Chapter Forty-Eight: Fires to Tend
The Hollow had changed.
Kael could see it in the streets—wider, cleaner, stone paths replacing dirt. He could smell it in the smoke of the forges, steady and sharp. He could hear it in the rhythm of hammers, the laughter of children, the chatter of market stalls filled with more than scraps.
He walked slowly through it all, Umbra shadowing him like a silent guardian. Every turn revealed something new that hadn't been here even a month ago.
The Dwarves' Forge
The forge was the heart of the Hollow's industry. Sparks danced like fireflies as dwarves worked tirelessly, sweat running down their brows, their voices booming as they argued over measurements and techniques. Thalos was there, arms crossed, his booming laughter cutting through the clamor as he corrected a younger smith's grip.
Kael paused, watching the rhythm of hammer and anvil. "How fares the iron?" he asked.
One of the dwarves, soot-streaked and broad-shouldered, looked up and grinned. "Rich veins, Lord Kael. Enough to keep us hammering through the winter. With the wyrm's bones, too… we'll forge steel fit for kings."
Kael nodded. "Good. Use it well. Tools first, weapons second. We build before we fight."
Thalos inclined his head, approving.
The Elves' Archery Grounds
Not far beyond, the elves had carved out ranges beneath the trees, arrows thudding into targets in perfect rhythm. Lyria wasn't present—scouts said she'd been on reports earlier—but her influence was unmistakable. Archers moved in coordinated waves, rune-etched shafts flashing with faint light as they struck true.
An older elf gave Kael a slight bow as he passed. "Your words about unity reach even into our bows, my lord. We hunt not just for food now, but for skill. When winter comes, our arrows will keep your people fed."
Kael met his gaze. "Our people. Don't forget that."
The elf's lips curved faintly. "No. Never."
The Goblins' Workshops
The goblins, once half-starved scavengers, had transformed their corner of the Hollow into a tinker's warren. Carts were being repaired, ropes braided, crude tools sharpened into more effective instruments. Their voices were shrill but proud.
Kael stopped at one workshop, where a goblin with oversized spectacles waved eagerly. "Look, Lord Kael! We fix, we craft, we make better!" He held up a repaired plow, gleaming with fresh metal. "Now fields grow fast! We do good, yes?"
Kael crouched, his voice softer here. "Better than good. You're building a future."
The goblin puffed up, chest swelling.
The Humans' Market
The humans, newer to the Hollow, had quickly taken to what they knew best—trade. They were organizing stalls, bartering with wolfkin hunters, weighing herbs and dried meat, weaving connections between each group.
One woman, a baker from one of the freed villages, pressed a warm loaf into Kael's hands when he stopped. "Bread, my lord. Not scraps, not burnt crusts. Real bread. Because of you."
Kael didn't have words for that. He only nodded, accepting the loaf with quiet reverence.
Council Meeting
By dusk, Kael sat at the long stone table in the council hall. The torches flickered along the walls, casting shadows deep across the chamber. Around him sat the council: Thalos, Lyria, Fenrik, the elder goblin, the human elder woman, and two dwarven masters.
Maps sprawled across the table, inked with hunting routes, patrol lines, and trade marks.
Thalos spoke first, his deep voice rolling. "The forges will be stocked through winter. Tools are first priority, as you commanded. But weapons—" he tapped a calloused finger on the map, "—we cannot ignore. If another kingdom comes, we must be ready."
Fenrik growled agreement. "The wolfkin will guard the borders, but even we can't hold back a trained army without steel behind us."
The human elder leaned forward. "Trade, then. The kingdom waits for us. Herbs, ore, timber—we can turn it into coin and influence. A treasury will buy us peace as surely as blades."
The goblin elder, wrinkled and small, squeaked, "Shiny coins don't feed bellies. More farms. More food. Winter takes no bribes."
The chamber broke into arguments, voices rising.
Kael let it go on for a moment, then raised a hand. Shadows whispered at his back, stilling the room.
"All of you are right," he said. His voice was calm, cutting through the air. "We will do all of it. Tools and food first, for survival. Weapons next, for defense. Trade last, but not forgotten—because prosperity is meaningless if we starve."
The council murmured, slowly settling.
Kael leaned forward. "Each of you has your role. Thalos, continue the forges. Fenrik, expand the border patrols. Goblins, double the farms' output. Humans, ready the trade caravans. Lyria—" he glanced at her, "—you'll continue the scouting rotations. If there's a threat out there, I want to know it before it breathes on us."
The council nodded, voices less sharp now. Purpose had returned.
A Private Conversation
Later, when the meeting broke, Kael found Lyria waiting on the balcony that overlooked the Hollow. The stars were faint tonight, hidden by thin clouds, but her eyes glimmered like emerald fire.
"You calmed them," she said softly. "Again. You make it seem so easy."
"It isn't," Kael replied, leaning against the railing. "But they need to believe it is. Fear is a fire. It spreads fast if you don't smother it."
She studied him for a long moment, then asked, "And us? What do we do with this?"
Her voice carried no accusation, only quiet worry.
Kael turned to her fully. "We balance it. We can't let this—" he gestured between them "—weigh heavier than our duties. But we can't ignore it either. We don't need to choose one or the other, Lyria. We lead by day, and by night…" He hesitated, the words harder than any order. "…by night, we let ourselves be people. Not leaders. Not warriors. Just us."
Lyria's lips parted, her breath catching. She looked away, then back at him. "And if the council finds out? If the people think we're putting ourselves above them?"
"Then we show them the truth," Kael said simply. "That even leaders need someone to lean on. That strength doesn't mean solitude. That if anything, we fight harder because of what we have to lose."
For the first time in a long while, she smiled—not the sharp grin of a hunter, not the cold smirk of a strategist, but something softer. Warmer.
"You really believe that?" she asked.
"I do," Kael said, his crimson eyes steady. "Because if I don't… then all of this means nothing."
Lyria reached for his hand, just briefly, fingers brushing his before pulling away as footsteps echoed nearby.
But her eyes told him what her touch couldn't: They would find their balance. Together.