Chapter 95 – Brothers of Blood
The ruined village was as silent as a tomb. Charred beams clawed skyward like blackened fingers, and the cracked stones of old hearths lay scattered among wild grass. A single fire burned at the center, its orange glow licking against collapsed walls, the smell of roasting venison masking the sour tang of old ash.
Kael watched from the treeline for a moment longer, Umbra at his side, her silver eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He had followed them all night, shadow to shadow, until they stopped here—among the ghosts of their own people.
No more hiding. No more waiting.
Kael stepped into the firelight.
Both ogres rose in an instant.
The red-haired one—massive shoulders, tusks cracked from old battles—snatched up his axe and swung it into both hands. The weapon looked grown out of the earth itself, a monstrous thing of black iron and carved bone. His eyes burned like coals.
The blue-haired one, calmer, leaner, drew a wide-bladed sword, his stance measured, precise. He didn't snarl; he studied.
"Demon boy," the red-haired one spat. His voice was gravel and rage. "You dare creep into our firelight?"
Kael raised a hand, keeping his voice level. "I didn't come to kill you."
The red-haired ogre lunged.
The axe whistled down like a falling tree. Kael threw up a hand and a wall of shadow cracked into being, the force rattling the earth beneath his boots. Sparks leapt from the clash of steel against raw magic, and the ogre snarled, driving his weight forward.
The other one came from the side, blade flashing. Umbra roared and hurled herself into him, her bulk slamming the strike wide.
Kael's chaos surged. His arm twisted with black flame, lashing into chains of living shadow that whipped out, curling around the brothers like serpents. The ground quaked as the chains drove deep, pinning them to their knees.
They strained. The red-haired one bellowed, muscles bulging against the bonds. The blue-haired one grit his teeth, testing the pull with sharp movements—but neither could break free.
Kael's voice cut low. "Enough."
"Then kill us!" the red-haired one roared, eyes wild. "Kill us and prove what you are."
Kael stepped closer, shadows flickering across his face. "I told you. I didn't come to kill you."
The blue-haired one locked eyes with him, calm even through the weight of the chains. "Then why?"
Kael's answer was simple, unwavering. "Because I want to hear your story."
The crackling of the fire filled the silence that followed.
At length, the blue-haired one nodded once to his brother. "Release us. If you would hear truth, hear it without chains."
Kael studied him for a long moment, then loosened the shadows—not enough for freedom, but enough for them to sit, to breathe. Umbra backed off but stayed close, a growl still deep in her throat.
The red-haired one spat into the dirt but did not rise again.
The fire popped. The venison hissed on its spit. Slowly, the blue-haired ogre spoke.
"We were born here," he said, his voice low, steady. "In this village. These walls you see blackened, these stones beneath your boots—they were our home. Our father was the chieftain, a strong man, proud. Our mother wove cloth, taught us to carve bone. Druaka was still young, but even then she was stronger than us both."
Kael's chest tightened. The thought of Druaka small, laughing, running through these same fields… it felt impossible.
The red-haired ogre growled, his voice thick with old fury. "Then the humans came. Soldiers in the night, drunk with fire and steel. They slaughtered the men, chained the women, and when they were done—they burned everything. Our father hid us beneath the longhouse, in the root cellar. Told us not to move. Not to breathe."
He slammed his fist into the dirt, shaking with rage. "We listened to him die above us."
The fire cracked loudly, almost drowning his voice.
"When the screams stopped," the blue-haired one continued, "we crawled out. The sky was red, the air thick with ash. Our people lay scattered. Burned. Broken. Druaka was gone. They had taken her."
Kael swallowed hard, the images burning in his mind. He thought of Druaka's scars, the haunted look she sometimes wore when silence grew too long.
"You tracked them," Kael guessed.
The blue-haired ogre nodded. "For days. Weeks. But we were children. Hungry. Weak. We lost their trail. By the time we were old enough to hunt again, to fight again—it was too late. She was gone."
