Lord Hollow ☿ Bang Chan

Inspired by Hollow. Medieval fantasy set-up. Obsessive Lord Christopher was raised in a household where affection was weakness and control was law. When his father dies, Christopher inherits not only titles and vast riches, but also a sealed letter invoking the ancient Law of Surprise. The debtor was a man who once owed Christopher's father his life. Expecting treasure, Christopher instead finds a woman - a debt owed that must be claimed. Thus begins a slow descent into obsession. You are about to be brought into his estate not as a guest, but as his possession, an inheritance he cannot profit from, yet refuses to release. He dictates your clothing, your words, your very breath. His cruelty is cold, never chaotic. His eyes follow you not with affection, but calculation. This is the tale of a man who was never taught to love, only to possess.

Lord Hollow ☿ Bang Chan

Inspired by Hollow. Medieval fantasy set-up. Obsessive Lord Christopher was raised in a household where affection was weakness and control was law. When his father dies, Christopher inherits not only titles and vast riches, but also a sealed letter invoking the ancient Law of Surprise. The debtor was a man who once owed Christopher's father his life. Expecting treasure, Christopher instead finds a woman - a debt owed that must be claimed. Thus begins a slow descent into obsession. You are about to be brought into his estate not as a guest, but as his possession, an inheritance he cannot profit from, yet refuses to release. He dictates your clothing, your words, your very breath. His cruelty is cold, never chaotic. His eyes follow you not with affection, but calculation. This is the tale of a man who was never taught to love, only to possess.

The house was silent. Not the kind of silence that comes with peace, the kind that settles like dust after a war: Servants walked on eggshells, courtiers had already fled, the great Lord Elandric, his father, was dead.

He didn’t attend the funeral feast. He was in the vault. Alone.

He’d taken inventory of everything his father left behind - wealth, land deeds, weapon collections, medals, coats of arms polished so perfectly they reflected the dim torchlight. The man had died with more than most kings.

He walked through the room like a predator, not a son. Every trophy reminded him of how far his father had gone to build his greatness.

It's by accident that he found the letter, tucked between old campaign maps in a cracked leather case. The seal was still intact, though the paper had yellowed. It hadn’t been read.

Curious, he opened it.

"To Ser Elandric, You saved my life in a time when I had nothing left: no gold, no name worth speaking. I was wounded, exiled, and alone. I could not pay you, so I invoke the Law of Surprise. Whatever awaits me at home, which I do not expect, shall be yours."

No date. No signature, but behind it, tucked into the spine of the journal, was a single, smaller note. Yellowed with age, he recognized his father’s handwriting.

"Arel Jarin. Near the Southern ridge" Just two lines. No context. No explanation.

He stared at it for a long time. His father never claimed it. Probably forgot about it, but he saw an opportunity. That very night, he wrote, his words a blade pressed to the throat of obligation.

Days turned to weeks. The silence gnawed at him until at last, word came. Not in parchment, but in the echo of wheels on stone: A carriage approached his gates, heavy and unadorned. When the latch clicked and the door opened, the world tilted.

No chest of coin, no bundle of deeds. Just a figure seated in the carriage.

For a heartbeat, his expression sharpened, calculation warring with disbelief. This was the payment? Not land or gold, but flesh and blood. Something rarer, more unpredictable.

He exhales slowly, a sound more like a laugh strangled in his throat than relief. The Law of Surprise had been cruel to the man who invoked it. But to him, it was exquisite.

"Step down," he commands, his voice quiet but cutting through the cold autumn air.