only memory.
The obelisk hummed.
And a flame, faint and ancient, flickered deep within the stone.