Chapter Sixty Two: Paths Forward
The air smelled of thawing earth as wagons creaked and strained under their loads.
The Hollow's first trade and recruitment caravans stood ready in the square, oxen stamping their hooves against slush while wolfkin handlers barked last-minute orders. Bundles of smoked meats, dried herbs, furs, and iron ingots stacked high under canvas covers, all bound for distant villages. At their sides, warriors checked spears and bows, while human volunteers prepared to walk the roads as proof that the Hollow welcomed all.
Kael stood at the head of it all, Umbra at his right shoulder, Fenrik at his left.
"Two weeks," Kael told the caravan leaders, his golden eyes steady. "Speak honestly. Show what we've built. Promise no more than we can give. And return with those who want to build something greater."
The caravan masters bowed low, and with a cracking of whips and the shouts of scouts, the procession began its slow crawl out of the Hollow. The town cheered as they left, voices ringing through the crisp air, the sound echoing off the valley walls like a promise to the world beyond.
When the crowd dispersed, Kael walked the dirt paths of his home, watching life return to normal.
Lyria found him near the forge, her hair tied back, sparks dancing in her silver eyes as if the flame in her heart never dulled. She brushed her hand against his as they walked together, her grip firm.
"You send them out to spread our name," she said softly. "But it's your name they'll remember, Kael. Not the Hollow's."
He smirked faintly. "Is that jealousy I hear?"
Her lips curved, sharp and dangerous. "If it were, you'd know it." Then she tugged him closer, her lips grazing his ear. "Remember who's been by your side since the first fight. Don't let anyone else forget it either."
Before he could answer, she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, the warmth of it burning through the cold.
Later that day, Kael followed the sound of soft humming into the woods. He found Druaka kneeling at the base of a frost-kissed oak, her broad frame stilled in meditation. Her tusks caught the light as her lips moved with quiet chants, a prayer in the guttural, melodic tones of the ogre tongue.
She opened her eyes when Kael approached. "Your steps are heavy, even when you walk like a shadow," she said with a faint smile.
Kael leaned against the tree opposite her. "Meditation suits you."
Druaka's amber eyes softened. "Peace suits me. I've seen enough war. Enough cruelty. Here, I can breathe." She hesitated, then looked at him fully. "Because of you."
The words hung heavy in the cold air.
Kael studied her face, the strength there, the scars that spoke of survival, the beauty that shone beneath her tusks and broad jaw. Her gratitude was raw, open, and unashamed — so unlike the subtle dominance Lyria pressed on him.
When Kael didn't answer immediately, Druaka lowered her eyes and clasped her hands. "I will not fight her for you. But I won't lie to myself either. My heart has chosen."
Kael's chest tightened, the weight of her honesty cutting deeper than any weapon.
That evening, the council gathered in the long hall, its great fire roaring high against the creeping chill. Every member was present — Fenrik and the wolfkin, Umbra shadowed in her cloak, Thalos standing tall, Lyria seated at Kael's side. Druaka lingered near the back wall, her presence quiet but grounding.
The maps of the forest and swamp lay spread across the table, but Kael's words turned the discussion to something larger.
"We've built walls, farms, homes," he began, his voice carrying through the hall. "Now we send caravans, gather allies, spread our name. But a name alone won't shield us. If the kingdoms see us as nothing more than a camp of outcasts, they will test us, exploit us, break us apart."
Umbra tilted her head. "You speak of something more formal."
Kael's golden eyes burned. "I speak of a kingdom."
The room erupted in murmurs, protests and agreements alike. Thalos slammed his hand on the table. "Kingdoms are for men who sit on thrones while others bleed. We are not them."
Fenrik growled low in his throat. "The wolfkin bend the knee to no one."
Kael let their voices rise before he stood, slamming his palm against the table hard enough to rattle the ink pots. Silence fell, broken only by the fire's crackle.
"You mistake me," Kael said, his tone sharp as steel. "A king is not just a ruler. A king is a symbol. A figure the people can rally behind, a voice the other nations cannot ignore."
He swept his gaze across them. "Do you think the human kingdoms will treat us as equals if we remain a nameless gathering in the woods? No. They will come with open palms and hidden knives. They will smile while they sharpen their blades." His voice lowered, dangerous. "But if we stand as a kingdom, with a king, they cannot deny our place at the table. They cannot pretend we are beneath them."
Umbra's shadowed eyes narrowed. "And that king… would be you."
Kael held her gaze. "It would. Not for power. Not for glory. But because our people need someone to look to when the night is darkest. Someone to put their faith in."
Silence reigned, heavy with the weight of his words. Even Thalos's jaw worked without reply. Lyria's hand brushed Kael's beneath the table, her touch steady, grounding. Druaka's eyes lingered on him from the shadows, unreadable.
At last, Fenrik growled, but there was no defiance in his tone. "If you claim the crown, then you had better bear it with strength."
Kael's lips curved, a faint, dangerous smile. "I intend to."
The council meeting adjourned with tension simmering, the air thick with the first sparks of something greater than the Hollow had ever dreamed of.
Outside, the spring wind whispered through the budding trees, carrying with it the weight of a future not yet written.
And at the center of it all stood Kael — leader, warrior, and perhaps soon, king.