Chapter Fifty-Two: The Shadow of Fear
Kael stood at the ridge above the Hollow, his crimson eyes sweeping over the valley below. The town glowed like a jewel in the twilight, lanterns hanging from homes, forge-smoke rising steady into the cooling air. From this height, he could see the rhythm of life they had carved out—wolfkin patrolling the borders, dwarves hauling ore to the forges, humans tending their growing fields, elves weaving rope and cloth near the riverside.
It should have brought him peace.
Instead, his chest was tight, the air cold in his lungs. A pressure began to gather in the back of his skull, a burning weight that made his vision blur. Kael staggered forward a step, clutching at his temple as the world around him melted into shadow.
The Hollow vanished.
In its place, Kael stood above a field of fire and ruin. Screams echoed from within the walls of his home. Flames licked across the roofs of houses, twisting smoke into the night sky. And there—through the inferno—he saw them. The bandits. Hundreds of them, perhaps more. Their leader at the front, the man with the cruel grin he had seen at the edge of the fields, his eyes fixed hungrily on the Hollow.
Kael's heart thundered. He tried to move, to shout, to fight, but the vision held him. He saw where they came from—through the east ridge, slipping through the swamp paths like shadows. He saw when—the darkness of the new moon, two nights from now.
And he saw how they would strike first: torches flung into the barns, arrows tipped in oil, chaos as their defenders rushed to put out fires while blades cut down those too slow to arm themselves.
Kael gasped as the vision shattered, dragging him back to the ridge above his Hollow. His breath came ragged, sweat running down his face. His hands trembled. For the first time since his parents' deaths, Kael felt the raw bite of fear—genuine, unshakable fear.
His shadows curled around him, restless, as though tasting his dread.
"No," he whispered to himself, forcing his fists to clench until his knuckles ached. "I won't let it happen. Not to them. Not to my people."
He spun on his heel, sprinting down the slope, his boots tearing through the grass and dirt. Umbra streaked alongside him, the great beast sensing his urgency, its molten eyes glowing in the dark.
By the time Kael reached the gates, the guards startled at his approach. Fenrik, broad-shouldered and scarred, stepped forward, his hand instinctively going to his sword.
"Kael? What—"
"They're coming," Kael cut him off, his voice like a blade drawn across stone. "The bandits. They plan to attack in two nights, through the east ridge. They'll bring fire. Oil. Archers."
The guards exchanged uncertain glances, but Kael's crimson gaze silenced their doubts. His fear was real, but his authority—his conviction—was stronger.
"Rouse the watch," Kael barked. "Double patrols on the east side. Quietly. We don't tip them off that we know."
Fenrik nodded sharply and began issuing orders, the guards scattering like sparks from a forge.
Kael stalked into the Hollow, his shadows spreading thin and long beneath the lanternlight. He made for the council hall, each step heavier than the last. He could already hear the clash of voices within, his council mid-debate over preparations they had thought would be weeks away. He shoved the doors open, his presence halting all speech.
"They'll attack in two nights," Kael announced, his voice cutting through the air. "Through the east ridge. They'll set fires first—barns, homes, anything to split us apart. We will not be caught off guard."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Thalos rose slowly, his massive form tense. "How do you know this?"
Kael's jaw clenched. He met the old ogre's gaze with eyes still burning from the vision. "Because I saw it. Not rumor. Not guesswork. I saw their plan. And I'll be damned before I let it come to pass."
The council erupted into noise—questions, protests, fear bubbling in the air. Lyria was the only one who looked at him steadily, bow already slung at her back as though she had been waiting for his word all along.
Kael raised his hand, and the shadows curled up the walls, silencing the room in an instant. "We prepare. Tonight."
The Hollow came alive like a hornet's nest struck by a stone. Wolfkin drilled under Fenrik's sharp orders, their howls cutting through the air as they tightened their border patrols. Dwarves hauled stone and timber to reinforce the palisades. Humans carried water buckets and sandbags to every street, preparing to fight fire as much as steel. The elves strung lines across rooftops, preparing to move unseen above the chaos of battle.
Kael walked among them, his crimson gaze sharp, his shadows trailing him like banners. Fear still gnawed at the edges of his mind, the memory of the burning Hollow refusing to fade—but each hammer strike, each shouted order, each soldier falling into formation dulled its teeth.
When the final light of day sank into the horizon, Kael stood atop the palisade overlooking the east ridge. Umbra crouched beside him, growling low, its molten eyes scanning the darkness. Lyria joined him, her bow in hand, her presence steadying him.
"Do you think they'll come sooner?" she asked softly.
Kael's eyes narrowed on the tree line. His voice was calm, but the words weighed heavy. "They'll come when they think we're weakest. We won't give them that chance."
And so they waited, the Hollow braced, the night stretching long.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint stench of smoke.
Kael's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade.
The first arrow of the bandits' onslaught hadn't yet flown, but in that moment, with the air heavy and every heart in the Hollow beating like a drum, Kael knew—they stood on the edge of war.