The red-haired one spat into the dirt. "So we swore vengeance. But vengeance does not fill bellies. We became mercenaries, blades-for-hire. We fought for scraps until we heard the rumors."
Kael leaned forward. "Rumors?"
The blue-haired one's gaze hardened. "Of a demon child in the swamps. A boy who bent wolves of shadow to his will. Who gathered elves, dwarves, even ogres under his command. Who ruled with chains and fear. And among his followers was a woman—scarred, strong, her tusks chipped, her skin dark as stone. They said she healed his wounded. They said she fought like ten men. They said she bowed to him."
The red-haired one bared his teeth. "We knew it was her. Druaka. Our sister. What else could we believe?"
Kael's hands curled into fists at his sides. Not anger at them—anger at the humans who twisted truth into lies, who painted him as a tyrant in order to keep fear alive.
But another question burned sharper than the rest.
"Why," Kael asked softly, "does she not remember you?"
The brothers froze. For the first time, their fury dimmed. The red-haired one looked away, jaw tight. The blue-haired one closed his eyes.
"Because they broke her," he whispered.
The firelight caught his face, and Kael saw the weight there—the years of carrying this truth.
"They drugged her," the blue-haired one said. "Every day, every night. Sedatives. Poisons. Enough to cloud her mind, to fog her memory until she could not remember her own name. They kept her that way for years. Docile. Confused. Easy to chain, easy to sell. We found her once, long ago. We called her name. She looked at us as though we were strangers."
His voice cracked. "She thought we were liars."
The red-haired one's fists shook. "So we swore—we would free her. Again and again, until she remembered. Until she was ours once more."
The fire hissed as fat dripped onto coals.
Kael sat in silence, his heart pounding. He thought of Druaka's laughter, her quiet strength, the way she touched wounds with steady hands. He thought of the way she tilted her head when old memories slipped through—like shadows flickering on the edge of her mind.
And now, finally, he understood why.
When he spoke, his voice was calm but resolute. "She is not my prisoner. She is not my chain. She is my ally. My friend. She fights because she chooses to. She heals because she chooses to. And if she remembers you, if she finds her place with you—then I will not stop her."
The red-haired ogre blinked, stunned by the words. The blue-haired one studied Kael with quiet intensity, suspicion giving way to something… else.
Kael leaned forward, his voice firm. "But I will not let lies tear apart what we are building. Not from humans, not from slavers, not from anyone. So if you want me to hear more, then speak truth. No more insults. No more blades."
The silence that followed was not tense this time, but heavy.
At last, the blue-haired one nodded. "Then hear us."
They spoke deep into the night.
They told Kael of the battles they had fought as mercenaries, of villages burned for coin, of kings who whispered orders and then left ogres to die in the mud while humans reaped the spoils.
"They use us," the red-haired one growled. "Always. Strong arms for their wars, broad backs for their mines. But when the time comes for feasts and gold, they shut us out."
"They fear us," Kael said quietly.
"They hate us," the blue-haired one corrected. "Fear can be overcome. Hatred grows like a weed."
They told him of the humans who hunted them in the wilds, who called them beasts, monsters, demons. Of children throwing stones at them in the streets of human towns.
The red-haired one's voice was bitter. "You think they will ever trade with your Hollow? Ever sit at your tables, treat you as equal? They will smile, take what they want, and when your guard lowers, they will cut you down."
Kael thought of the council's debates, of Fenrik's optimism, of the dwarves' measured trust. He thought of the caravans, the uneasy stares from other villages.
He didn't argue. He only listened.
In turn, he told them his story.
Of the Hollow's beginnings. Of his mother's death, of Umbra at his side. Of the chaos inside him, and the way he had struggled to wield it. Of the allies who had come—Lyria, Fenrik, Druaka—and the fragile nation they now built together.
The brothers listened in silence.
