Chapter 9: A Taste of the Hollow

  A knock at the door jolted me awake.

  For a brief, disoriented moment, I wasn’t sure where I was. The ceiling above me was rough wooden beams, not the white plaster of my old apartment. The scent of aged timber and faint traces of bread baking downstairs replaced the sterile air conditioning I had once known.

  Then it hit me—Mosswood Hollow. The bounty. The imp. The magic.

  I groaned, rubbing the sleep from my face as another knock echoed through the room.

  “Lad, ya still breathin’ in there?” Bromm’s voice came muffled through the door. “Sun’s up, and we got work to do!”

  Right. Gnoll hunting.

  With a sigh, I swung my legs over the bed, already dreading how sore my body felt. Today was going to be interesting.

  I met Bromm downstairs, finding him seated near the hearth with a tankard in one hand and a fork in the other. The warmth of the fire mixed with the scent of something sweet—honey and cinnamon. Another smell followed, one that was far more familiar. Warm, buttery, with hints of sugar. My stomach clenched in anticipation as I approached the table.

  Spread before Bromm was a feast. Sourdough toast with jam and butter, golden-brown cinnamon buns, and an assortment of flaky pastries. At the center sat a heaping pile of bacon and sausage, alongside eggs and what looked like a thick, creamy porridge.

  I blinked, staring at the sheer variety.

  Elunara, who had been setting down a fresh tray, caught my expression and smirked. “Are you hungry? You’ll need your energy today, from what Bromm’s told me.”

  “How… how did you make all of this?” I managed, still taking it all in. This wasn’t just food—it was the kind of breakfast I’d grown up eating. Something about that was almost unsettling. How could everything be so familiar?

  Elunara wiped her hands on her apron, looking pleased. “The same way anyone else does. Flour, butter, oats, sugar—or honey, if Bob sniffs me out some. And, of course…” she winked, “a whole lot of heart.”

  Bromm chuckled between bites. “By heart, she means her Nature Magic. That’s what makes her food better than anyone else’s.”

  I raised a brow. “Nature Magic? Like a druid? How does that help with cooking?”

  Elunara gave me a knowing smile. “It allows me to imbue my food with warmth, care… the kind of strength one might feel from a healing spell. That was my role in our party—I was the group’s healer. And what better way to strengthen people than through the food they eat?”

  That was… interesting. I’d never thought about it like that. It made sense, though. A healer didn’t just mend wounds—they kept people going. Looking around the inn, at the satisfied patrons and the welcoming atmosphere, I could see how her magic played a role beyond the battlefield.

  “Well,” I said, picking up my fork, “it looks incredible. And smells even better.”

  I took my first bite—and immediately understood what Bromm meant.

  It was incredible.

  The cinnamon bun was the obvious first choice, its scent practically pulling me in. The dough was soft, warm, and perfectly sweet, the cinnamon melting into the frosting that quickly dried on my lips. A warmth—not just physical, but something deeper—spread through me, like I’d just taken a full breath of fresh morning air.

  I moved on to the bacon and sausage, each bite crispy and bursting with flavor. It was rich, savory, and—oddly enough—familiar. Too familiar. The realization settled in as I chewed.

  This was nearly identical to what I’d eaten back home.

  I swallowed, setting my fork down. “How is this possible?” I asked. “This is almost exactly like the food from my world.”

  Elunara chuckled, unfazed. “Well, there are only so many ways to cook a meal,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Every culture has its own twist, sure, but at the end of the day, good food is good food.”

  That made sense… but still. It felt strange. Like another piece of home had found its way here, despite the impossibility of it.

  I ended my feast with a piece of bread slathered in jam, spreading it evenly before taking a bite.

  The flavor hit me immediately. It reminded me of homemade strawberry freezer jam, but somehow… more. The sweetness was vibrant and pure, like biting into the ripest, juiciest strawberry at peak season. But then came a crisp undertone—almost like a fresh apple—adding a bright, refreshing contrast that made each bite feel impossibly satisfying.

