Three Years Hollow Novels & Stories

“It’s not physical. It’s in his soul.” I thought as much... But unfortunately, that makes it more difficult to even do anything now. A whisper rides in the wind. I don’t know who speaks it first. Maybe one of the old fae who linger at the edges of the battlefield. Maybe one of the dying spirits. "The Hollow has taken him." My blood goes cold. The Hollow. It’s not death, not exactly. It’s the space between, a veil-thin plane where souls are neither here nor gone. Where time frays and memories decay. Where you forget who you are.

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.

Evangeline swallowed, her throat raw. “The Outer Veil. We’re moving west, towards Aetherreach. The Hollow breached the inner sanctum less than an hour ago.” “I don’t even know what the Hollow is.” Evangeline’s chest tightened as Cassius met her unblinking and steady eyes “They are what was left when hope was ripped from something that used to be alive.” he replied, grumpily, as though forced to speak. "That’s not even an answer.” Evangeline blinked. “True, but it’s the only one that fits, goddess.” Selene shrugged.

"All right. However, you are responsible if this goes wrong. The Trip to the Black Hollow A lost relic of the ancient world, the Black Hollow was a place that was discussed in whispers and was cloaked in mystery and terror. The stories described it as a maze of underground passages, guarded by unknown, ancient entities and teeming with traps. Before noon, the three of them headed out, moving quickly and light. Leading the route, Elara's familiarity with the wasteland proved crucial as they made their way through the dangerous area. Every step seemed to reverberate with the weight of invisible eyes, and the air was oppressively dry. They arrived at the edge of the Hollow around midnight. Its

Elsewhere, in the far-off ruins of Veithra Hollow where no bloom had bloomed for two hundred years an unmarked spiral appeared overnight. No casting had been performed. No walker had passed through. But the ground broke in perfect arcs. Locals said they heard music. Not strings. Not drums. Just a low, steady note, like humming from beneath the earth. When scouts arrived, they found only silence. And the spiral. Not glowing. Just waiting. In Hollowreach, dissent grew. The Third Voice movement fractured further one faction declaring itself “Children of Resonance,” demanding a new order led by bloom-walkers only. Another argued that the Pact needed to return in full, restructured and purified,

Sarah walked to the house, struggling with the grocery bags that were twice her size. She had finally been able to stock up her new house and decorate it to her taste. It felt really good to finally live alone after spending years with three roommates. She enjoyed the peace and quiet of the house and the fact that she could actually hear herself think in contrast to her shared apartment back in college where she couldn't go a second without hearing a squeal or an “oh my God, he's so hot."

"Hi, it's my pleasure meeting you. Thomas said a lot about you." Laughing at him, she answered, "what did he say? "....erm, Paul. Do you have a friend that works in a nice company?" "Yes, I do," he answered, sipping the juice from his glass. "Do you know if there are vacants seats for workers?" Thomas asked again. "I think so, why do you ask? You are already working, aren't you?" He asked, confused at his friend's questions. "Giselle has been jobless for more than three months," he explained to Paul.

he said, his voice low. “Then it’s time someone did,” Lyra murmured, eyes fixed ahead. “The Hollowed Ones left blood in their wake. I’m going to follow it.” They had been tracking them for days. From the ruins of the third Gate to the Crescent Fang borders, through the scorched ridge and now toward the ancient woods the packs once sealed off—the Hollow Hollow, named not just for its appearance but for the magic buried beneath its roots. It was a place even the bravest of wolves avoided. Where the veil between spirit and flesh thinned. Where banished power whispered back into the world.

Each word was laid down with intention, the kind of script written by someone who knew exactly what they were doing and accepted the cost. To the one who bears my name and my flame, Autumn’s breath caught. I am sorry. The apology struck harder than any warning could have. She hadn’t known she’d been waiting for it—hadn’t known how deeply she’d needed it—until the words stared back at her. For the lies. For the omissions. For the binding you never agreed to. Her jaw tightened. There are three keys to the Hollow: The Flame. The Blade. The Mirror. Her gaze flicked instinctively to the pendants, their light reflecting faintly across the altar stone.

The Hollow always forgives. I hadn't known what The Hollow was, not fully, not until I brought the phrase to one of my mother's old contacts among the border scouts, a woman who'd fought in the purges decades ago and still flinched, faintly, at the mention of that name. She told me what she remembered. A rebel faction. Old. Patient. Dedicated to erasing every Alpha bloodline they considered a threat to some grand design only they understood.