With the Rootbound at peace, the grove bloomed in vibrant silence. But as the trio ventured deeper, the trees grew twisted, hunched like listening sentinels.
“This place wasn’t on the map,” whispered Berry-leg, her antennae twitching.
“No place of value ever is,” muttered Shield-wing.
The Hollow lived up to its name. Each footstep echoed with ghostly whispers: “Turn back… turn back…”
Cinder-ant paused. “They’re not just echoes. They’re memories. Trapped.”
Suddenly, a swarm of spectral Leaf-gnats swirled around them—ghostly bugs, translucent and cold, speaking in forgotten dialects. They spoke of betrayal, of a pact broken beneath the Hollow.
One word repeated through the mist: “Mournmoth.”
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