  This. This was the way to start a morning.

  I leaned back with a satisfied sigh, feeling more awake and refreshed than I had in days. The food was perfect—not too heavy, not too light—just right.

  "I could get used to this," I said, stretching with satisfaction.

  Bromm chuckled. “Aye, Elunara’s cooking is something special. It'll serve you well today.”

  “Have either of you seen Veldrin?” I asked.

  “He went to the shop again,” Bromm said between bites.

  “I need to speak with him about something. I’ll just be a moment, then we can head out to hunt those gnolls.”

  Bromm raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

  As I stepped outside the inn, I spotted Bob standing over a thatch basket lid filled with apples. He glanced at me, gave a quick grunt, and went back to eating—his ears twitched though , his gaze flicking around warily. Tufftails I imagined.

  When I neared the shop, Veldrin was just stepping out the front door. I waved him down, and as soon as I caught up, I launched into an explanation of everything that had happened the night before. I told him about the failures, about the feeling—like a rope of water, waiting to be shaped.

  The more I spoke, the wider his eyes became. His mouth opened slightly, shock clear on his face. Then, without warning, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close.

  “Have you told anyone about this?!” he demanded, his voice urgent.

  “No—no one,” I stammered. “Just you.”

  “Good,” he muttered. “Good.” His grip tightened for a moment before he exhaled sharply. “Arthur, do not leave the Hollow. There’s something I must do—something I need to get. This is very important. Stay close to Bromm. Do not go beyond the gnolls.”

  Without another word, he turned and hurried off down the path toward his house, leaving me standing there, more confused than before.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that reaction. If it was that big of a deal, wouldn’t he have tried harder to stop me from going at all? The fact that he didn’t protest the gnoll hunt meant… what? That it was safe enough? That whatever had him spooked wasn’t related to that?

  I shook my head. No use dwelling on it now. Whatever Veldrin was up to, he clearly wasn’t about to explain it. I pushed down the uneasy feeling creeping up my spine and forced my mind back to the task ahead—hunting gnolls.

  “Are you ready to head off now, lad?” Bromm asked as I approached the inn. He sat on the bench outside, Bob lounging on the ground beside him, gnawing lazily at what remained of an apple core.

  “Where’s Veldrin? Was he not at the shop?” Bromm added, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, he was there,” I said. “I told him about… something I felt, and he hurried off toward his house. Said he needed to grab something, told me to stick close to you, and—oh, and not to go beyond the gnolls.”

  Bromm’s expression shifted. “Veldrin… left?” His brow furrowed. “What exactly did you tell him?”

  I hesitated. If I trusted Veldrin with this, why not Bromm? He’d been nothing but solid so far. So I told him—everything. How I had concentrated, mimicked Veldrin’s stance, and for the briefest moment, felt something. Like a rope of water straining in my grip, weighty, shifting, ready to break free. I hadn’t accomplished anything with it, but the feeling had been undeniable.

  Bromm listened in silence, his face unreadable. When I finished, he let out a slow breath and just… shook his head.

  “Lad… yah don’t realize what this means.” He rubbed his beard, his expression unreadable. “This… this is beyond my knowing.”

  That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  But then, just as quickly, he straightened, clapping his hands together. “Well, no sense in standin’ here gawkin’ over it. We’ll wait for Veldrin to get back, but in the meantime—what do you say we go catch ourselves a bounty?”

  He grinned, shaking off whatever weight had just settled over him. Bob grunted, making a deep huff before pushing himself onto his feet, already prepared for the hunt.

  I took a breath and nodded. Whatever this all meant, I’d find out soon enough. For now, I had gnolls to deal with.

  We followed the road out of the village, the morning air crisp and cool. It wasn’t long before we reached a familiar creek—the same one I had stumbled across on my first day, back when I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to appreciate my surroundings. Now, with clearer eyes, I took in the landscape properly.

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  As we stepped off the road and moved along the creek’s edge, it became clear just how much the land had been shaped by water. The small, slow-moving stream was deceptive; at some point in the past, this must have been a mighty river. The way the earth had been carved, the deep, curving bends and the sheer, sloped banks—it was obvious this place had once held something much greater.

