Chapter Fifty: The Bloodied Stranger
The journey back was a blur of shouted orders and pounding footsteps.
The ogre's weight forced six farmers and two wolfkin to carry her, their shoulders straining as they rushed her through the fields and into the Hollow. Blood soaked through their makeshift stretcher, trailing a dark path across the soil. She groaned faintly, her massive frame shuddering with each step, but her eyes never opened.
Kael ran alongside them, crimson gaze darting constantly to the treeline. He half-expected the enemy to spring from the shadows, to seize the moment of weakness. His shadows curled restlessly across the dirt as Umbra paced at his heels, hackles high.
"Clear the way!" Kael barked as the gates of the Hollow came into view. Guards rushed forward, spears lowered—then froze when they saw what the farmers carried.
An ogre.
Gasps rippled through the gathering crowd as the stretcher was hauled through the gates. The villagers instinctively shrank back, whispers breaking out like wildfire. Kael ignored them all, his voice cutting through the noise.
"To the healers! Now!"
The stretcher bearers obeyed, carrying the ogre straight into the healer's hall. Kael followed them inside, the air thick with the scent of herbs and fire-smoke.
The head healer, a wiry elf woman named Serala, rushed forward, her face paling as she saw the state of the patient.
"By the roots…" she whispered. "What happened to her?"
"Later," Kael said sharply. "Save her."
Serala wasted no more words. She and her assistants swarmed the ogre's body, cutting away shredded armor and stained cloth. Kael stood at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on the wounds.
Her chest was slashed open in three jagged arcs, deep enough to show bone. One arm hung mangled, the elbow joint snapped. Her legs were covered in bruises and burns, and her stomach had been pierced by what looked like a spear-thrust, still oozing dark blood.
"She shouldn't be alive," Fenrik muttered from behind Kael.
"She is," Kael replied grimly. "And I intend to keep it that way."
The healers worked quickly, pressing herbs into wounds, weaving glowing threads of magic to knit torn flesh together. The ogre groaned weakly, massive hands twitching before falling limp again.
Kael's jaw tightened. Whoever had done this hadn't fought her in honorable combat—they'd butchered her.
He turned on his heel.
The council had already gathered outside.
Thalos stood with arms crossed, his heavy brow furrowed. Lyria hovered nearby, bow already slung across her back, her eyes sharp. Fenrik leaned against the wall, arms tense, tail lashing back and forth. Even the human farmers Kael had promoted to advisors were there, faces pale.
"She's stable—for now," Kael said flatly.
"That thing," Thalos growled, "does not belong here." His voice was low, but each word was heavy. "You know what this will bring. You saw it in the forest. That man—those soldiers—they'll come for her. And when they do, they'll see the Hollow. They'll see all of us."
Fenrik slammed a fist into his palm. "And they'll try to take us as slaves. I could smell it on them." His sharp eyes cut to Kael. "Why risk the Hollow for one ogre?"
The farmers shifted nervously, muttering in agreement. The dwarf elder grumbled under his breath, stroking his beard.
Lyria's gaze never left Kael. She didn't speak, but he could feel her waiting, testing, judging.
Kael let the voices rise for a heartbeat—then cut them down with a single gesture. His shadows surged upward, silencing the murmurs instantly.
"Because," Kael said, his voice low but firm, "if they come, it will not be for her. It will be for us. For everything we've built."
He stepped into their circle, eyes burning. "She's not the threat. They are. And if we abandon her—if we turn away from someone who was hunted and broken because of what she is—then we are no better than the humans who cast us aside."
A silence followed.
The farmers shifted uneasily. Thalos glared at him, jaw tight. Fenrik's tail lashed once, then stilled. Lyria's eyes softened—just slightly.
Kael's gaze swept across them all. "If they come, we will fight. If they bring war, we will answer. But I will not throw away a life out of fear."
The silence held for another beat—then Thalos exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Reckless," he muttered. But he didn't push further.
Fenrik clicked his tongue. "Fine. But don't expect me to welcome her with open arms."
The dwarf elder grumbled, "We'll need more walls."
Finally, Lyria spoke, her voice calm but cutting. "Then we'll build them." She turned to Kael. "But you'd better be right."
Kael's jaw eased slightly. "I am."
He glanced back toward the healer's hall, where the ogre's ragged breaths echoed faintly in the air.
I have to be.