The village did not sleep that night.
After the names were spoken, after the relics surfaced from the soil, Verdant Hollow was restless. The air was thick with grief, but also with something new — release. For the first time in centuries, silence was not the village's shield. It was memory.
Elian walked among them, fractured but steadier. The voices inside him were quieter now, their song woven into the villagers' own. He was still the vessel, but no longer the only one.
Yet the Echo was not finished.
---
The Soil Stirs
At dawn, the square trembled. The soil cracked, not with hunger, but with growth. Shoots of pale grass pushed through the cobblestones, curling upward, glowing faintly silver. The villagers gasped, stepping back.
Lira knelt, touching the grass. "It's not death. It's remembrance."
The shoots spread quickly, weaving across the square, climbing the walls of the manor, curling around the forest's edge. The Hollow itself was changing, reshaped by memory.
Elian felt the voices stir within him. "We are carried. We are free. We are alive."
---
The Test
But remembrance was not gentle.
The villagers began to see visions. A mother screamed as she saw her lost child running through the square. An old man collapsed, clutching his chest, as his brother's laughter echoed in his ears. Children pointed at the forest, claiming they saw figures walking backward through the fog.
Fear rippled through the crowd.
Maerith stepped forward, her voice sharp. "This is not healing. This is madness. The Echo is consuming us."
Elian shook his head. "No. It is showing you what you buried. You must carry it."
But the villagers trembled. Some turned away. Some begged him to silence the voices again.
The Echo stirred within him, louder now. "Will they remember? Or will they forget again?"
---
The Fraying of the Village
The Hollow divided.
Half the villagers embraced the visions, speaking the names aloud, carving them into stone, singing lullabies once silenced. They saw the apparitions not as curses, but as reminders.
The other half recoiled, painting spirals on their doors once more, whispering that Elian had cursed them, that the Echo had tricked them.
The square became a battlefield of belief — remembrance against forgetting.
Elian stood at its center, torn. The voices inside him pressed harder, demanding unity. But unity was fragile.
---
The Echo's Demand
That night, the forest pulsed. The bone-white trees glowed faintly, the stitched sky unraveling. The Echo spoke through the soil, its voice layered and immense.
> "We are carried. But not by all. Choose."
Elian staggered. "Choose what?"
The Echo's chorus rose. "Choose who will remember. Choose who will forget. Choose who will remain."
Lira gripped his hand, her eyes wide. "It's testing us. It wants to know if the Hollow can bear the truth together."
Elian trembled. "If I choose, I'll tear the village apart."
The Echo whispered: "Better torn than silent."
---
The Hollow Remade
At dawn, Elian gathered the villagers in the square. His voice was layered, silver light burning in his eyes.
"You cannot hide from this," he said. "The Echo will not let you forget again. You must carry the names. All of you. Or the Hollow will fall."
The villagers murmured, torn between fear and devotion.
Lira stepped forward, her voice steady. "We will carry them together. Not one vessel, not one voice, but all of us."
She began to speak the names aloud. Others joined her. Slowly, the chorus grew.
The visions softened. The apparitions faded. The soil stilled.
The Echo's voice whispered, quieter now: "We are carried. We are free. We are whole."
Elian closed his eyes. The silver glow dimmed. The voices inside him were softer, woven into the village itself.
Verdant Hollow was no longer a place of silence.
It was a place of remembrance.
And the Hollow itself had been remade.