The Hollow moved like a tide.
Over the course of weeks, Kael and his people struck at the abandoned dens of the slain overlords, dragging treasure, resources, and knowledge from the bones of their enemies. Each place told its own story, its own dangers, its own promise of wealth and peril.
The First Den: The Marsh King's Rot
The swamp where the great ogre had once ruled was thick with decay. The air hung heavy with the stench of stagnant water, corpses of beasts still left where they'd fallen. The Hollow's foragers harvested herbs rare enough to fetch entire coffers of coin, their glowing blossoms resistant to rot.
But danger lurked. Swarms of venomous insects attacked, forcing Kael to burn whole swathes of reeds in cleansing fire. Thalos stood like a wall, crushing anything that came too close, his soldiers learning discipline under his booming commands.
By the time they left, wagons brimmed with herbs and hides, the marsh itself scarred but richer for their passage.
The Second Den: The Forest Tyrant's Lair
Once a towering beast had ruled this part of the forest, and its death had left a vacuum. Wolves prowled in great numbers, lean and starving, drawn by the absence of the monster that had kept them at bay.
Fenrik's kin moved swift and silent through the underbrush, cutting down predators while Kael's shadows guided their path. Lumber crews marked trees for harvest—straight, ancient trunks that could build entire halls.
Lyria scouted higher ground, marking hidden streams of clear water that would serve as vital trade routes or expansions.
The Hollow claimed not just wood, but dominion over the forest's heart.
The Third Den: The Wyrm's Bones
The cavern where Kael had slain the wyrm reeked of ash and death. Scales the size of shields still littered the ground, glinting like steel. The dwarves harvested every fragment, while alchemists scraped bone dust from the floor to feed their potions.
Yet the wyrm's passing had awakened other creatures—smaller drakes, vicious and unbound. The Hollow fought them in cramped tunnels, Kael leading the charge, fire roaring in the close air until stone wept with heat.
By the end, they had harvested riches fit for a kingdom: drake scales, wyrm bone, and enough ore veins to fuel a hundred forges.
The Fourth Den: The Final Overlord's Grave
It was here, at the ruins of their greatest foe, that the Hollow truly understood its own power.
Fields of blackened stone stretched outward, where Kael's flames had burned the land itself. Corpses lay where they had fallen, now little more than husks. Yet among the wreckage, they found weapons—human, demi-human, and beast alike—left behind by those who had fallen in bondage.
The freed captives wept as they reclaimed heirlooms, trinkets, and blades stolen from their people generations ago. Kael ordered wagons filled not just with resources, but with the remnants of dignity.
No monsters rose to fight them here. The Hollow already owned this place.
After the Spoils
When the work was done, Kael stood outside the Hollow's gates at dusk. The caravans rumbled behind him, wheels heavy with ore, herbs, lumber, and wealth. His people sang, celebrated, and moved about with pride.
Beside him, Lyria stood with her bow across her shoulder, her hair catching the last strands of sunlight. She was quiet. He was too.
It was Lyria who broke the silence.
"So," she said, her voice soft, edged with something nervous. "We've defeated every overlord. We've carved out a home that rivals any city. We've taken enough to last winters and wars. And yet…" She glanced up at him, green eyes searching. "I don't know where we go from here. Not just as a people—but us."
Kael's crimson eyes flickered. He had faced monsters the size of castles, slain tyrants, commanded armies—but this? This was harder.
"I don't know either," he admitted. His voice was low, honest in a way it rarely was. "I only know that I don't want to face what comes next without you beside me."
Lyria gave a small, startled laugh, more a breath than a sound. "You say that like it's simple. Like… like we're ordinary people. Farmers who fall in love, marry, have children, live quiet lives."
Kael tilted his head. "Is that what you want?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know. That's the point. We're not ordinary. We've bled, fought, killed to make this place real. I feel something for you—something I can't deny. But what does that mean for us? Are we meant for things like… marriage, or family, or even—" Her voice faltered, softer now. "Intimacy? Can people like us have those things without breaking under the weight of what we are?"
Kael was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he answered. "I think we can have whatever we decide to take. Ordinary, extraordinary—it doesn't matter. The world doesn't write rules for us. We've torn down every chain that bound us. Why should love, or the way we choose to live it, be any different?"
Her hand brushed his, tentative at first, then firmer. "So you'd stand against tradition too? Even against what's 'normal'?"
His lips curved in the faintest smile. "Normal never saved anyone. Normal never built the Hollow. Normal never gave me you."
Lyria's eyes softened, a rare vulnerability shining in them. "Then maybe we don't need answers right now. Maybe we just… figure it out together. Step by step. What we want, what we don't. No chains. No rules but our own."
"Together," Kael echoed, more certain this time. "Whatever comes. Whether peace, war, or something darker—we face it as one."
Umbra padded up behind them, huffing a low growl as if impatient with their hesitation. Kael chuckled, the sound rare and raw.
This time, Lyria chuckled too. "Even Umbra agrees."
The Hollow roared with celebration behind them, but Kael's world narrowed to her. For the first time in years, he didn't feel directionless. He felt anchored.
Not to a cause. Not to vengeance.
But to her.
And to the promise that their bond didn't have to follow anyone else's rules but their own.