Chapter 94 – The Weight of Shadows
The council had broken at last, their voices raw from argument and tension. Plans were settled: they would leave at dawn, the first light of spring spilling across the Hollow's wall as Kael, Lyria, and Druaka struck out to find the red- and blue-haired ogres.
But Kael couldn't wait for dawn.
He lay awake long after the others had drifted into uneasy slumber. Lyria's breathing was soft, steady in the cot across the room. Druaka slept with her arms folded across her chest, the faint scar at her temple catching what little moonlight crept through the window. Both women deserved their rest. Both had earned it after standing against the brothers.
Kael could not close his eyes.
Umbra stirred at his side, the great wolf's eyes glowing faintly silver in the dark. Kael stroked the beast's head once, silently, and rose. His helm lay on the table—horns black as obsidian, polished to a sheen. He lifted it, then stopped. No. This wasn't a fight. Not yet. He left the helm behind.
"Let's go," he whispered. Umbra padded silently to his side, a shadow among shadows.
They slipped through the quiet streets, Kael wrapping his cloak tight against the cold spring air. The Hollow lay still, the moonlight turning the half-built palace and sturdy walls into pale monuments. For a moment he hesitated, guilt tugging at him. He should wake Lyria. He should wake Druaka. But this was something he had to see for himself.
By the time the first owls stirred, Kael and Umbra were already deep in the woods.
It took hours of careful tracking. Broken branches, heavy boot-prints pressed deep into the mud, a tree scarred by an axe's casual swing. The ogres hadn't hidden their trail. Either they were too confident to care—or they wanted to be followed.
The forest grew darker as he pressed on, the trees thicker, the undergrowth strangling the path. Umbra moved like a phantom, pausing often to scent the air. At last, they came to it: a ruined village swallowed by the woods.
The houses were shattered shells, beams caved in and moss-covered. A well stood cracked in the center of the square, the stones blackened by fire long ago. Silence hung over the place, broken only by the crackle of a campfire.
Kael crouched in the shadows, Umbra low beside him.
There they were.
The two brothers.
The first was a towering brute with hair like burning embers—Rogan. His red mane was braided back, his tusks chipped but polished. Scars laced his arms, each one a memory carved into flesh. His voice was gravel, heavy with anger even when calm.
The second was leaner, though no less imposing—Varik. His hair was a deep, unnatural blue, tied into a knot at the base of his skull. His eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, sharp and calculating. Where Ravak looked like raw force, Kaelen radiated a colder, restrained danger.
Kael narrowed his eyes. The two looked nothing like Druaka, but the resemblance was there in their bearing—the same proud shoulders, the same quiet sorrow behind their strength.
Rogan stabbed a spit into the fire, roasting some unlucky deer. "I hate waiting." His voice boomed through the ruins. "Every hour that passes, that demon boy tightens his grip on our sister."
"Patience," Varik said, his tone even, measured. "If we charge in blind, we'll end up like the rest of them. You saw how he fought. That was no child's strength."
Rogan snarled. "He controls monsters. He makes them kneel. I saw the wolf with my own eyes—it fought like no beast should. That's no natural power. That's fear. He rules them with fear."
Kael's jaw clenched, fingers digging into his knees.
"He is no king," Rogan went on, spitting into the dirt. "He is a tyrant, a half-breed monster who strings Druaka along and blinds her with lies. If she won't see the chains, then we'll break them for her."
Varik nodded slowly, staring into the fire. "We promised her. After our village fell, after the humans burned it to ash, we swore we'd never let her be taken again. Not by slavers. Not by monsters. Not by anyone. Do you remember what they did, brother? The screams? The smoke choking the air? The children—" His voice cracked, then steadied, colder than before. "I won't let it happen again."
The fire popped, sparks drifting upward into the night.
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
He could see it now—beyond the rage, beyond the threat. The brothers weren't villains. They were survivors. Their village had been destroyed, their people slaughtered, their sister stolen away. In their eyes, Kael was just another captor. Another warlord who bent people to his will with blood and fear.
Rogan broke the silence, his fist tightening around his spit. "Tomorrow. We march tomorrow. The longer we wait, the stronger he gets. We'll tear down his false throne and drag Druaka home if we have to."
Varik leaned back, his expression unreadable. "And if he kills us?"
"Then better to die free than live watching her chained."
The firelight burned in Rogan's eyes, fierce and unrelenting. Varik gave no answer, only turned his gaze toward the ruined well, where the moonlight shone faintly through the broken stones.
From the shadows, Kael felt something stir in his chest—something heavier than anger, deeper than fear.
Understanding.
For the first time, he saw not just enemies, but brothers driven by loss. Men who had seen their world burned and decided they'd never kneel again. And in their eyes, Kael was no savior. He was the enemy.
He slipped deeper into the shadows, Umbra following silently. His heart was a storm, his thoughts torn between fury and pity.
Now he understood why they had declared against him.
And it made them all the more dangerous.