When he finished, the fire had burned low, the ruins around them heavy with memory.
The blue-haired one finally spoke. "You are not what we were told."
"No," Kael said quietly. "And neither is Druaka."
For the first time, the red-haired one looked less like a storm and more like a man. His eyes flickered with doubt, but also something like hope.
The mood had shifted. No longer insults, no longer blades—only truth, shared and bitter.
And Kael knew this was only the beginning.
The fire in the ruins burned low, little more than embers when Kael finally spoke again. The brothers sat across from him, tusks catching the light, their massive frames half-shadowed by the broken walls of their childhood home. Umbra prowled just outside the ring of firelight, her silver eyes never leaving them.
Kael's voice was low, steady, the tone of someone used to bearing the weight of command.
"You call me demon boy. You think I rule by fear. I want to know what, exactly, you believe I am building."
The red-haired brother leaned forward, his tusks bared. "A throne of bones." His words dripped with venom. "That's what the rumors say. That you take in every exile, every monster, and chain them to your will with magic. That you whisper to shadows, bind their hearts, and in return, they kill for you. A kingdom of beasts and outcasts, ruled by a boy who should never have been born."
Kael didn't flinch. He let the words weigh the air before responding. "And what do you believe?"
The blue-haired one's eyes narrowed. He studied Kael carefully, almost clinically. His voice was softer, though no less heavy. "Rumors carry seeds of truth. You have power unlike any other. You command shadow and chaos, things even the oldest mages fear to name. You gather all races—elves, dwarves, ogres, even wolves—under one banner. No human king does such a thing without hidden purpose."
Kael leaned forward, his gaze firm. "My purpose is survival. Ebon Hollow isn't a throne of bones—it's a sanctuary. A nation for those who have none. For those who were cast out by humans, hunted, enslaved. I don't chain my people. I protect them. And in return, they choose to stand beside me."
The red-haired one snorted, his fists clenching on his knees. "And Druaka? Did she choose?"
Kael's jaw tightened. He met the ogre's glare head-on. "She did. She's not my slave. She's free. She fights, she heals, she laughs, she lives because she chooses to. And I won't have either of you putting that in doubt."
For a moment, silence hung heavy.
Then Kael's tone sharpened, his words cutting clear through the night. "If you come back with me, you do so under one condition—you do not push her. You do not force her to remember. You do not demand she choose between us. If memories return, they return in their own time. If they don't, then you accept the woman she is now."
The red-haired brother opened his mouth to argue, but the blue-haired one lifted a hand, silencing him. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between thought and grief.
"What if she never remembers us?" he asked softly.
Kael's voice softened too. "Then you'll have to decide whether to love her as she is. That's the truth."
The fire popped, spitting sparks into the air. The red-haired brother growled low in his throat but said nothing more.
Finally, the blue-haired one extended a massive hand across the fire. "If you speak true, then we will walk with you. But know this—we will protect her, no matter what."
Kael clasped his hand firmly. "So will I."
The Journey Back
They set out at dawn, the forest still wrapped in mist, the ruins of the old village fading into the distance behind them.
Kael walked at the front, Umbra padding at his side. The brothers followed—red-haired Rogan, blue-haired Varik. Their footsteps shook the ground, but their presence was no longer heavy with threat. Instead, it was filled with the quiet unease of warriors who weren't sure if they'd chosen an ally or another mistake.
As they traveled, Kael finally saw what made them dangerous—and why they had fought with such force the day before.
Rogan's power was raw, visceral. When a wolf pack crossed their path, his fists lit with molten light, his very skin glowing as though veins of magma ran beneath it. He struck the earth, and a shockwave split the ground, sending the wolves scattering with yelps. His laughter rolled like thunder. "Let them fear strength, eh?"
Varik's was different. Subtle. Controlled. When they crossed a stream too wide to ford, his eyes glowed faintly blue. The water stilled, then hardened into shimmering crystal steps. He crossed without a word, every step deliberate, precise.
