> “You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.”

> ― George Orwell

The box's energy throbbed, alive and almost sentient, pulsing with a mysterious rhythm that seemed in tune with the very essence of the universe. Its dark wooden surface danced and gleamed in the soft moonlight, casting a hypnotic spell on anyone who gazed upon it. The delicate etchings on its sides twisted and turned, moving like smoke rising from a fire, weaving a story of ancient wisdom and forbidden secrets.

With a wary grace, the Matriarch moved closer to Nord. Her eyes bore dread, a dark understanding of the unfathomable power within the box.

"The box, my child," she said, her voice trembling, "is a relic of ages lost, an echo of the primordial darkness that once enveloped all. It harbours an energy beyond our kin, a force that even the wisest have failed to tame." Her gaze drifted to the pulsating artefact, "Many have tried to harness its might, to bend it to their will. But most..." Her voice trailed off, her face paling as memories flooded her mind, "Most were consumed by it, devoured by the very power they sought to command. They died!"

Her eyes met Nord's again, and in them was a plea, a desperate hope that Nord would heed her warning and turn away from a path that had led many to ruin. But in the depths of those wise eyes, there was also a glimmer of fear, a fear that perhaps this time, the darkness might win.

She lies. She doesn't know.

Nord's fingers closed around the box, clenching it so tightly that the whites of her knuckles gleamed in the pale light. Her heart thumped wildly, resonating with the pulsing energy of the box as if it were a living being calling out to her. The sensation was intoxicating, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

The air grew cold, a chill seeping into the night, emanating from the very core of Nord's being. Her breath misted in front of her, swirling in the frigid air, a manifestation of the ancient power she now held in her hands.

A compelling and overwhelming magnetic pull gripped her. A longing gnawed at her very soul. The box wanted her, needed her, and she felt herself losing the battle to resist. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest, a drumbeat of excitement and fear that echoed in her ears. It was a dance with the unknown, a flirtation with something far beyond her comprehension, and she was caught in its spell, unable to look away, unable to let go. The darkness called to her, and she knew, at that moment, that she reached the point of no return.

"Nord, give me the box. Don't listen to this demon. We can still save you!"

She lies.

Caught between the stern warnings of the Matriarch and the soft, insidious whispers in her mind, Nord's emotions spiralled into chaos. The dichotomy tore at her, a storm of uncertainty, anger, and fear raging within her. Her breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, each one a desperate attempt to find some semblance of control in the face of the overwhelming power that beckoned her.

"Why should I trust you? You were about to give South away! She is still a kid!" she spat, her voice raw and jagged with emotion, her eyes flicking wildly between the Matriarch's wise, sorrowful gaze and the dark, entrancing box. "All my life, I was called a witch, hidden me away from my own potential! Bullshit! I am not what you say! I'm not like you! I'm just... me!" Her voice cracked, the pain of years of confusion and neglect breaking through, "My sister will be someone! She... she will be happy! You're not taking that away from her!"

The Matriarch's expression softened. "The very power that flows in you, Nord, is why we had to choose your sister. The Hallow is an ancient force. When unleashed, it seeks out the strongest magic to bind with, and you... You are that beacon. Don't allow it to feed on you."

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The seductive voice in Nord's mind whispered again, "You are doing good, don't doubt yourself. You can do it! Trust me. Trust yourself."

Nord's grip on the box tightened. She could feel the power within it beckoning her. "I'm scared."

Don't be. I'm with you as long as I can.

With a sudden resolve, reckless and courageous defiance, Nord began to inch the lid open, the air quivering with anticipation. The box seemed to sigh, a soundless release of ancient energy, and the patterns on its surface danced more fervently.

The Matriarch's reaction was instantaneous. Her face contorted with terror, she lunged forward, desperation in every line of her aged body. But before she could reach Nord, the guardian stood between them, the summoned elf warrior wielding a shield and sword. Her eyes, voids of endless wisdom, were fixed on the old woman, and its sword was pointed directly at her heart. A silent warning, a declaration of intent.

The room was charged with an otherworldly energy, a palpable tension. The Matriarch's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she faced the guardian. Her hand reached out, trembling, towards Nord, a plea for understanding, a cry for caution. "Please..."

But Nord's eyes were locked on the box, her body moving with a purpose transcending fear or reason. The lid creaked open further, and a whisper of power escaped, a taste of the darkness within.

The moment was frozen, a tableau of destiny and choice, a dance between the old and new worlds. The guardian's sword gleamed, the Matriarch's eyes glistened with tears, and Nord's face was set, determined.

The lid gave way, and the chamber was transformed into an explosion of blinding light. Shadows stretched long and twisted, reaching like dark fingers across the walls. The very air was saturated with power, a torrent of raw energy that pulsed and thrummed with an ancient, primal force.

Nord's eyes, once dark, turned pure white, the pupils obliterated by the intensity of the Hallow's embrace. It was as if ink had flooded her veins, the raw obsidian power seeping into every pore, every cell, merging with her very essence. Her body trembled, not with fear, but with an understanding, an awakening to magic that transcended time and reality.

The Matriarch's shout of horror was lost, drowned in a cacophony of ethereal whispers, voices of ancient civilizations, echoes of empires long fallen, and songs of magic that had witnessed the birth and death of countless races. They were the melodies of the Hallow, a hungry library of darkness that had consumed knowledge and power from the dawn of existence.

It was not merely a force, a pool of energy to be tapped and controlled. It was an entity, a living, breathing embodiment of chaos, an emptiness that yearned to be filled. It was darkness and death, a void that could never be sated, a hunger that was eternal.

Nord was a part of it now, a vessel for its insatiable desire, a conduit for its terrible beauty. She could feel the weight of millennia, the ebb and flow of civilizations, the rise and fall of gods and demons. The Hallow was in her, and she was in it, lost in a symphony of power that defied comprehension.

The chamber was silent. The guardian's sword lowered, the Matriarch's eyes wide with awe and terror. Nord stood transformed, a being of pure magic, a daughter of chaos, a child of the Hallow. She was the Hallow, and the Hallow was her.

With a wild look of desperation in her eyes, the Matriarch turned to the covenant, her voice cracking with urgency. "Gather around. We must open the gate's mouth!" she cried, her hands outstretched, trembling with the effort of what must be done.

The participants, a mixture of seasoned witches and young initiates, joined hands in a circle, their voices rising in a chant, a cacophony of sounds that defied understanding. Words of power, phrases from languages long lost, the very fabric of magic woven into a spell of containment.

Nord was lost, completely engulfed in the raw mana that had consumed her. The chamber began to shake, a strong wind swirling, growing in intensity, until even the candles were torn from their sconces and swept towards the gaping maw that opened beneath Nord's feet.

The chant grew louder, more frantic, the grand door swinging open with a deafening crash. Nord's suitcase and her cat holder skittered across the floor, caught in the relentless pull of the magical vortex.

Nord could feel herself sinking, drawn towards the darkness below. Her body felt weak, drained of strength, unable to resist the pull of the forces that sought to claim her. Her eyes, wide with terror, searched the room, landing on the figure of her little sister, chanting with the innocence and purity of a fairy angel.

And then she was gone, swallowed whole by the abyss.

The chamber fell silent, the wind dying down, the door slamming shut with a finality that resonated in the very bones of those who remained. The Matriarch's face was pale, her eyes haunted, the realization of what had been done settling like a heavy weight on her shoulders.

They had saved Earth from the Hallow once more, perhaps, but at what cost?