  The cutbanks rose nearly nine feet on either side, their walls packed tight with layers of sediment and lined with the tangled, exposed roots of nearby trees. It made for an eerie, almost skeletal look, like the land itself had been stripped bare.

  Eventually, we reached the pond where the creek pooled, and I found myself stopping, caught off guard by just how clear the water was. Even from the edge, I could see straight to the bottom.

  Thick swaths of underwater plants swayed gently in the current, their vibrant greens shifting like slow-moving ribbons. Schools of fish darted between them, some no bigger than my fingers, others large enough to make me pause. At the bottom, nestled among the rocks, sat massive shelled creatures—crabs, but not like any I’d seen before. Their thick, armored bodies looked built for something much tougher than scavenging.

  It was strange, standing here again under such different circumstances. The first time, I had barely been able to process any of this, my mind reeling from my sudden arrival. Now, I was here with purpose. And I had the creeping feeling this wouldn’t be the last time I’d find myself back at this pond.

  Bromm put a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see both him and Bob already in a ready stance. Bromm’s musket was half-raised, his grip steady, while Bob moved low and slow through the thick brush beside the tree line, his body tense with anticipation.

  Ahead, the cavern came into view—a gaping hole bored into the side of a rocky hill, sloping downward into darkness. The ground around the entrance was littered with large paw prints, dozens of them, pressed deep into the dirt. From within, echoes of wild laughter and guttural growls drifted out, a chilling reminder of what waited inside.

  I swallowed hard and drew my axe and buckler. This was it—the moment that would prove what kind of person I was in this world.

  Bromm glanced back at me, raising an eyebrow before motioning for me to stay put. Then, he reached into his belt and pulled out a small metal sphere, its surface etched with strange markings that looked like runes. With a flick of his thumb, he twisted the top, releasing a faint hiss before tossing it down the cavern hole. A moment later, a thick, choking cloud began to billow upward, spreading fast. From within, the growls turned to confused coughs and snarls. Bromm smirked. “What, ye didn’t think we’d be going down there with just the two of us, did ya?” He readied his musket, nodding toward the entrance. “Pick them off as they come up. They’ll be disoriented, but don’t count ‘em out—keep your shield raised and strike when you see an opening, lad.”

  My hand trembled, fingers clenched so tightly around the axe handle that I could feel the wood biting into my palm. This was it. This was happening.

  Then—movement.

  A hulking shape burst from the smoke, lurching forward on unsteady legs. It was just like the one I had seen before—a crazed, wolf-headed beast, its wild eyes darting erratically as if struggling to focus. Tattered scraps of armor clung to its body, a patchwork of leather and rusted metal, barely held together by crude straps. It blinked rapidly, nostrils flaring, its breath ragged and uneven. The smoke had done its job—this thing was disoriented. But not harmless.

  No weapon in its hands. That should have been a relief, but I knew better. I had seen those claws before—wicked, curved things, meant for rending flesh. If I let it get close, it wouldn’t need a blade.

  I gritted my teeth, shifting my stance. My pulse hammered in my ears.

  Now or never.

  I roared, forcing the fear down, and lunged.

  My body moved before my mind could catch up—clumsy, desperate, untrained. I swung my axe with both hands, aiming for the gnoll’s torso. The strike was wild, lacking precision, but I put everything I had into it.

  The gnoll staggered, sluggish from the smoke, but still fast enough to react. My blade cut through empty air, missing its center but clipping its shoulder with a solid thunk. The impact jolted up my arms, sending a shock through my grip. Holy shit, that actually hit!

  The gnoll howled, more in anger than pain. It bared its yellowed teeth and lurched at me, claws swiping blindly. I barely had time to react.

  Shield—!

  I yanked my buckler up at the last second. The gnoll’s claws scraped across the metal with a sharp screech, the force nearly ripping the shield from my grip. The impact sent me stumbling back, my stance breaking. My arm throbbed from the jolt—I hadn’t expected how much force these things had.

