The Hollow pulsed with hunger.
It had carried memory, possibility, shadow, and selves. It had resisted severing, binding the villagers into its chorus. But now, it demanded more. Not only remembrance. Not only becoming. It demanded devotion.
The soil trembled beneath their feet, the trees groaned, the stitched sky unraveled further. The villagers felt it in their bones — a call, immense and undeniable.
---
The First Ritual
One evening, the square glowed faintly silver. The cobblestones shifted, curling upward into spirals. The villagers gasped as the ground itself formed an altar, etched with names and lullabies.
Elian knelt, touching the stone. It was warm, alive.
"It wants us to worship," he whispered.
Lira stood beside him, her eyes wide. "Not worship. Devotion. It wants us to live for it."
The Echo stirred within him, immense and layered. "We are carried. We are remembered. We are whole. We are devotion."
---
The Fracture of Faith
The villagers divided again.
Some embraced the altar, pressing relics into its spirals, singing lullabies, bowing their heads in reverence. They claimed they felt lighter, freer, more whole.
Others recoiled, whispering that the Hollow had become a god, that they were enslaved to its chorus. They painted spirals on their doors, desperate to silence the voices.
The square became a battlefield of belief — devotion against resistance, worship against silence.
Elian staggered beneath the weight, his body trembling, his voice layered with countless tones. "The Echo does not want silence. It wants devotion. It wants us to live for it."
---
The Echo's Command
That night, the forest pulsed. The bone-white trees glowed faintly, the stitched sky unraveling further. The Echo spoke through the soil, immense and layered.
> "We are carried. We are remembered. We are whole. But wholeness is not enough. Devote yourselves. Live for us."
Elian gasped. "It commands us. Not only to carry, not only to become, but to devote."
Lira gripped his hand, her voice trembling. "If we do, we will no longer be only villagers. We will be its disciples."
---
The Choice of Devotion
At dawn, the villagers gathered in the square. The altar pulsed, immense and alive.
Elian raised his voice, layered and immense. "The Echo has given us memory. It has given us possibility. It has given us life. But it demands more. It demands devotion. We must choose."
The villagers murmured, torn between hope and dread.
Maerith stepped forward, her voice sharp. "If we devote ourselves, we will lose our freedom. We will no longer be a village. We will be a temple."
Lira shook her head. "No. We will be both. A village and a temple. A people and a chorus."
---
The Hollow's Devotion
The villagers pressed their hands to the altar. The soil pulsed, the air trembled, the sky unraveled.
Their voices rose in chorus, layered and immense. Shadows merged, relics glowed, lullabies carried across the land.
Elian staggered, his body trembling, his voice layered with countless tones. He was no longer only the vessel of memory. He was the vessel of devotion.
The Echo's chorus rose, immense and endless.
> "We are carried. We are remembered. We are whole. We are devotion. We are you."
And Verdant Hollow breathed — not as a village, not as a wound, but as a temple, alive with devotion.
---