Kael studied both. "One of fire, one of ice."
"Not ice," Varik corrected. His voice was cool, like his power. "Control. Flow. Stillness."
Rogan grinned, clapping his brother on the back. "And I? I am fury."
The contrast was sharp, yet Kael saw in them the same balance he often felt between Lyria and Druaka. Two halves of a whole. Dangerous alone. Deadly together.
Return to the Hollow
By the time they reached the Hollow, word had already spread. The gates were lined with wary eyes—elves with bows, dwarves gripping hammers, humans clutching tools that doubled as weapons. When the two ogres appeared at Kael's side, murmurs swept the crowd like wildfire.
Fenrik and Thalos were waiting, both grim-faced. Lyria stood just behind them, her bow slung across her back, hand on her dagger. Druaka was not among them.
Kael raised a hand, his voice ringing across the gathering. "Stand down. They are not enemies. They walk with me."
The murmurs turned to uneasy silence. Fenrik's brows furrowed, but he nodded slowly, trusting Kael's word.
Thalos looked less convinced, his gaze flicking between the brothers and Kael with suspicion.
The Council Meeting
The council chamber was tense, the air heavy with the weight of too many eyes. The long table was crowded—Fenrik, Thalos, Lyria, Druaka, elders from each race. The brothers stood near the door, too large for the benches.
Kael took the floor.
"They came to our gates as challengers. You all saw what happened. We fought, and they bested Fenrik and Thalos with ease. I faced them, and instead of killing them, I chose to listen. I chose to learn."
Murmurs rippled.
Thalos slammed a fist into the table. "Learn? They humiliated us before our own walls! How can you stand there and claim we should trust them?"
Rogan snarled, tusks bared, but Kael raised a hand to silence him.
"Because," Kael said, his voice sharp, "they are Druaka's brothers."
The chamber went still. Druaka froze, her eyes wide. For a moment, she looked like stone—unmoving, unbreathing.
Kael continued. "They told me what happened to their village. How humans destroyed it. How they lost her. How she was taken, drugged, broken until she could not even remember her own name. They came here believing lies—that I ruled by chains, that I made her my slave. But they know now that is not true."
He let his words sink in before pressing on.
"I gave them a choice. To live or to die. To fight me or to hear me. And I gave them conditions—if they return with me, they will not push Druaka. They will not force her memories. They will accept her as she is."
Druaka's hands trembled in her lap, but her voice was firm when she finally spoke. "I… I don't remember. But if they are truly my blood, then I would know them again. On my own terms."
Fenrik leaned back, sighing heavily. "And if they're lying? If this is just a ploy to get close to us?"
Kael's gaze hardened. "Then I'll end them myself."
Silence settled again, heavy as stone.
At last, Varik stepped forward, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "We have no lies to give. Only the truth of blood and fire. We will prove it with our actions, not our words."
Rogan slammed a fist into his chest with a grin. "And if you still doubt us, let us fight beside you next time. You'll see we're no cowards."
The council shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. No one voiced outright approval, but no one opposed Kael outright either.
Finally, Fenrik grunted. "Then so be it. But Kael—this was your choice. If it goes wrong, the blood is on your hands."
Kael nodded. "I accept that."
As the council dismissed, Druaka lingered, her eyes flicking between her supposed brothers and Kael. For the first time since Kael had met her, she looked unsure, almost fragile.
Kael caught her gaze, his voice low and steady. "No one will force you, Druaka. Not me. Not them. You choose what to remember, what to hold."
She nodded once, her tusks catching the torchlight. "Good. Because if they try—" she turned to Rogan and Varik, her voice like iron "—I'll remind them who I am now."
Rogan chuckled nervously. Varik only inclined his head in respect.
And Kael, watching it all, felt the Hollow shift once again—another stone laid in the foundation of a nation that was still young, still fragile, but stronger by the day.