Page 54 of Ravaging Red
She leaned against me, warm and silent, her fingers brushing mine.
By the third morning, the forest turned ancient. The trees were white now, their bark like bone, blood-colored moss hung along their crooked branches. Stones jutted from the earth, carved with runes that glowed when the wind howled. The air was colder here, thinner, and the Veil shimmered as though something waited just beyond it.
The trees parted into a clearing and there it was.
The High Hollow.
It sat against a massive ridge that rose like the spine of a buried beast, carved with spiraling arches and broken statues. The entrance was a gate, menacingly tall and silent, made from black stone and veined with red crystal. Old magic clung to it, sensing us as we approached.
Red climbed down, standing beside me. She adjusted her cloak, brushed her fingers over her scarf, and looked up at the towering gate with a calmness I didn't expect. It even soothed my own worries.
Her hand slipped into mine.
“You’re not losing me,” she whispered.
And gods help me; I wanted to believe her.
The doors opened slowly, groaning as though resisting the weight of what we brought with us. And as we stepped through, I gave a low growl, because I vowed to myself, I would not walk out without her. Not even if it meant dragging her through blood and ruin to keep her.
Chapter 22
The Son Of Thoryn
RED
The High Hollow was a cold place. It felt like the air had been stripped out of it, leaving it barren and desolate. It seemed like every creature that had entered these halls had left some part of themselves behind, and the stone had absorbed it. Grief, power, and secrets were all kept here. All of it lived within the carved walls that stretched long beneath the towers.
Rael walked beside me, his hand tightly wound around mine, The only sound came from my steps, which echoed over the polished black stone beneath our feet. The cloak with the gold seal rested over his shoulders, and it weighed on him. He hadn’t said anything, but I could sense how it was more of a heavy burden than something he could take pride in. He didn’t say a word as we entered, just kept his face grim and unreadable.
We were led to the inner sanctum, a wide, circular chamber cut from obsidian rock. The ceiling arched so high it disappeared into the tower’s darkness. Candles burned in floating sconces, suspended by magic alone. The air was thick with spellbinding scents and I remembered that Rael had mentioned they woulduse scents to soothe you, and to make you comply. So I lifted my scarf over my nose.
As we stepped through the obsidian arch and into the sanctum, a woman stood at the center of the half-circle, framed by stone and candlelight.
She was beautiful, staggeringly so. Her features were sharp against her pale skin, she had high cheekbones, a small mouth, and almond shaped green eyes. She wore robes the color of crushed violets, embroidered in threads of silver, and her dark hair was twisted into a braid wrapped in charms and thorns.
"Welcome," she said, her voice smooth and sure. "I am Verrian. I speak for the Council."
She stepped forward, eyes scanning over me, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. Not threatening, simply curious.
"You stand in the presence of the High Hollow," she continued. "The thrones of power for each realm within the Veil."
She gestured to the figures seated in the arc behind her.
"Each throne belongs to the highest leader within their realm. Fae, Dragon, Witch, Shadow, Bone, Rune, Ogre, Raven, and Beast. Some still sit vacant. The seat of the High Fang has been left empty since your father fell, Rael. And now you have returned."
I tightened my grip on Rael’s hand, but he said nothing. His eyes were locked on the woman's.
Verrian turned to the others, lifting her hand in a slow, elegant sweep toward the half-circle of seated figures. “You stand before the ruling voices of the Veil.”
She gestured first to a tall, silver-scaled figure, regal and still. “Varek, the Dragon's Fang. He speaks for the Fire Peaks.” His gaze didn’t waver, golden eyes burning like molten metal.
Next to him, a woman cloaked in ethereal silk, her face barely visible beneath a delicate veil of frost. “Lysira of the FaeCourt. Her lands lie beyond the Hollowbend Mists.” She smiled slightly, looking almost too perfect, too poised.
“Drayx of the Shadows,” Verrian continued, pointing to the figure swathed in smoke and writhing in blackness. His form shifted subtly, as if made of nightmares. “His demon walks between worlds.”
“Serwyn of Bone,” she added, as the hooded skeletal figure tilted its head slightly. “Ma’het of Rune, Krinn of Hollow Earth.” Each name was spoken with reverence, each presence more ancient than the last.
She skipped the empty thrones, but I saw them, three of them. And I wondered if they had suffered the same fate s Rael.
