Chapter 110 – The Weight of Graves
The morning mist clung to the Hollow like a shroud. It curled low over the fields and wrapped around the watchtowers, muting the sounds of life that normally stirred with the rising sun. Kael walked alone, the path beneath his boots crunching with dew.
He had not come here since the funeral. He couldn't.
But today, the pull was too strong.
At the edge of the woods, where the ground rose in a quiet hill, the tree that held Druaka's body loomed tall. The bark was pale, shimmering faintly with the magic that bound her essence within its roots. The earth smelled fresh, almost sweet, as though the tree itself carried her strength.
Kael stood still for a long moment, staring up at it. His throat tightened.
"I should have saved you." His voice was a whisper, lost to the breeze. "With all this power… with everything I've done… why couldn't I save you?"
A twig snapped behind him. Heavy footsteps followed. Kael turned, his eyes narrowing, as Rogan and Varik emerged from the trees.
The brothers carried no weapons. Their expressions were carved from stone, but their eyes—those deep, searching eyes—carried storms within them.
"You shouldn't be here," Kael muttered, though the words lacked strength.
Rogan stepped forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the grave. His red hair burned even in the morning's gray light, but his eyes were darker than Kael had ever seen them.
"You think you own this grief?" Rogan's voice was low, like a drumbeat. "She was our sister before she was your lover."
Kael's jaw clenched. "And yet I was the one holding her hand when she died."
The words struck like a blade. Rogan's fists tightened, his tusks bared in a snarl—but Varik placed a hand on his brother's arm, restraining him.
"Enough," Varik said, his voice calm but sharp. "There's no point in tearing open wounds. We all lost her."
Kael turned back to the tree, his voice quieter now. "I lost more than her. I lost myself. You saw what happened in that battle. You saw what I became."
Rogan barked a bitter laugh. "A monster."
The word cut deep, but Kael didn't deny it.
Varik studied him closely. "And yet that monster saved everyone else. If not for you, this Hollow would already be ash."
Kael's chest ached. He wanted to argue, but the truth was undeniable. His power had destroyed the enemy—but it had also cost Druaka her life.
Rogan stepped closer, his voice rising. "You let her fight! You, with all your power, with all your so-called control, and you still let her take the field. You should have stopped her!"
Kael's temper flared, his grief boiling over. He spun, his eyes blazing. "And what would you have had me do? Lock her away? Chain her to the walls while the rest of us bled? She chose to fight! She was stronger than either of us gave her credit for!"
The two stared at each other, the weight of their fury pressing heavy between them. Rogan's chest heaved, his fists shaking at his sides.
Then Varik spoke again, quieter but more cutting than either of them.
"She chose to fight because she believed in you, Kael. Because she thought you would carry them all through it. And now she's gone, and you hide in shadows while the Hollow trembles. What do you think that makes of her sacrifice?"
Kael staggered back as though struck. His gaze fell once more to the tree, to the roots that bound Druaka's memory.
Varik was right. Every day he spent drowning in grief, the Hollow stood leaderless. His people—her people—needed him. And here he was, wallowing like a child.
Before Kael could respond, a horn sounded from the heart of the Hollow. Urgent, sharp, unrelenting.
All three turned at once.
"That's the watchtower alarm," Varik said grimly. "Something's happened."
Kael's instincts surged alive again. His grief did not vanish—it wrapped around his heart like chains—but his body moved as it once had, swift and sure.
He ran.
Down the hill, through the village streets, where people had already begun to gather in fear. Smoke rose in the distance, curling above the treetops. Scouts rushed into the square, shouting reports.
"Another force! Human banners—closing in fast! They're burning the outlying farms!"
The council spilled from the palace, their faces pale, their words tripping over each other in panic.
And Kael, with Rogan and Varik at his back, stepped into the center of it all. The villagers fell silent as his presence loomed over the square. His cloak snapped in the wind, his eyes dark with fury and sorrow.
For the first time since the battle, Kael's voice rang out, steady and commanding.
"Form the defenses. Evacuate the outer homes. Rogan, Thalos, gather the warriors and hold the eastern wall. Varik, take scouts and find their numbers. Fenrik—get every able body to reinforce the barricades."
The council hesitated, stunned by the sudden surge of authority.
Kael's voice rose, sharper now. "Move!"
And just like that, the Hollow erupted into motion.
Kael stood still for a moment, watching the chaos fall into order around him. The grief had not left. It never would. But for now, it was buried beneath something stronger.
Duty.
Druaka's brothers watched him, their expressions unreadable. Rogan gave a slow nod, grudging but genuine. Varik's lips curled into something between approval and curiosity.
Kael turned his gaze toward the smoke on the horizon.
"If they want war," he murmured, "then they'll find it waiting for them at our gates."
And with that, he strode forward, the weight of grief still heavy on his heart—but no longer enough to stop him.