Reverie At River Hollow Novels & Stories

VILLAGE OF THE VALLADOLID VALLADOLID PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL When there is no hope, when those who believe they have the power of everything have hit the hardest. The time that as river water goes, the storms pass, the endless gray sky ceases to be, sooner or later ceases to be. Lies, secrets to be known, more lies that sunk him in that place. Everyone was going to pay for the mistake and he was not going to rest until he had all those people on their knees.

It was Tulen who requested Riverhall next. “We’ve been to places where pain erupted. But there are places where it’s too tightly packed to rise,” he said. “Those are the ones that calcify.” Governor Marisol had agreed—but with caution. “If Hollowmere showed us the limits of memory’s reach, then Riverhall must show us what quiet can contain without shattering.” Miri, Rowan, and a new field archivist named Elien traveled with Tulen. As they crossed the bridge into Riverhall, Elien whispered, “It looks… untouched.”

The River of Echoing Souls The forest was unnaturally still—so still that Luna could hear her own breathing echo in her ears as she strolled between Rowan and Kai, her fingertips grazing the luminous riverbank. The River of Echoing Souls sparkled like flowing moonlight, bending and undulating as if something beneath it was stirring. Each surface mirrored faded memories, faces floating like fog, emotions locked in time—and all of them felt achingly familiar. Luna gulped. “I can’t stand this place already.”

The eastern wind howled through the valleys that night, dragging with it the scent of brine and burnt lavender. Not many knew the meaning of that scent anymore, but the old ones did. The Hollow was moving. Far from the southern cliffs of the Everglade estate, in the heart of the lower territories, a figure emerged from a covered caravan, boots pressing into the ash-dusted ground of what once was a thriving village. Now it was hollowed, too—walls scorched, windows empty, and silence blooming like rot in a field.

The Hollow was quiet. Too quiet. For days after sealing the Rift, the forest had fallen into an unnatural stillness. The trees barely swayed. No wolves howled beneath the moon. The wind passed through the valley like a ghost, carrying the scent of old stone and distant fires. Elira knew better than to trust silence. It had always been the prelude to something else—change, arrival, or loss. She stood at the edge of the reflecting pool in the heart of the Hollow, her fingertips brushing the water’s surface. The moon’s reflection wavered, though the wind did not blow.

Father, pale as paper, touched my face and smiled. "Eli, wait a little longer. Just one more day." But on the third night, I never saw Father come back. Instead, the guards took me to the pavilion. At a glance, I saw Father being held in place. Adrian stood beside Mother with a smug curl on his lips, directing guards to dig beneath the old peach-tree stump where my aunt's remains were buried. "The diviner said the thing beneath this ground is the reason my body grows weaker by the day. Dig carefully. Don't miss a single inch."

*Dust* I stand in the clearing, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, the silence around me feeling heavy and oppressive. The moonlight spills across the ground like silver, illuminating the jagged edges of the landscape but casting long shadows that twist and stretch, taunting me with the unknown. River promised he would return soon, but with every passing second, fear coils around my heart like a vine, squeezing tighter.

Even better. But Selene knew silence didn’t mean surrender. It meant planning. And she was done playing nice. At exactly 4:17 AM, she rose from the chair and crossed the room to her desk. She grabbed her laptop, plugged in the USB, and watched the loading bar stretch across the screen like a slow exhale. Then a folder appeared. "REVELATIONS" Selene clicked it open. Dozens of video files. She clicked on the first one. Cherry. Alone in her room, pacing in front of a mirror. The angle was odd, almost like someone had hidden a camera in the bookshelf. The date on the video read two weeks ago.

The Hollow sang at dawn. It wasn’t a melody made by mouths or instruments—it was bone-deep, a rumble that rose through stone and soul alike. Lilly felt it before she heard it, a vibration in the soles of her feet that climbed into her chest like a second heartbeat.