NOVEL WEB Chapter 10: Chapter 10: The Boy Who Didn’t Burn
The rain in the Hollowmoor courtyard didn't fall like normal rain. It hovered midair, frozen in time, as if something—someone—had pressed pause on nature itself. Elara stepped beneath it, her hood raised, eyes locked on the eastern ruins of the academy. No one else walked the grounds. No one dared.
Since the Watcher appeared, Hollowmoor had turned colder, quieter. The students whispered in hallways now, avoided mirrors, flinched at shadows. Elara hadn't slept properly in days.
Last night, the Grimoire whispered again:
"He burned the school once. He'll do it again. One boy walked out of the flames. He left something behind."
A cryptic note. But unlike the others, this one had a warmth to it. The page was hot to the touch, as if it had just come from a fire.
Now, she needed answers.
The east wing had been sealed off since the Great Fire of Hollowmoor. Official records called it an accident. The Grimoire said otherwise.
She approached the black iron gate guarding the ruins. In its center, an etched eye stared back. No keyhole. No handle.
She placed her palm on the eye.
It blinked.
The gate groaned open, the sound piercing the morning silence.
Inside, charred walls stood like skeletons. Stone cracked from heat long past. Ash coated everything.
But the silence... that was the worst part.
Elara moved slowly, past melted portraits and burned tapestries. Then she found it: a spiraling staircase leading deep underground, farther than any floor on the school's map.
She lit her candle.
The shadows shifted.
Down, down, down.
She lost count after the 117th step. The air grew colder. Every breath felt like ice in her lungs.
Finally, the stair ended in a narrow corridor. Black walls. Flickering lights. Echoes that didn't match her steps.
A boy stood at the end.
Still.
Back turned.
Elara's heart slammed in her chest. "Hello?"
No answer.
"I read about you," she said. "The boy who didn't burn."
Slowly, he turned. His face was pale. His eyes—completely black.
He smiled.
"You shouldn't have come here."
The boy didn't speak again. He simply turned and walked deeper into the ruins. Elara hesitated... then followed.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm the reminder," he said. "Of what Hollowmoor buries."
They passed rooms filled with shadows that twitched when she looked away. A classroom frozen mid-collapse. A painting that bled from its frame.
"I survived the fire," the boy said, voice flat. "But not the reason it started."
"What caused it?"
"I tried to bring my brother back. From the other side."
Elara stopped. "The Veil?"
He nodded. "We thought it was just a myth. A boundary. But it's a door. And I opened it."
They reached a room untouched by fire. Toys scattered. A child's bed. A single rocking chair.
"I brought my brother back," he whispered. "But he came with something else. It used him like a glove."
The shadows in the room seemed to grow teeth.
"I told the Headmistress. She tried to lock it away. But fire doesn't obey rules. It consumed everything."
"And you?" Elara asked.
"I stepped into the Veil. It remade me. I don't age. I don't sleep. I just wait."
"For what?"
"For someone else to remember. So I'm not erased."
A loud crack split the air. Dust rained from the ceiling.
The boy's face went pale.
"He's coming."
"Who?"
"The Watcher."
Stone slammed shut behind them. The air thickened. Smoke—but not real smoke. It moved with purpose.
A creature emerged—too many limbs, a head upside down, whispering nonsense.
"Don't speak your name," the boy warned. "Don't even think it."
Elara backed into the wall. Her candle sputtered, then died.
The thing crawled closer. It sniffed the air.
Then—
A silver bell rang.
The creature froze.
Turned.
And melted into the wall.
Elara collapsed.
The boy knelt beside her. "You're lucky. It only sensed your fear. Next time, it'll taste it."
Back in her room, Elara found ash on her pillow.
The Grimoire waited. A page turned on its own.
Her name had been scratched out.
In its place:
"She met the boy who didn't burn." "Now the fire knows her name."
She flipped the page. A blank sheet stared back—except for one circle of thorns.
Waiting.
For blood.
Her hand hovered over it.
Then she slammed the book shut.
But in her window's reflection—
She was no longer alone.