They said no one returned from Hollow Grove after dark.
But Amara was done listening to warnings.
She had the journal.
She had the truth.
And she had him—the creature in her mirror, the one claiming to be born of her blood, of her mother's sins.
So she left.
No goodbyes. Not even to Selene.
This part of the journey… she had to take alone.
The forest greeted her with silence.
No wind. No birds. Just the heavy breath of moss and moonlight.
She walked for hours, guided by the drawings in her mother's journal—roots shaped like stars, rocks that hummed when touched, and finally, the twisted tree with a hollow trunk that led to the hidden grove.
She slipped through the gap.
And stepped into another world.
The Hollow Grove was ancient. Alive.
The trees here pulsed faintly with light under their bark. The air shimmered like fog, heavy with forgotten magic.
In the center stood a stone pool—shallow and perfectly round. Its surface glowed silver under the moonlight.
Amara knelt beside it, breathing fast.
The journal said: "When you arrive, bleed. Let the grove remember."
So she pricked her finger with a thorn from the twisted tree and let a single drop of blood fall into the pool.
The reaction was instant.
The pool shimmered. Trembled. Reflected not her image… but her mother's.
"Amara."
The voice came not from her ears—but her soul.
She froze.
The reflection moved, even though she didn't.
It smiled with sadness and strength. "You found me."
"Mama?"
"Yes. But not as you remember. I am echo, memory, essence."
"Why did you leave this behind?" Amara whispered, tears threatening.
"I didn't want to. I was forced. I bound something that loved too deeply—loved me too much to stay gone."
Amara looked at her bleeding finger. "The mirror child…"
"It is not a demon," her mother said. "It is longing made flesh. My longing. And now… yours."
The pool began to ripple.
Something stirred beneath it.
"Amara," her mother's voice said, growing faint, "you have a choice. Bind it again. Or become what I was. A protector. A binder. A Moon-Witch."
The reflection flickered.
"You cannot be both. And he will try to sway you. With fear. With love."
The wind howled.
A second reflection appeared beside her mother's.
Him.
Older. Darker. Stronger.
"I never wanted to hurt her," he whispered. "I only wanted to be held."
Amara stood, shaking. "You've haunted my dreams. You tried to use Micah's face."
"I needed a door," he said. "I chose the one you trusted. But I… I felt you. I know your grief."
"Then why torment me?"
"Because I want to be born. I want to live. To be real."
Amara turned to her mother's image.
"What happens if I say yes? If I let him out?"
The answer was soft.
"You will no longer be just a girl. You will become a god's cradle… or a grave."
Amara's blood shimmered on the pool's surface.
And the ground beneath her began to quake.
The grove was waking.
Magic was choosing.
And in her heart, something ancient began to open—like a gate.
She looked into the pool one last time.
And whispered, "Then let it begin."
In the trees, unseen, Selene arrived just in time to see the silver light rise like a storm around Amara.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh no… she's choosing him."