Chapter 107 – Falling Shadows
The wind tore past Kael's face as he soared higher and higher above the Hollow, leaving behind the ruin of the battlefield. His wings, once strong and unyielding, began to falter under the weight of exhaustion and the unspent chaos surging through him. The forest below blurred into streaks of green and brown, the mountains beyond hazy in the early evening light. His mind, still reeling from the massacre, felt heavy with the images of the fallen—enemy and friend alike.
Then, slowly, the exhaustion overtook him. His wings shuddered uncontrollably. Every heartbeat thumped with a violent rhythm against his chest. His vision dimmed. The roar of the wind faded into silence.
Kael passed out.
As his body plummeted through the sky, his mind fractured into visions, as though the chaos magic within him was projecting the aftermath of the battle before he even returned.
In the first vision, the Hollow was alive, despite the devastation outside. Smoke rose from scattered fires, and guards patrolled the walls. Lyria's sharp voice carried across the courtyard as she coordinated the wounded, directing healers and soldiers with a precision that made Kael's chest tighten. Next to her, Thalos barked orders, moving with calm authority as he organized the defensive positions, his presence steadying the people in the Hollow's moment of chaos. Kael's heart ached watching them, knowing he had left everything in their hands.
Then the scene shifted. Druaka lay in the med tent, her form still and fragile under the flickering light of magical lanterns. Her red hair was matted with blood, her breathing shallow but steady. Her brothers, Rogan and Varik, stood close, faces etched with worry and disbelief, their hands hovering over her protectively.
Kael could hear nothing. Every sound of the world around him was drowned by the chaos in his own mind. But he leaned closer in his vision, focusing on the subtle movements of her lips. Slowly, deliberately, he read her words:
"Don't blame him…"
A rush of conflicting emotions tore through Kael—relief, sorrow, guilt, and love. She was alive, and yet barely so. She was trying to ease the weight on his conscience, even as he had spiraled into destruction. Her courage and empathy struck him like a hammer.
The wind rushed past his ears in reality as his body fell through the sky. His arms flailed instinctively, but there was no strength left to spread his wings. Tears burned in his eyes, unbidden and unstoppable. For the first time since he had taken the Hollow, Kael allowed himself to grieve openly—not just for Druaka, but for the rage he had unleashed, for the fear he had instilled in his people, for the lives he had touched with death and chaos.
His vision blurred with the tears. The Hollow, the battlefield, Druaka, Lyria, and Thalos—all merged into a kaleidoscope of memory and regret. The wind roared in his ears as he tumbled toward the forest floor, powerless and raw in his grief.
As the treetops rushed up to meet him, Kael's sobs tore through the sky, a sound born of heartbreak, anger, and overwhelming guilt. He had become the storm, and now, as he fell, the weight of everything he had done and everything he had lost pressed down on him like a mountain.
The chapter closes with Kael's tears mixing with the wind as he plummets through the sky, the Hollow far below, and the vision of Druaka's fragile form etched into his heart:
"Don't blame him…"
And Kael cries, finally unguarded, letting the sorrow consume him as the ground rushes closer.
The crash was violent.
Kael tore through the canopy like a falling star, splintering branches and snapping trunks before his body finally slammed into the forest floor. The impact shook the ground, dirt and leaves scattering like ash. For a long moment, Kael lay motionless, his wings shredded, his body battered, and his chest heaving shallow breaths. His skin flickered faintly with traces of chaos, dissipating slowly until only Kael the boy remained—trembling, broken, and gasping.
When he woke, it wasn't to silence, but to the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder. Blinking through the haze, Kael saw Lyria crouched over him, her silver hair catching stray beams of moonlight as if she were a piece of the sky made flesh. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and blood from the battle, but her eyes—those sharp, commanding eyes—held relief.
"You're alive," she whispered, her voice trembling against the night air. "By the gods, Kael, you're alive."
Kael tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through his ribs. Lyria pushed him gently back down, shaking her head.
"Don't move. You tore yourself apart. You're lucky you're even breathing."
Her words hardly registered. His voice cracked as he forced the one question that burned in his chest:
"…Druaka?"
The name broke the fragile calm. Kael's heart pounded, his breathing shallow. A heavy silence stretched between them before Lyria finally spoke, her voice low and strained.
"She's… Kael, she's dying." Lyria's throat tightened, and for a moment her composure cracked. "The healers are keeping her alive, but the wound was too deep. Nothing we have can close it. Even her brothers… they can't do anything."
The world seemed to still. The pain in his ribs, the ache in his wings, the sting of his torn body—all of it dulled beneath the crushing weight of those words. Kael turned his head away, his eyes burning.
"No…" The word came out as a hoarse whisper. His hands clenched against the dirt. "No, that can't be. She—she can't…"
"She fought harder than anyone, Kael," Lyria said softly, kneeling closer, her hand brushing against his cheek. "She bought us time. She saved lives." Her voice faltered. "But the healers say she won't see another sunrise."
Kael's chest tightened, his breath ragged. Images of Druaka flooded his mind—her steady gaze as she healed Lyria weeks ago, her quiet strength, her laughter when she teased him, the way she always seemed to carry beauty and pain in equal measure. He had barely begun to know her. To open his heart to her. And now…
He pressed his forehead into the dirt, biting back a cry that threatened to tear through him. The chaos stirred within, eager to answer his grief with fury, to consume everything in fire and shadow. Kael trembled, fighting it back. Not again. He couldn't lose himself again.
"Kael."
Lyria's voice cut through the storm building in his chest. Firm, commanding, but laced with sorrow. "You can't break now. Your people saw what you became today. They're terrified. They don't know if you're their savior or their destroyer."
He forced his head up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her jaw was set in unyielding resolve.
"You need to come back with me," she continued. "You need to show them you're still Kael. Not a monster. Not chaos incarnate. You."
Kael swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he spoke.
"How can I face them, Lyria? How can I face her… knowing I failed?"
"You didn't fail." Lyria cupped his cheek, her touch steady despite her trembling. "You fought for us. You protected us. Druaka knew what she was doing when she stood by your side. She chose this fight. Just as I did."
Kael's breath hitched. His chest ached with more than just broken ribs. He wanted to believe her. Needed to. But the image of Druaka, pale and bloodied, whispering don't blame him echoed in his skull, pulling him down into a pit of guilt and fear.
Lyria helped him to his feet, steadying his weight against her shoulder.
"Come," she whispered. "She's waiting. You need to see her, Kael. While there's still time."
The words cut deeper than any blade. He nodded, silent tears tracing his dirt-streaked cheeks as the two of them began the long walk back toward the Hollow. Each step was heavy, a march not just toward his people, but toward the fragile edge of farewell.
And though his body trembled, one thought burned in the back of his mind, as sharp and lingering as the chaos still humming in his veins:
If there is a way to save her, I will find it.