  The gnoll shook its head, blinking through the smoke-induced haze, then snarled, its hunched frame tensing for another lunge.

  I panicked.

  With no time to think, I swung again—too sloppy. The axe glanced off its ribs instead of biting deep, but it was enough to make the gnoll recoil.

  I had to finish it.

  With a yell, I raised my axe high—this time gripping it tighter—and brought it crashing down.

  The blade split through its skull with a sickening crack. The gnoll spasmed, its growl cutting off into a wet gurgle. It collapsed to its knees, then slumped forward, unmoving.

  It was no longer standing.

  I stared at the body, my chest heaving, my arms trembling from exertion. The air reeked of blood and smoke.

  I had killed it.

  Before I could even process what I had just done, movement broke through the thick haze. A dark silhouette—no, two, three! My breath hitched. More gnolls.

  The closest one lunged, teeth bared in a frenzied snarl—only to be met by the roar of gunfire.

  BOOM!

  A cloud of black powder burst from Bromm’s musket, the shot slamming into the gnoll’s chest. It crumpled mid-step, its body hitting the dirt with a lifeless thud.

  Before I could even blink, Bob was already charging. His hooves thundered against the ground as he plowed into the second gnoll, tusks punching into its abdomen with a sickening squelch. The gnoll let out a choked scream as Bob drove forward, hoisting it off the ground before hurling it to the side like a ragdoll. It hit the ground hard, writhing and clutching its gut, blood seeping between its fingers.

  The third gnoll was on me.

  Instinct took over. I barely had time to think—I just reacted.

  I swung my buckler forward, slamming the metal rim into the gnoll’s snout with a crack! The beast yelped, staggering backward, dazed. Before it could recover, Bromm surged forward, his axe gleaming as he brought it down in a brutal arc. The blade cleaved into the gnoll’s collarbone, nearly splitting it in two. It let out a wet, gurgling gasp before crumpling to the ground, unmoving.

  For a moment, there was only silence—save for my ragged breathing.

  Bromm turned to me, wiping his blade on his sleeve. He gave a sharp nod. “Not bad, lad. Quick thinkin’—that shield work’ll keep ya alive.”

  A swell of pride rose in my chest—until…

  thunk!

  A flash of steel.

  Pain exploded in my shoulder.

  I barely had time to register the knife embedded deep in my flesh before the force of it sent me crashing flat onto my back. My vision blurred for a moment, the world spinning like a dizzying carousel. The air in my lungs vanished in an instant, replaced by the sickening sensation of blood rushing to my head. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, deafening me as I lay there, dazed and vulnerable.

  "Arthur!" Bromm's voice cut through the chaos, a sharp, urgent call.

  I blinked, trying to focus, my vision clearing as I strained to move. The fight wasn't over. I was still conscious, still breathing. With a grunt, I reached for my shield, pushing myself onto one knee despite the searing pain in my shoulder. My fingers fumbled, my grip unsteady as I examined the wound.

  The steel dart was rusted, old, the edges jagged. It had buried itself a few inches into my flesh, leaving behind a deep, bloody wound that pulsed with every heartbeat. I couldn’t see where it had come from—no archer, no movement in the fog—just the sudden strike that had nearly taken me down.

  As I tried to steady myself, a low growl reverberated through the fog, chilling the air around me. It wasn’t just the sound of one gnoll. No, this one was different.

  Through the dense, swirling mist, a hulking shape moved with unnatural speed. At first, it seemed like a shadow, an indistinct form shifting among the thick haze, but then the outline sharpened—a gnoll, its figure towering over the others, moving with fluid, predatory grace. This was no ordinary gnoll. It was the leader, it had to be.

  Unlike the others, whose movements were clumsy and aggressive, this gnoll flowed through the fog like it was part of it. Its steps were deliberate, calculated. The mist clung to it, swirling around the gnoll as though it were born from the fog itself. Its eyes gleamed with an intelligence that was cold and calculating, shifting between me, Bromm, and Bob as it assessed the situation.

