The villagers knew never to enter the Hollow Wood after dusk. They whispered of creatures that moved between the trees—beasts with glowing eyes and voices that mimicked the lost. Shadows that spoke in riddles, offering terrible bargains.

But when Elric’s sister, Mara, vanished into the forest one autumn evening, he had no choice.

He left before sunrise, stepping past the old boundary stones that marked where the mortal world ended and the Hollow Wood began. The air turned thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older, something watching. With only a lantern and a dagger, he pressed forward, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The deeper he went, the quieter the world became. No wind. No rustling leaves. Even his own footsteps barely made a sound. Then, through the mist, came the soft click, click of unseen claws against the bark.

He was not alone.

A voice drifted through the trees, gentle, familiar.

“Elric...”

He turned sharply, raising his lantern.

Mara stood in a shaft of moonlight, her dress torn, her feet bare against the mossy ground. Relief surged through him, but it was short-lived.

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Her eyes gleamed silver, reflecting the lantern light like mirrors. And around her, shadows moved unnaturally, stretching toward her like grasping fingers.

“Mara?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She smiled. But it was wrong—too wide, too knowing.

From the darkness, they emerged. The Hollow Folk.

They were tall and thin, their limbs too long, their hollowed faces shifting like mist. Some had eyes like embers, others had none at all. They were clad in cloaks of tattered ivy, their fingers like gnarled roots. And at the center of them all, one figure stood taller than the rest—antlers curling from its skull like the twisted branches of an ancient tree.

The Hollow King.

“You seek the girl,” it murmured, its voice like rustling leaves. “But she has already crossed into our realm. A soul cannot be taken without something given in return.”

Elric gripped his dagger. “Take me instead.”

The Hollow King tilted its head, considering him. Then, it stepped forward and pressed a clawed hand to his chest.

Pain. A cold, hollow ache that stole his breath. He gasped, falling to his knees as shadows poured from the king’s fingers, sinking into his skin.

“The pact is made,” the Hollow King whispered.

The world faded. The last thing he saw was Mara, blinking as if waking from a dream, stepping backward toward the trees.

Then, darkness.

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Mara awoke at the edge of the village, the first light of dawn spilling over the fields. She didn’t remember leaving the forest. Didn’t remember how she had gotten home.

But deep in the Hollow Wood, a new figure stirred.

A boy with silver eyes.

And the Hollow Folk whispered his name.