Chapter 109 – The Hollow's Shadow
Kael couldn't stand the silence of his chambers. Every corner of the palace felt too wide, too empty. His new helm sat untouched on a shelf, the polished bone horns of the beast staring back at him like a reminder of what he had once conquered—before everything slipped through his fingers.
He had not slept in two nights. His food sat untouched on the table. Each time he closed his eyes, Druaka's final smile haunted him.
So he wandered.
Tonight, his feet carried him not through the forest or to the training fields, but to the palace council hall. The faint glow of torches leaked from beneath the heavy oak doors. Voices carried through the still night air—low at first, then heated.
Kael slipped into the shadows of the upper gallery, his cloak drawn tight. He sat in silence as his council debated, the sound of their words striking him harder than any blade could.
"They fear him." It was Varik's voice, low and cold. "They all fear him. What he did on the battlefield—it was not human. It wasn't even demihuman. It was…" He paused, and his crimson eyes glimmered. "…monstrous."
Fenrik slammed a fist on the table. "Aye. But that monster is the reason any of us still breathe! You'd rather the humans trample us down? Burn us alive in our homes? No one denies he's dangerous—but his danger is ours, not theirs."
Thalos' deep rumble followed. "Fenrik is right. But don't mistake his power for control. I saw it in his eyes when he… changed. He wasn't Kael then. He was rage given flesh. What happens when he cannot tell friend from foe?"
A murmur of agreement circled the room.
An older councilor leaned forward, voice sharp. "We cannot ignore what we all saw. The villagers whisper already—our savior is a beast in disguise. What if the next time his grief overtakes him, it is us he burns to ash?"
Kael's stomach twisted, his nails biting into the wood railing.
Then came Lyria's voice.
"Enough."
The room quieted. Her tone was steady, but her hands gripped the table tight enough that her knuckles whitened.
"You speak as though Kael is some wild creature that stumbled into our midst. But have you forgotten who built this place? Who carved safety from chaos, who gave us walls, food, and hope?" Her voice trembled, but only with emotion. "Yes, he is dangerous. Yes, his grief has shaken him. But he has also bled for us—again and again—when no one else could."
Her eyes swept across the chamber, catching each member of the council.
"I've fought beside him. I've seen him in his darkest moments. He is not perfect—he is flawed, broken, human. But he is not a tyrant, nor a beast who seeks our destruction. He is a man carrying more weight than any of you could bear."
Her voice cracked now, the walls she so carefully built falling away.
"I've seen him laugh with us. I've seen him protect children before protecting himself. I've seen him… love. Truly love. And now I've seen him lose that love, and it's tearing him apart. If you call him dangerous, you're right. But so are storms. So is fire. And yet we rely on them to survive."
Silence filled the chamber, the weight of her words pressing heavy on every soul present.
At last, Varik broke it, his voice softer than before. "You speak well, Lyria. Perhaps too well. But words cannot erase fear. Not mine, not theirs."
Lyria sat back, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to steady herself. "Then let that fear guide us, not divide us. Fear can build walls—or it can remind us why we hold together in the first place. Kael is our strength, whether we tremble at it or not."
The meeting wound down, voices quieter, more thoughtful than before. No resolution was reached, only a fragile pause in the storm.
Kael remained in the shadows until the torches dimmed and footsteps faded. He hadn't moved once. Not when they called him monster. Not when Lyria spoke of his love.
Only when the hall emptied did he rise.
He slipped out into the night, the cool spring breeze hitting his face. Lanterns still burned across the Hollow, but the streets were quiet. He wandered aimlessly, past homes he had helped fortify, past fields he had cleared, past the watchtowers that stood because he willed them into being.
But none of it felt like it belonged to him.
At last, he reached the edge of the village, where the trees began. He sat upon a stone, the forest whispering around him. The stars glittered above, cold and distant.
For the first time since Druaka's death, he closed his eyes—not to sleep, but to simply breathe.
And for the briefest moment, the Hollow was silent.