Chapter Thirty-Four: Blood at the Border
The council fire burned low, crackling embers licking at the charred logs. Kael rose to his feet, his shadow stretching across the chamber wall like a living thing.
"Then it's decided," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the tension like a blade. "We don't wait for them to act. I will meet these humans myself."
Murmurs broke around the table, but Kael silenced them with a raised hand. His crimson eyes burned steady. "If they're scouts, I want to know it from their own lips. If they're killers, then their bones will feed the soil."
Fenrik bared his teeth in approval. Thalos frowned but said nothing, his heavy jaw clenched tight. Lyria, seated beside Kael, simply nodded once.
Kael turned to his council, issuing orders with measured precision.
"Thalos, you will take command of the Hollow's defenses in my absence. Strengthen the southern palisade, reinforce the gate, and double the wolfkin patrols on the borders."
The ogre grunted in acknowledgment.
"Dwarf master," Kael continued, "have the forge working through the night. I want spearheads and arrow tips ready if the kingdom decides to send more than scouts."
The old craftsman thumped his fist against his chest. "You'll have them."
"Everyone else—prepare the people. If trouble comes, I want the Hollow ready to withstand it."
Satisfied, Kael shifted his cloak over one shoulder, his tone final. "Umbra, Fenrik, Lyria—you're with me."
The wolfkin leader's grin was sharp, eager for blood. Umbra padded from the shadows with a low growl, eyes glinting gold in the firelight. Lyria adjusted her bow, her face unreadable, though Kael saw the faintest flicker of worry in her silver eyes.
The forest at night was alive with the chorus of crickets and owls, the moon hanging pale and watchful above. The four moved silently, Kael at the front, Umbra's form like liquid shadow beside him. Fenrik stalked on his other flank, his muscles taut with restrained aggression, while Lyria trailed slightly behind, her keen eyes scanning every shifting shadow.
They found the humans by the old stone ruins that jutted from the earth like broken teeth. Six of them, just as the scouts had reported. Their armor gleamed faintly in the moonlight—steel, well-kept, though not noble-quality. Swords, spears, and bows hung at the ready.
The adventurers turned as the four emerged from the treeline.
One of them, a man with a scar down his cheek, stepped forward. His grin was too confident. "Well, well. Thought we smelled something foul." His gaze swept over Kael's companions. "Wolfkin. Elf. And whatever the hell that thing is." His thumb jerked at Umbra, who bared his fangs.
Kael ignored the insult, his voice calm, almost diplomatic. "You're far from your villages. What business brings you to the Hollow's borders?"
"The Hollow?" one of the younger men scoffed. "You mean the monster nest."
Another adventurer, a woman with cropped black hair, spat into the dirt. "We know what you are. We know what you've built. And we know what the bounty is worth for every one of your heads."
Fenrik snarled, claws flexing, but Kael lifted a hand to silence him. His eyes locked on the scarred leader. "You came for blood, then."
The man smirked, drawing his blade with a rasp of steel. "Aye. Yours."
The moment stretched—silent, tense, heavy.
Then Kael's shadows erupted.
Like black serpents, they lashed from the ground, seizing one adventurer by the ankles and hurling him into the stone ruin with a sickening crack. Umbra leapt forward, his jaws closing around another man's throat, ripping flesh and bone in a single brutal motion.
The remaining four surged in panic, blades flashing, but Kael was already moving. He caught the scarred man's strike with his bare hand, shadows hardening into armor around his palm. With a twist, he shattered the sword, his crimson eyes burning inches from the man's horrified face.
"You sought blood," Kael growled, his voice inhuman, a demon's rasp. "Now drown in it."
His claws—black fire and shadow entwined—ripped through the man's chest, leaving nothing but ash and ruin.
Lyria's arrows sang in the night, piercing two more before they could flee. Fenrik closed on the last, his claws raking through steel and flesh alike, leaving silence in their wake.
The ruins stank of blood and burning shadow. The six adventurers lay scattered, their lives ended in heartbeats.
Kael stood over the corpses, his chest rising and falling slowly, his control returning as the shadows peeled away from his skin.
He looked to his companions. "This was the first test. It won't be the last."
Fenrik licked blood from his claws. "Then let them come."
Lyria lowered her bow, her silver eyes fixed on Kael, not with fear—but with something heavier. Understanding.
And Umbra, faithful beast, padded back to Kael's side, muzzle wet with crimson.
Together, they turned back toward the Hollow. The night was quiet again, but Kael knew the quiet would not last.
The kingdom's gaze would soon fall on them. And when it did, war would follow.