The Hollow

What’s missing is still watching.

“There was nothing there. And it saw me.”

The Hollow is not a place. It’s what’s left after the place is gone.

They are the quiet ones. The ones who remember everything — not just what happened, but what was taken. They carry echoes in their bones, and they do not speak unless they must. Even then, their voices sound like wind through ruins.

No one chooses The Hollow. It chooses those who were already emptied.

Some say The Hollow formed around a loss too vast to name. A vanished town. A ritual undone. A name forgotten by design. Whatever its origin, its members are drawn to abandonment: decayed churches, burnt houses, rooms where a crib used to be. They don’t fear these places — they feel known in them.

They don’t wear loud colors. Their symbols are barely visible, scratched into dust or threadbare fabric. Their relics are always worn, faded, beloved. You’ll never find something new in The Hollow — only something you’d forgotten you once held.

To walk with The Hollow is not to wallow in sadness.
It is to carry the grief with reverence — like a relic.
And never let it be taken again.

🕳️ Faction Traits:

Grief as power

Silence as rebellion

Forgotten spaces, faded symbols

Deep memory, ancestral echoes

Soft dread

✒️ Marking Rituals:

A name written and burned. A belonging buried and retrieved. A silence kept long enough to hear the other side answer.

💀 Closing Line:

Not everyone who disappears is gone. Some become Hollow.