  But Bromm didn’t give it time to plan.

  He whistled sharply, a sound that Bob knew well. The boar charged, a blur of muscle and speed.

  The gnoll reacted instantly, sidestepping the boar’s charge with an agility that belied its size. But it wasn’t just a dodge. It was a calculated move, one that left the gnoll slightly off balance as its body twisted with the movement. It thought it had evaded the threat—but that was exactly what Bromm wanted.

  Before the gnoll could steady itself, Bromm was already in motion.

  The moment it was off-balance, Bromm struck. His axe swung with the precision of a veteran adventurer, a follow-up that came too quickly for the gnoll to react. The blade found its mark with a sickening crunch, sinking deep into the gnoll's skull. Despite its size, the gnoll didn’t stand a chance against the raw power and speed of Bromm’s strike. The impact sent the gnoll stumbling backward, its body collapsing into a heap with no strength to rise again.

  It was over before the gnoll had a chance to recover.

  A swift, calculated move, the result of years of experience, had ended the fight in an instant. The gnoll wasn’t getting up.

  I stared at the fallen gnoll, still gripping my shoulder, my mind processing what had just happened. "Wow, that was incredible," I said, my voice still a little shaken. I hadn’t expected such precision. Bromm’s movements were so calculated, so fast. I figured he was good, but damn. He made it look easy.

  Bromm caught the look on my face and let out a hearty laugh. “A Gnoll’s still a Gnoll at the end of the day, lad. No big deal.” He clapped me on the back, making me wince in pain. “That was your first encounter, and you did fine. Now—” He glanced at my wound, still bleeding through my armor. “You still have that Glimmergill Bloom?”

  I nodded, wincing as I tried to steady myself.

  “Good,” he continued. “Once you pull that knife out, crush up the Glimmergill and put it on that wound. It’ll help stop the bleeding and heal it up fast. I’ll stand watch. No more gnolls should be sneakin’ up on us now that their leader's out of the picture. They’ll scatter.”

  I was still trying to absorb what just happened, but I managed a strained smile. "Another day in the Hollow," I muttered, half in disbelief.

  Bromm grinned and patted Bob, who was snuffling around for scraps. “Aye, lad. Just another day.” He turned his attention back to the fog, which was now almost all dissipated, keeping a sharp eye out for any other threats.

  I yanked the dart out, the pain shooting through my shoulder as it tore further on the way out. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the Glimmergill Bloom from my pack and crushed it in my palms, turning it into a fine, grainy powder. Once it was ready, I pressed it onto the wound. The sensation was unsettling as the Glimmergill Bloom took effect. My skin seemed to pull together in small, precise motions, like each part of the wound was being sewn back together at a rapid pace. It felt almost mechanical, the edges of the gash drawing in and fusing with an unnatural speed. While it was undeniably effective, the feeling was strange and deeply uncomfortable.

  Bromm unsheathed his knife from his belt and handed it to me. “Here, lad. You need the practice. But do try not to butcher it too badly, or old Zibbin Fizzlegear won’t be giving us diddly for these. Take your time.”

  Before getting to work, Bromm crouched by the fallen pack leader, giving the gnoll’s limp body a once-over. With practiced efficiency, he checked for anything of value—turning out its tattered pouches, rifling through its crude armor. A handful of rusted knives, a few bone charms, and a twisted bit of metal that might have once been a coin clattered onto the dirt.

  “Nothing worth a damn,” he muttered, shoving aside a pouch of dried meat that smelled rancid even from a distance.

  Still, he took anything that wasn’t completely useless and tucked it away in his pack. I followed his lead, patting down the gnoll I had killed. Most of what I found was junk—bits of sinew cord, broken trinkets—but I did come across a small, bloodstained pouch containing a few silver pieces. I pocketed it before moving on.

  Once the bodies were searched, Bromm gave me a nod. “Right, lad. Now the ears. Clean cuts—one slice. No need to get fancy.”