Three years passed. Or perhaps it was five—time moved strangely for Kit now, especially as her aging slowed to a crawl. She'd become what her grandfather had been: a fixture of the woods, a figure half-human and half-something-else, tied to the land by bonds deeper than blood.

  The attacks had become routine, almost predictable. Hollow-touched creatures probing the wards, corrupted spirits whispering poison to the trees, occasional manifestations of pure entropy trying to breach the Standing Stones. Kit dealt with them all efficiently, no longer exhausting herself in the process.

  But something was changing.

  It started small. A Standing Stone that felt slightly weaker than it should. A section of the forest that took longer to respond to her call. A momentary flicker in the connection between her and the Heart Tree.

  Kit mentioned it to the fae lords during one of their visits.

  'The compact is stable,' they assured her. 'Your binding is strong. These fluctuations are normal.'

  But Kit wasn't convinced. She could feel something fundamental shifting, like the first tremors before an earthquake. The prison was weakening, and she didn't know why.

  She threw herself into her duties with renewed intensity, walking the boundaries every night, reinforcing the wards, channeling extra power into the Standing Stones. But it wasn't enough. The sense of wrongness continued to grow.

  Morrigan noticed her anxiety.

  'You're wearing yourself out,' he said one evening as Kit returned from yet another patrol. 'When's the last time you slept?'

  'I can't sleep,' Kit said. 'Something's wrong, Morrigan. I can feel it.'

  'Then tell the fae lords. Make them listen.'

  Kit tried. She called for them at the Heart Tree, explaining in detail what she was sensing. The fae lords listened, their shadowy forms rippling with concern.

  'We will investigate,' they said. 'But we sense nothing amiss. Perhaps the burden of guardianship is affecting your perception.'

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  In other words, they thought she was imagining things.

  Kit wanted to scream with frustration, but she bit back her anger. Screaming at ancient fae creatures wouldn't help. She needed proof.

  She began keeping detailed records, just as her grandfather had. Every fluctuation in the compact's power, every moment when the connection felt strained, every time the Hollow King's presence seemed closer than it should be. She filled page after page of a new journal, building a case.

  And then, on a night when the moon hung full and bright, Kit felt one of the Standing Stones crack.

  Not break—not yet—but crack. A hairline fracture in the ancient magic that bound the King. It was small, almost imperceptible, but Kit felt it like a wound in her own body.

  She ran to the stone, Morrigan flying ahead in alarm. When she reached it, she found what she'd been dreading: a thin line of darkness running through the stone's surface, pulsing with a cold, hungry light.

  'No,' Kit whispered. 'No, no, no.'

  She placed her hands on the stone and channeled power into it, trying to seal the crack. The stone accepted her power, and for a moment, the darkness seemed to recede. But as soon as Kit pulled back, exhausted, the crack reappeared.

  The damage was done. And Kit had no idea how to fix it.

  'Get the fae lords,' she told Morrigan. 'Now. They need to see this.'

  The crow vanished into the darkness. Kit stayed with the stone, continuing to pour power into it, keeping the crack from widening. Her head pounded and her vision swam, but she didn't dare stop.

  The fae lords arrived within minutes, their forms coalescing around her with unprecedented speed. When they saw the crack, their usual calm shattered.

  'This should not be possible,' they said, their voices overlapping in distress. 'The compact is renewed. The binding is strong. How—'

  'I don't know,' Kit gasped. 'But it's here. The prison is failing, and I can't stop it alone.'

  The fae lords moved closer to the stone, their power flowing into it alongside Kit's. Together, they managed to seal the crack, but Kit could feel the strain. Whatever had caused this damage was still out there, still working to undermine the compact.

  'We must find the source,' the fae lords said. 'Something is attacking the compact from outside our awareness.'

  'The Hollow King,' Kit said.

  'He is imprisoned. He cannot act directly.'

  'Then he's found a way to act indirectly.' Kit pulled back from the stone, swaying with exhaustion. 'He's had three hundred years to plan this. We need to figure out what he's doing before another stone cracks.'

  The fae lords were silent, their forms rippling with what might have been fear or anger or both.

  'We will search,' they said finally. 'Every corner of the forest, every shadow, every whisper. Whatever the King is using, we will find it.'

  But even as they spoke, Kit felt a chill run down her spine. The Hollow King was patient. If he'd been planning this for centuries, he wouldn't make his method easy to find.

  And time, Kit feared, was running out.