Hallowed Fantasy Novels & Stories

"Well, since you know, why are you still wasting time here? Go home and patch things up with your wife. Figure your words properly if you want to save your marriage otherwise, you'd be the talk in Fantasy for having a short-lived marriage in the history of deities." Hue walked out of the nursery, feeling miserable for various reasons. He thought visiting the doctor could help him but, he got even more confused. Damn you, Kith! ... The day for the Thousand Years Festival is finally approaching. The fantasy realm got even more busy and more noisy than usual. The skies were filled with various strange but beautiful things. Familiars were seen speeding through the skies, bringing stuff to their

“Gods… Ragnor, that’s—” “The Hollow.” My voice came out as a low growl, steady despite the icy dread crawling up my spine. Valkyrie turned to me, her eyes searching mine for confirmation—for denial. But I had none to give. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It can’t be.” It was. The Hollow was more than just a spirit. It was a force beyond this world, a parasite that didn’t just consume bodies—it devoured souls, leaving nothing but an empty, twisted husk behind. A fate worse than death.

Ruby. Zara’s throat tightened. The Hollow Queen’s specter stared at Maxim, a cruel tenderness in the tilt of her head. “Beast,” the shadow whispered. “You carry my fire still.” Maxim stiffened, claws sliding from his fingertips despite his iron will. “You’re dead,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Stay dead.” The apparition smiled. “Death is only a bargain unfulfilled.” The loyalists howled, their frenzy feeding the ghost. The spark-Ruby swelled, smoke thickening into muscle and bone. Zara felt the ground tremble beneath her boots. If the phantom crossed fully into flesh, the Hollow’s chaos would return.

Below it, two opposing forces met in a cataclysmic confrontation. I recognized the faces of the Lycan brothers, their ferocity unleashed, fighting with a primal hunger I hadn't witnessed before. And then, a moment that stole my breath—a massive, shadowy creature, its eyes burning with an infernal light, rising from the depths, casting a pall over everything. It was a being of pure malevolence, and my blood ran cold as I felt its gaze, even through the vision, pierce directly into my soul. The final image was of a colossal, ancient tree, its roots reaching deep into the earth, its branches stretching towards the heavens, yet its leaves were withered and black, as if cursed.

By dawn, we’d followed the residual magic left from Rowan’s abduction deep into the north ridge, where the trees turned silver at the edges and frost kissed the ground even in August. “This place doesn’t belong to the Hollow,” Kael muttered. “It’s borrowed, claimed by something older.” “Older than werewolves?” I asked with curiosity. Kael gave me a side look. “You still think I’m the monster in this story??” I didn’t answer. --- Hours Later.…. We crossed into what Kael called “the Grey Hollow”. The trees had their sap pouring, Crows circled above us, silent and watching. The magic was thicker here, pressing against my bones like a second skin.

“It’s cursed ground.” “So am I,” I snapped. “And I’m done waiting.” ⸻ We reached the Hollow by nightfall. The moon hung low, fat and red, like it was bleeding for what was about to happen. The ground here was cracked and barren, littered with bones and twisted metal from wars that history forgot. The trees didn’t grow—they listened. Silent and skeletal. Magic hung heavy. Dark. Old. I stepped forward. The wards screamed the second my foot touched the dirt.

It blazed. The vision rose: Marrowmoor burning. Its towers strangled by vines of bone. Morganna on her knees before a throne of skulls, the Revenant Queen rising, crowned in silver rot, her eyes two pits of endless hunger. And behind her, shadows. Legions stitched together with forgotten magic. The Hollowed Court, reborn in death. The mirror pulsed. And I felt them see it—Lucian. Thalor. Irena. Malric. All the council.

I ask just before we make a sharp turn to a wide hallway. “Alpha Daymion has to settle a few things; seal the hole that has gaped since his departure.” “Hmm,” I nod, immediately pushing thoughts about the old man out of my head. “How did we really manage to get here? Last I remembered we were in a cart.” Sir Brak looks at me with one eye closed, the open eye’s brow perked. It is more of a ‘Please do not tell me you don’t know’ kind of look. “The thing about Supernaturalism is that it deals with uncanny stuff like Portals.”

The city lay cradled between stone cliffs and frozen pines, cloaked in mist and moonlight a neutral ground carved from old treaties and older blood. Even here, I could feel the tension in the air. Wolf-shifters moved through the streets in wary silence. Some bore the white tattoos of the Highland Clans, others the storm-gray brands of the South. They nodded as I passed, respectful, but wary. I was Frostfang, northern royalty and a healer in a world that only valued warriors. My wolf stirred beneath my skin. Something is wrong, Nemphis whispered. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t afford to listen to instincts, not here, not now. I looked up and admired the Hall.

I’ll give credit where credit is due, Constance has kept our secret and pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes so convincingly that even I have doubted her resolve on occasion. Tonight was their victory. Halen is dead, his soul sent to the shadows where he will suffer for all time. The vampires wiil burn in the heat of Evangeline’s fire until their skin blackens and turns to ash and all that remains is a heap of charred bone. All that is left is for them to make it safely to the pack.