"Want grows louder the moment you stop pretending you don't deserve anything."
The Vale did not give them time to recover.
The ground barely stopped vibrating from the storm's withdrawal when the next golden ribbon carved itself through the obsidian—sharp, straight, and impossibly bright.
Aarav swallowed.
"That's… fast."
Meera muttered, "Can we have one peaceful minute?"
The Vale ignored her.
Arin pressed his palm to the newly formed path. It thrummed with fierce, focused intent.
"This path isn't exploratory," he said softly.
"It's directive."
Aarav frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the Vale is not asking," Arin answered.
"It is instructing."
Amar let out a dry breath. "Fantastic. The ground's giving orders now."
Older Aarav didn't joke. He stared at the ribbon with quiet dread.
"The storm saw something in you," he whispered, not meeting Aarav's eyes.
"Something it didn't expect. That means the world will push harder. It always pushes harder."
Aarav walked to the path's edge.
The axis in his wrist pulsed once, bright and warm.
He didn't flinch.
"I can handle it," he said.
He wasn't trying to sound brave; it just came out that way.
The King stepped beside him, hands clasped behind his back, posture steady and unreadably calm.
"You do not handle the world," he said quietly.
"You meet it."
Aarav couldn't decide if that was comforting or just ominous.
Still, he started walking.
The group fell in behind him instinctively—Meera and Amar flanking, Arin studying the terrain, older Aarav trailing like he expected the sky to crack open any minute.
The boy just held Meera's sleeve the whole way.
---
The path led them up a narrow ridge.
The air grew colder, sharper—the kind that tasted like stone and old decisions.
Aarav rubbed his hands together.
"It feels different here."
Arin nodded.
"These ridges were shaped by Seers. They carved pathways of identity into the Vale long before Anchors existed."
Aarav raised an eyebrow.
"And now they're reacting to me?"
Arin let out a slow breath.
"Everything is reacting to you."
Older Aarav muttered, "Which is exactly the problem."
Aarav shot him a sideways look.
"You keep saying that, but you don't explain why."
Older Aarav stopped walking.
"You want it spelled out?" His voice was tight.
"You're becoming visible."
Aarav's brow furrowed.
"I've been visible since the First Chamber."
"That was different," older Aarav said.
"That was internal resonance."
He gestured around them.
"This is external. The world is beginning to track you. It's mapping you. It's learning your shape."
Aarav paused.
"...And that's bad?"
Older Aarav exhaled shakily.
"It's dangerous.
Because once the world knows your shape…
everything else does too."
Meera's hand drifted toward her knife.
"You mean the storm?"
Older Aarav shook his head.
"No. Worse.
The things that came before the storm."
Aarav stiffened.
"What things?"
Older Aarav didn't answer.
Because the ridge suddenly ended.
The golden path stopped at a cliffside where a vast, descending canyon opened beneath them—broad as a city, carved by spirals instead of wind, and filled with drifting strands of white smoke that moved like thinking creatures.
Aarav stared.
"What is this place?"
Arin stepped forward, eyes wide with reverence.
"This is the Tethered Hollow."
He bowed his head.
"Where identities go when they fracture."
Aarav's pulse tightened.
"Fracture? As in… break?"
"Yes," Arin whispered.
"When a person loses themselves, when the Vale cannot sustain their truth, their identity falls into the Hollow."
Aarav stepped closer.
"I don't like this."
The King approached the cliff edge.
There was no fear in him—only a heavy kind of familiarity.
"This place remembers brokenness," he said.
"And it remembers the ones who survived it."
Aarav looked at him sharply.
"You?"
The King nodded.
"I once walked this place.
Before I became a storm."
Aarav's breath caught.
Meera looked confused.
"Wait—this specific canyon?"
"Yes," the King said.
"Twice."
Older Aarav flinched.
Aarav turned toward him.
"You were here too."
Older Aarav's silence confirmed it.
Aarav gripped the cliff edge, staring down into the drifting white threads.
"What happens if someone falls in?"
Arin answered.
"They get swallowed by the Hollow and remade.
Or destroyed."
Amar muttered, "Comforting."
The golden path sparked.
Aarav jerked back.
The path extended—
straight off the cliff.
Forming a bridge.
Thin.
Narrow.
Suspended above the Hollow.
Aarav's stomach flipped.
Meera stared at the newly formed bridge like it had personally insulted her.
"No. Absolutely not. You're not crossing that."
Aarav didn't move.
The King stepped onto the first translucent plank.
"It is stable," he said calmly.
"It is built for him."
Amar scowled.
"That doesn't make it less horrifying."
Aarav stepped to the edge of the bridge.
The smoke in the canyon stirred—
swirling, rising, reacting.
Older Aarav grabbed his wrist.
"Don't," he said softly.
"There are pieces of me down there.
Pieces of who I was.
Pieces of who I became.
I can feel them even now."
Aarav swallowed.
"What exactly is the Hollow supposed to test?"
No one answered.
The Vale did.
A voice—
not loud,
not verbal,
but unmistakably directed at him—
echoed upward.
DEFINE WHAT CANNOT BREAK YOU.
Aarav sucked in a breath.
Meera whispered, "It wants another definition?"
Arin shook his head.
"No. Not a definition of identity.
A definition of anchor."
Aarav blinked.
"Anchor as in…?"
Arin stared at him.
"Aarav," he said slowly,
"It is asking what your stability is."
Aarav's pulse spiked.
"What keeps me grounded," he murmured.
Arin nodded.
"Yes."
Aarav took a step onto the bridge.
Meera grabbed him.
"Aarav, wait—"
He shook his head.
"It's not asking what broke me.
It's asking what doesn't."
The King stood several paces ahead on the bridge, waiting.
His voice drifted back.
"You cannot cross until you know the answer."
Aarav closed his eyes.
His heartbeat slowed.
His breath steadied.
He forced himself to look down into the Hollow.
He saw nothing.
No memories.
No visions.
No broken pieces.
Just white smoke drifting like breath.
"What cannot break me…" he whispered.
He looked at Meera.
At Amar.
At Arin.
At the boy.
At older Aarav.
Then at the King.
The answer slid into his mind quietly.
He stepped forward.
The bridge brightened under his foot.
"Aarav—!" Meera lunged—
—but the plank held firm.
Light spiraled beneath him.
He looked directly at the Hollow and spoke, voice steady.
"What cannot break me…"
A pause.
"…is the fact that I choose my path."
The Vale vibrated.
The smoke below pulsed.
The bridge sealed itself—solid, bright, stable.
Aarav continued walking.
Meera stood frozen in shock.
Arin whispered, "He answered correctly."
Older Aarav sank to the ground, hands trembling.
Amar exhaled slowly.
"Well.
Guess we cross now."
The King smiled faintly, just once.
"Good," he said.
"Then walk with him."
Aarav didn't look back.
He walked toward the far end of the bridge—
toward the next ridge,
toward the next choice,
toward the future the world wasn't ready for.
The Tethered Hollow hummed below.
Waiting.
"He admitted a fraction of his want, and the world leaned toward him."