Book Hollowed Out Romane & Geschichten

What came through wasn't human. It had been, once. You could tell by the general shape and the way it moved on two legs. But everything else was weird. Its skin had turned gray and leathery, its fingers elongated into claws, and its face stretched into something with too many teeth. A Hollow. Class D anomaly that fed on fear. The crowd started cheering. The Hunter raised his sword. The Hollow circled him, making a clicking sound they made when they were hunting. I'd heard it before during deployments. It usually meant you were about to be attacked.

Mike didn't tell Shane what he knew. He finally fell asleep, slept well and was up before nine the next day. He packed and covered his activities before he left the hotel for the day. He spread a small packet of powder in the room. Skin cells from at least twenty different people. He dropped ten sets of small hairs in the room as well. Amazing the things one can gather from discarded vacuum bags from a medical building or three.

She had no time to mourn. Amira forced herself to stand, wiping the tears and blood from her face. Her wound burned, but the pain anchored her. She turned toward the north, toward Winter Hollow — the home that had caged her, the place where this nightmare began. If the Council wanted her silenced, she’d give them a voice they couldn’t ignore.

The pressure it carried weakened. The cold thinned. The emptiness cracked. It stepped forward again— And collapsed. Not violently. Not explosively. It simply… fell apart. Like a shadow losing its source of light. The others followed. One by one. Breaking. Dissolving. Fading into nothing. Silence fell over the Hollow. Real silence this time. No pressure. No presence. No watching. Gone. --- No one moved. No one spoke. Because we all felt it. Not relief.

Behind him, four Umbra priests lifted their hands and began to chant. Xavier gritted his teeth. “He’s not hiding anymore.” “Which means,” Veyna said, her blade dripping with shadowblood, “he’s planning something worse.” Suddenly, the earth cracked beneath them. “What now?” Jorren muttered. It wasn’t a quake. It was... hollow. From the muck, arms emerged—thin, scorched, skeletal. “Goddess,” Veyna whispered. “The Hollowborn.” The creatures clawed their way from the soil, half-formed soldiers stitched from the memory of old wars. Their eyes glowed red, and their limbs crackled with decay magic.

She reached in and touched one of the bones. The air shifted. The moon bled through the trees, slow and deliberate, casting silver shadows across the clearing. And the bones moved. One by one, like they had minds and mouths and instincts of their own, they slipped from the fabric and into the grass. Ribs. Vertebrae. A shattered femur. A jawbone missing its tongue. All Hollowborn. All waiting. Emilia inhaled sharply and sliced her palm with the edge of a stone shard that hadn’t been inside the bag until this moment.

It yawned open from the cliffside like a wound in the earth, breathing cold air that reeked of ancient iron and magic. The runes across the stone glowed faintly—recognizable only to Lyra. She traced them, breath catching. “They match the scars on my back,” she whispered. “The ones that came after the first Gate opened.” Kael’s eyes narrowed. “It’s calling you.” They stepped inside. ⸻ The Hollow wasn’t made of rock. It was bone. Miles of smooth, ivory corridors wound deeper and deeper beneath the mountain, pulsing faintly with a glow that came not from torchlight but memory.

"No. Just... changed." Callen stood, blood drying on his temple. "I don't think the world is ready for what those children became." No one disagreed. **The Hollow Court was gone**, their essence torn back into whatever fractured dimension they had tried to claw themselves free from. But the rift they left behind hadn’t closed completely. Strange lights shimmered across the distant mountains. Clouds spiraled unnaturally, and animals had begun fleeing the forests in droves. Wolves howled in confusion, unable to understand the shift in the balance.

I just mumble back to him. I'm not sure how long after he left I woke up fully, but the side he sleeps in is cold, so he must have left hours ago. Turning, I see the paper on the bed. I smile and reach for it. Turning it over, my eyes widen. The sketch shows a person with the centre of their body hollowed out and empty. There's no longer a heart there. I read the poem. Hollowed out Empty within Nothing lingers Nothing lives Cold spreads quickly