Chapter Sixty One: Seeds of Spring
The Hollow had begun to thaw. Winter's icy grip still lingered in the shadows, but the first hints of spring whispered through the air — dripping icicles, patches of green struggling against snow, and smoke rising from chimneys as families prepared their midday meals.
Kael stood near the edge of the training grounds, his breath curling in the chill air as he watched Druaka spar with a pair of wolfkin. The ogre moved like a storm. Her raw power was terrifying, but what struck Kael most was her grace — each swing of her axe controlled, every motion honed by years of battle and survival.
When the bout ended, sweat steaming from her shoulders, Druaka's amber eyes flicked toward Kael. She approached, axe resting across her broad back, and offered a small, tusked smile.
"You watch me often," she said, her voice low but steady.
Kael raised a brow, a faint grin tugging his lips. "You make it difficult not to."
Her tusks showed more fully at that, a subtle blush warming her cheeks beneath pale scars. She unclasped the leather cord around her neck and pulled free a small token — a carved wooden figurine, rough but detailed, of a dragon with wings spread wide.
"I carved this," she said, extending it to him. "Not as a plea. Not as a debt. But because you remind me of what strength should look like."
Kael accepted it, the weight of the simple gift far greater than its size. "You honor me, Druaka."
Her gaze lingered on his for a heartbeat too long, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Then she bowed slightly and moved past him, her broad shoulders stiff but proud.
Later that day, Kael found himself with Lyria by the riverside, where snowmelt trickled over smooth stones. She skipped a pebble across the water, her silver eyes sharp but clouded.
"She's bold," Lyria muttered, not looking at him. "Always circling, always trying."
Kael exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Druaka has a warrior's heart. She shows her feelings as openly as she wields that axe."
"Mm." Lyria turned, her expression fierce. She stepped close — so close Kael could smell the faint hint of pine on her hair. Her hand gripped his collar, tugging him down before she pressed her lips to his with sudden, fiery force.
The kiss was rough, dominant, her teeth nipping at his lower lip. When she pulled back, her eyes burned with heat and defiance.
"Mine," she whispered, voice husky. "Remember that."
Kael's chest tightened, his heart racing as shadows stirred at his edges. He caught her wrist gently, meeting her gaze with a steady fire of his own. "Yours, yes. But remember… the Hollow is mine to lead. And that means strength enough for all who stand beside me."
Lyria held his stare for a long, taut moment before her lips curved into a smirk. She leaned in again, softer this time, lingering against him before pulling away with a teasing flick of her silver hair. "Just so long as you don't forget where your heart rests."
That evening, the council gathered in the great hall, firelight painting long shadows across the timber walls. The room still bore faint scars from the last battle — charred beams and scratches in the stone floor — but the air was alive with purpose.
Thalos slammed his fist on the table. "Spring comes. It's time we send out proper recruitment parties. We need more hands to farm, to fight, to craft. If we want the Hollow to thrive, we must expand."
Fenrik nodded. "Agreed. Wolfkin scouts can lead the first caravans. We'll carry goods to trade, proof of what life here can offer."
Umbra leaned back, her expression calm but sharp. "We must tread carefully. Too many too quickly, and we risk chaos. Too few, and we stagnate."
Kael listened, his golden eyes sweeping across each of them before he rose. Shadows rippled at his feet, the quiet weight of command filling the room.
"You are right," he said. "We cannot remain hidden forever. If we want this place to endure, we must grow. But growth needs more than people. It needs a name."
The council stilled, every eye turning toward him.
Kael stepped forward, his hand resting on the edge of the table. "This Hollow has been our refuge, our sanctuary. But it can be more. A nation. A home. A place the world will know by name." His voice lowered, steady and deliberate. "If we are to recruit, we should not offer them just a town. We should offer them a kingdom."
Murmurs broke out across the council. Thalos's brows furrowed. "A kingdom? That means titles. Nobility. A king."
"And a queen?" Umbra's lips curved, eyes flicking toward Lyria, who sat straighter under the scrutiny.
Kael let their voices rise for a moment before lifting a hand. Silence fell.
"This is not about crowns or thrones," Kael said firmly. "This is about unity. About giving the people something greater than survival. If we take this step, it will not be lightly. We will choose carefully, build slowly. But it begins with a name. A promise to our people that they belong to something lasting."
The fire crackled. The weight of his words settled into the air, heavy with possibility.
At last, Fenrik broke the silence. "Then the first step is clear. We name this place. And from that name, we build our kingdom."
Kael nodded, his golden eyes burning with quiet determination. "So be it. When the snow melts fully and spring rises, we will give the Hollow its true name."
That night, as the hall emptied and the council dispersed, Kael lingered at the head of the chamber. Lyria brushed against his side, her silver eyes soft in the firelight. Druaka stood near the door, her gaze lingering on Kael before she left silently into the night.
Kael's hand brushed over the wooden dragon in his pocket. His heart was heavy with choices — but for the first time since the Hollow's founding, he felt the stirrings of something more. Not just survival. Not just safety.
A kingdom.
And with it, the weight of everything he loved.