Story 987: The Hollow Archive

The world buckled inward as the city crumbled.

Mira awoke in a room lined with endless shelves, each one stuffed with decaying books and scrolls that whispered as she passed. The air was thick with the scent of burnt parchment and ink.

She was alone.

Except for the book in her hands, which now glowed with a faint, hellish orange, like the embers of something ancient still smoldering.

The walls pulsed. Every step echoed, but never ended.

Then, a voice behind her.

“You opened the gate,” it rasped.

She turned slowly. A figure stood by the nearest shelf—the Hollow Man.

But he was changed. His once-humanoid form now dripped shadows, and his fingers ended in long, quill-like tips. He walked without touching the ground, leaving trails of ink in his wake.

“This place,” he said, gesturing around them, “records every life taken by the book. Every scream. Every failure.”

Mira raised the book like a weapon. “You won’t take me.”