Book Hollowed Out Novels & Stories

Not angry, not yet—but aware. The Hollow was no longer empty. And somewhere in that silence, a single, ancient howl echoed through the roots of the world.

Candy moved first, kneeling by a flat stone slab half-submerged near the center of the bank. “It’s here,” she whispered. Jimmy helped lift the stone. Underneath, a staircase spiraled into darkness, lit by faint runes glowing blue along the walls. “Are we seriously going in there?” he asked. “We don’t have a choice,” I said, brushing past him. The Hollow was colder than I expected—not just physically, but spiritually. I felt it in my bones, in my soul. At the bottom was a round chamber, walls covered in etched lunar symbols. In the center stood a bowl of black water, still and deep.

Not lost. Hidden. The engineers spread out along the walls again, running their hands over stone seams and old shelving structures that looked decorative until you noticed they didn’t align naturally with the architecture. Jax followed one of them for about ten seconds before stopping at a section of wall that looked no different from the rest. Then he tapped it. Twice. “It’s hollow,” he said. One of the engineers looked over. “Most of it is hollow.” “That’s not comforting.” “No, it’s structurally accurate.”

My voice carried sharper than I intended, slicing through the laughter. The room stilled. “You call them myths because someone wanted them buried. We’ve uncovered a tunnel bricked over for centuries, sigils etched into stone still visible through fire damage. We found a scorched table and ledgers that prove secret councils once met there. We exposed sabotage in bricks that should have kept families safe. The Hollow isn’t a bedtime story. It’s a pattern of secrecy that thrives whenever people refuse to look closer.”

The Hollow was feeding. By dusk, we reached the ruins. The air there was heavier, charged with the kind of power that made your skin crawl. Half-buried stones jutted out of the earth and were etched with old carvings. I brushed my fingers over one, tracing the shape of a wolf kneeling before a tall figure with eyes carved like suns.

"A series of 'Dark-Nodes' are forming. They aren't Purists, and they aren't Architects. They’re something new—The Hollows." The Hollows were regions of the universe where the Expansion had moved too fast, leaving behind "Low-Resolution" zones where the reality was thin, grey, and hungry. They didn't have teams; they had "Eraser-Swarms" that sought to pull the vibrant, high-definition matter of the Sovereign Valley back into the void. The Call to the Rim

I replied, my fingers digging into the rough stone as a massive, gray wolf with milky white eyes and a jaw that hung loosely from its hinges stepped into the light of the cave entrance. ​"They’re Hollowed, they’re what happens when the shadows we saw at the gate catch a wolf and peel the soul right out of the skin, leaving nothing but a hungry shell that doesn't feel pain and doesn't stop until it’s shredded to pieces," Kael explained, his voice flat and grim as three more of the creatures scrambled over the rocks, their movements jerky and unnatural.

Because what the hell is giving him the impression that we would see them and come back alive? He holds my shoulders comfortingly, and I let him. Maybe because I needed that more than anything else but my pride is getting the best of me. "If they're the creatures my father told me about, then they are a rare kind of beast that feeds on any creature their victims are. Nobody knows what they really are. Survivors just started calling them the Hollowed after seeing their empty eyes. The good news is that their senses are dead unless they come face to face with their victims, and according to Father, if you are bold and fast enough to say what softens their heart, they are most likely to listen.

The cabinet toppled, crashing onto the entryway, but through the gap smoke and shadows poured in. They weren’t human. The Hollowed. But not the skeletal ones we’d fought in the gorge. These were armored, metal plates and tubes fused into their bodies, red optics glowing where their eyes should be. The twisted results of the Nest’s dark experiments. “Fire!” I yelled, opening fire. Sparks flew as the bullets bounced off their armor. Regnar roared and launched himself at the first, fighting with fists and wings. Damian moved like a shadow, his blades searching for cracks in the plating.

The Weaver’s Hollow. Blade paced at the edge, whining low in his throat. The scent from the hole was ancient, powerful, and wrong. It smelled of dry bones, strange herbs, and a stillness that had nothing to do with peace. I made the shift back to human form. It was agony. Every muscle screamed in protest. I was naked, covered in cuts, shivering violently in the freezing wind. I didn’t care. I walked to the edge of the hollow and looked down. I couldn’t see a bottom, only darkness.