Chapter 98 – Shadows and Whispers
The Hollow's gates opened just before dawn, and Varik slipped through them without a word. Where Rogan made noise and presence his weapons, Varik wielded silence. His blue hair, tied back in a tight knot, caught the faintest glint of moonlight before he melted into the forest.
No fanfare. No sound of heavy boots. Only the faint rustle of undergrowth as he vanished into the dark.
The Road to the South
Varik traveled with calculated precision. He wore a simple cloak stained with dust and dirt, the sort of garb that would draw no notice in a crowded street. His weapon, a slender dagger, remained hidden at his belt.
Every step was measured. He knew how to step between dry twigs. How to press his weight against stone and soil so his tread would sound no louder than a passing breeze. His eyes scanned for sign—the broken branch, the thin smoke of a distant fire, the trail of horses leaving prints in the mud.
Where Rogan shouted, Varik listened.
By nightfall he reached the outskirts of a border town loyal to the nearby kingdom of Elandor. He slipped through its gates unnoticed, blending into the tide of weary travelers.
The Spy's Art
Varik made his way first to the tavern. Taverns were breeding grounds for whispers, and he knew how to draw them out.
He ordered no food, no ale. He simply sat in the corner, hood low, and listened. Men spoke freely when they thought no one cared to hear.
"…new tax, they say. All to fund the king's army."
"…something about monsters in the woods—says they've made a city of their own…"
"…madness. Who'd follow a boy with demon blood? Still, the lords fear him enough to send steel."
Varik memorized every word. His expression never changed, his cold blue eyes fixed on the table as though he dozed.
Later, when the tavern swelled with drink, he moved among the crowd. Not by force, but by suggestion—an offered coin, a muttered agreement, a sharp glance that unsettled the drunk enough to talk. Within an hour he knew more than most of the town's guards.
An army was moving. Slowly, quietly, but with intent.
The Evidence
Still, words were not enough. Varik needed proof.
He shadowed a pair of soldiers leaving the tavern, trailing them into the dark streets. His movements were liquid, shadows clinging to his form as if the night itself welcomed him.
When the soldiers entered a warehouse by the southern wall, Varik climbed to the roof. Through a gap in the boards, he saw the truth:
Stacks of crates filled with weapons, barrels of salted meat, bolts of arrow shafts bundled together. Men moved with purpose, marking everything with the seal of Elandor's army.
One soldier muttered, "All this for the march north. They'll burn that damned Hollow to ash."
The other spat. "Good riddance. Monsters don't belong in kingdoms. Best we clean them out before they spread."
Varik slipped away without a sound. His heart did not race. His breath remained steady. This was no surprise—only confirmation.
The Journey Back
The road back to the Hollow was long, but Varik wasted no time. He moved at night, resting only when the sun burned high and travelers were more likely to notice him. His pace was relentless, his mind replaying the words he'd overheard and the sight of the crates piled high.
By the time the Hollow's gates came into view, his cloak was heavy with dust, and his eyes sharp with resolve.
The Council
The council hall was full when Varik entered. Kael sat at the head, flanked by Lyria and Druaka. Thalos leaned against his hammer, Fenrik tugged his beard, and the elders watched with wary eyes. Rogan, red-haired and grinning, stood off to the side, arms crossed.
Varik strode to the center, bowed his head once, and began. His voice was steady, cold, but heavy with weight.
"Elandor is moving against us. Their armies gather in secret, supplied from the south. I saw warehouses filled with steel and grain, all marked with the king's seal. They mean to march north—toward us."
The room fell into silence.
Fenrik scowled. "You're certain? Not rumor?"
Varik's eyes narrowed. "I saw it with my own eyes. Soldiers spoke of burning the Hollow to ash. Their lords see us as monsters, and monsters cannot be tolerated."
Thalos growled low in his throat. "Then they will learn the cost of their arrogance."
Lyria's gaze flicked to Kael, concern flickering across her face. "This is no small raid. This is war."
Varik's words came sharp, final. "We have weeks. Perhaps less. If we do nothing, their armies will fall upon us unprepared. If we act, we may yet survive."
Kael's Silence
All eyes turned to Kael. He sat still, hands folded, the weight of Varik's report pressing down on him.
The young king of the Hollow knew what this meant: their time of peace, fragile and fleeting, had ended. War was coming.
But for now, he said nothing.
For in Varik's cold words, Kael heard both a warning and a challenge.