Chapter Thirty-One: Bonds in the Hollow
The Hollow glowed beneath the soft wash of twilight. Torches flickered along the paths, children's laughter echoed near the training grounds, and the smell of roasted meats drifted through the cool air. After a long day of practice and refinement, Kael walked among his people, crimson eyes softening as he observed not warriors, not survivors—but families, communities, bonds that had formed in the chaos of war.
He stopped first at the forge, where the dwarf master was instructing goblins with a patience that Kael never would have expected when they'd first met. One young goblin handed the dwarf a poorly shaped blade. Instead of snarling or tossing it aside, the dwarf gently placed the boy's hands on the hammer again, guiding him through the motions. Kael leaned against the doorway, unseen for a moment, listening as the dwarf muttered, "Not perfect, but better. Tomorrow, better still."
The goblin's grin, wide and sharp-toothed, reminded Kael why he had chosen to build this place. He stepped forward and clapped the dwarf on the shoulder. "You've given them more than skill. You've given them pride."
The dwarf huffed, but Kael didn't miss the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "A blade is only as strong as the hand that shapes it. These hands will shape more than steel now."
Kael's chest warmed, and he moved on.
Near the hunters' lodge, Lyria knelt among her pupils, guiding a young elf girl on the draw of her bow. Her touch was light, her tone steady but warm. When she looked up, her silver eyes caught Kael's, and a smile ghosted across her lips. She rose, leaving the girl to practice, and walked to him.
"You've been working yourself too hard," she said softly, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
Kael smirked faintly. "And you've been keeping count?"
Her expression softened, her hand brushing against his arm. "I see more than you think. Every time you push your power, every time you carry the weight of this place… I see it. Don't forget you're more than just their leader. You're one of us, Kael."
Her words struck deeper than he expected, settling into a part of him that still ached with loneliness. He nodded, his voice quiet. "It's easier to forget when I feel them depending on me. But… maybe I needed to hear that."
They stood in silence for a moment, the torches painting her hair with a soft golden glow. Umbra padded between them, breaking the quiet with a huff that made Lyria chuckle. Kael found himself smiling too.
Later, he came upon the two human children—the girl, Elria, and her younger brother. They sat near a fire, the boy tracing shapes in the dirt with a stick while Elria sharpened a borrowed dagger. Kael crouched down to meet their eyes, his shadow flickering faintly in the firelight.
"You both look stronger than when I first found you," Kael said.
Elria gave him a guarded look, then softened, her voice quieter than usual. "It's… different here. People don't look at us like we're rats. We eat every day. My brother—he laughs again."
The boy grinned up at Kael, showing missing teeth, and for a moment, Kael felt something stir in his chest—something painfully close to what he imagined an older brother or even a father might feel.
Kael set a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "You're safe here. But safety isn't free. One day, you'll both have to decide how you'll contribute. That's the rule of the Hollow."
Elria nodded firmly. "We will. I swear it. I won't let him grow up the way I did."
Kael's eyes lingered on her determination. She reminded him of himself, younger, driven by loss, clinging to scraps of strength to survive. He stood, his voice steady but warm. "Good. Then you'll find a place here, both of you. You already have."
As night deepened, Kael found himself at the ridge once again, looking down at the Hollow bathed in torchlight. The council gathered below—Fenrik laughing with wolfkin patrols, Thalos sharing quiet stories with young recruits, Lyria speaking with healers, and the dwarf still watching over his goblins with a proud, hidden smile.
Kael exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest easing. For all his power, all his battles, it was these moments—the bonds, the unity, the small glimpses of peace—that felt like the truest victories.
Umbra pressed against his leg, warm and steady, and Kael murmured, "They're becoming something greater than I imagined. And maybe… so am I."
For the first time in years, Kael allowed himself to hope not just for survival, but for a future worth protecting.