Chapter Forty-One: A Day in the Hollow
The Hollow woke to the sound of wheels and hoofbeats.
The wolfkin leader, Fenrik, stood tall at the front of the caravan, his fur cloak brushing against the morning mist. Behind him, wagons creaked under the weight of pelts, herbs, and metals. Goblins tugged at harnesses, dwarves secured iron-banded crates, and a pair of elves checked the wheels one last time before the procession began its slow roll toward the kingdom.
Kael stood at the gate with Lyria and Thalos, watching them go. His crimson eyes lingered on the wagons until they vanished down the forest road.
"Are you sure you don't want to go with them?" Thalos asked, one heavy hand resting on his sword's pommel. "You'd make an impression."
"I'd make the wrong impression," Kael replied, his voice low. "Let them see our wolfkin and elves as traders, not shadows and fire. Our time to step into the light will come—but not today."
Thalos grunted, approving if not entirely satisfied. "I'll keep the soldiers drilling. Better they sweat now than bleed later." He clapped Kael's shoulder with enough force to rattle a lesser man, then strode off.
That left Kael and Lyria standing by the gate as the Hollow shifted back into its daily rhythm. Her hand brushed against his, deliberate, and for once he didn't pull away.
"Come," she said, violet eyes sparkling. "Show your people their shadowborn king isn't just a figure in the council chamber."
Kael allowed himself a faint smile. "Then let's walk."
The Dwarves
Their first stop was the forge.
The air inside was thick with smoke and heat, the clang of hammer on anvil echoing like a drumbeat. Sparks sprayed as a dwarf hammered glowing metal into the shape of an axe head, while others quenched blades in oil, the hiss of steam filling the workshop.
The dwarf elder, the one Kael had rescued from the gutter months ago, looked up as Kael entered. His beard was singed at the tips, and his hands were blackened with soot, but his eyes burned with pride.
"You've given us a purpose again," he said without preamble. "These young ones… they're learning fast. Some of these blades would pass muster in the old guild halls."
Kael picked up one of the finished swords, weighing it in his hand. The balance was good, the edge sharp. He nodded. "You've rebuilt more than weapons here. You've rebuilt pride."
The elder's lips curled into the faintest smile, and he inclined his head.
As Kael left, Lyria whispered, "You've given them more than that. You've given them a reason to live."
The Elves
The woods beyond the Hollow's walls rang with the twang of bowstrings.
Kael and Lyria found the elves in their element, moving like shadows among the trees. Arrows thudded into targets shaped like beasts and men alike, each shot precise. Lyria's hunters had grown sharper under her command, their rune-marked bows glowing faintly in the twilight beneath the branches.
One huntress approached Kael, bow in hand. She offered him a quiver of arrows fletched with wolf feathers. "A gift, lord of the Hollow. For when you must strike true."
Kael accepted them with a nod. "Keep training. The forest may test us yet."
As they walked away, Lyria chuckled softly. "They fear you. But they also look to you. It's a strange balance, isn't it?"
Kael glanced at her sidelong. "It's not so strange when you're at my side."
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away.
The Humans
Near the square, Kael found the two young humans—the boy and girl who had once tried to steal from him—helping unload grain with goblins. Their clothes were patched, but their faces carried a new weight: purpose.
The boy noticed Kael first, nearly dropping his sack of grain in surprise. The girl steadied him, and both bowed awkwardly.
"We're… we're trying, my lord," the girl stammered. "We want to be worth what you've given us."
Kael studied them, his crimson eyes softening just slightly. "You're already worth it. Not for what you carry, but for who you choose to be. Don't forget that."
The boy's eyes widened as though Kael had handed him a sword of his own. He straightened, shoulders set with new determination.
As they walked away, Lyria murmured, "You're building more than a home. You're building a people."
The Archer and the Shadowborn
By afternoon, Kael and Lyria had made their way to the watchtower overlooking the village. From here, the Hollow stretched below them—smoke curling from chimneys, children playing near the well, soldiers drilling in the square, the steady hum of life.
They stood side by side in silence, the weight of it settling into something comfortable.
"You've made this place more than survival," Lyria said softly. "You've made it home. I've seen kingdoms that don't run half so well."
Kael's eyes swept over the village. "It's not me alone. It's all of us. Thalos, the dwarves, the goblins, the elves. Even the humans."
"But it started with you," Lyria countered, turning to face him fully. "You gave us something to believe in. Something worth bleeding for."
Her hand brushed against his again, deliberate, lingering this time. Kael turned his hand over, fingers intertwining with hers.
"We can't keep pretending this doesn't exist," she whispered, violet eyes searching his.
Kael's shadows stirred faintly around him, but his voice was steady. "I'm done pretending."
Their lips met again, deeper this time, no hesitation left between them. The world below carried on—hammers rang, voices rose, life thrived—but up here, Kael and Lyria allowed themselves a moment of something rare: peace.
That night, as torches lit the Hollow and music rose faintly from the square, Kael stood with Lyria at his side, watching his people live not as monsters or castaways, but as a nation.
And for the first time since his parents' deaths, he allowed himself to believe this might truly last.