Slow Hollows Novels & Stories

The exhaustion from my emotions dragged me away into the darkness easily. I closed my heavy eyes as my subconscious took over. The dark abyss appeared around me. Pure darkness with no escape. I wasn't falling, instead standing on the water but never being wet. I heard the ticking of the clock. Tick, tick, tick. Panic was rising. I had no idea what the ticking was or where it was coming from, but something deep inside me knew it was not good. I felt like it signaled the end. But the end of what was unclear.

But the habit of caring about him hadn’t faded yet. “Almost there,” Fen said. “You keep saying that.” “I keep meaning it.” Then the trees opened up, and I stopped. The Hollow wasn’t what I expected. I’d pictured something gloomy, like the rest of the Growth, full of rot, murk, and things with strange eyes. But this was different. The trees here were old, older than anything I’d seen, with trunks as wide as houses and roots rising from the ground in arches tall enough to walk under. In the center was a pool, still and black, perfectly round, as if someone had pressed a coin into the earth. The air shivered with a faint hum, so low I felt it more than heard it, vibrating somewhere in my bones.

The words hit like sunlight piercing endless winter. The Hollow convulsed. Its massive black eye fractured visibly. Cracks spread through the darkness itself. The creator whispered in realization: “It cannot survive where grief and love coexist.” Because the Hollow only understood two states. Attachment. Or emptiness. It could not understand carrying pain while still choosing connection. The alternate Silas took one slow step toward the sky. Not angry. Not hateful. Just honest. “I’ll miss her forever.” The Hollow recoiled. The city lights brightened again.

Today's research had been beyond draining, adding to the fact that Maura is extremely bubbly, she basically wore me out with her endless talk. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices. My footsteps were soft, padded against the wooden floor. The last thing I wanted was to run into anyone and exchange unnecessary pleasantries. Then the air changed. A sharp scent—metallic, primal, feral—hit my nose, and my feet slowed. Just ahead, the door to the courtyard was cracked open. Every part of my being screamed to turn back, but for some reason, I felt a strong pull. I inched forward, drawn by something I couldn’t name, and peeked through the gap.

Just a shift in pressure, like a held breath, like the forest had closed its eyes. What is that, Kael said. His voice was barely sound. Old concealment, Dassa said at the same volume. It will hold for a few minutes. Not longer. What is behind us, he said. She looked at him. Not with fear. With the expression of someone who had spent forty years dreading a specific conversation and was now having it crouched in a dark forest at three in the morning. It is called a Hollow, she said. It was a wolf once. A long time ago. Something removed what made it a wolf and left the shell and filled the shell with something else.

"That’s exactly what I want." I looked at Silas. "I have a plan. But it requires you to trust me. And it requires you to do something you’re going to hate." "I already hate it," Silas said, his eyes reflecting the golden sky. "The 'Hollows' aren't just processors," I explained, leaning in close so the Director’s sensors couldn't pick up my words. "They’re 'Nodes.' Jax is still connected to the sky. If I can 'Patch' into him... if I can use his 'Hollow' shell as a 'Router,' I can send a virus directly into the 'Siphon.'"

“The thread is gone, Elara. We’re drifting. We’re falling into the dark.” ​“I’ve got you, Sasha,” I thought, my mind screaming with a desperation I couldn't voice. “Just hold on. Don't go into the sleep. Please, don't leave me alone in here.” ​We reached the Hollow. ​It was a dip in the geography of the Outskirts, a damp, shadowed ravine where the runoff from the Alpha’s mountain estate collected after a storm. The air here smelled of mildew, wet stone, and the sour tang of old despair. It was the place where the pack kept its "failures"—the elderly who could no longer shift, the injured who couldn't hunt, and the Omegas who had outlived their usefulness.

As if the ground beneath my horse’s hooves whispered ancient lullabies only I could hear. By midday, we reached the edge of the Hollow. It wasn’t a place on maps. No one came here unless they had a death wish. Or a destiny. Dead trees bent toward us, clawing at the sky. The air thickened with whispers and shadows. And yet, I felt peace. It was as though I had returned to a place I’d never been but always known. Thane dismounted first. “I don’t like this.” “I do,” I whispered.

Tasted different. Lyra felt it first. The whispers. At first, they were faint — no louder than a breeze brushing her ear. Then they multiplied, overlapping in a chorus of half-sentences and haunted words. “—she carries the blood—” “—the moon remembers—” “—not wolf, not witch—” Lyra flinched. “Kaelen…” He slowed beside her, scanning the forest. “You hear them?” She nodded, heart pounding. “It’s the trees,” he said grimly. “The Hollow is near.”