Chapter 113 – The Dragon of the Hollow
The army of Arden stood waiting. Shields locked, spears raised, their polished armor gleaming in the torchlight. Their discipline was remarkable—but Kael could see it for what it was. Not courage. Not faith.
Fear, drilled into order.
Kael drew a long breath, his chest rising as though he inhaled the very night itself. Shadows crawled up his arms, flickering with tongues of violet flame. Umbra coiled around him, merging with the storm of chaos that roared in his veins.
Then Kael let go.
His body split open with power, his form expanding and twisting, his roar shattering the silence. Bones elongated, wings erupted, his flesh shimmering into scales darker than night. A crown of horns spread from his skull, and his eyes burned like twin embers of judgment.
The soldiers faltered. For many, that single roar broke the fragile illusion of discipline.
The Dragon of Chaos had returned.
Kael did not lose himself this time. No haze of rage clouded his mind. No blind fury dragged him into ruin. His grief was still there—an ache that gnawed at his heart—but it was forged into control, into purpose.
With deliberate intent, Kael advanced.
The front line of soldiers braced, spears thrust forward. But Kael inhaled deeply, the night pulling into his chest—then exhaled a torrent of violet fire, chaos given breath. The wave of flame consumed the first ranks, shields melting, armor searing, men screaming as they scattered.
Wings unfurled, Kael launched himself forward. His claws tore through siege engines like they were toys, splintering wood and iron alike. Ballistae aimed skyward, bolts whistling—but Kael rolled his body in the air, letting the bolts pass harmlessly before his tail whipped through their operators, scattering them like straw dolls.
Arrows darkened the sky, but shadows rippled across Kael's scales, swallowing them whole.
Every movement was precise. Every strike intentional. He did not slaughter without thought—he struck where fear would grow deepest, where destruction would echo loudest.
A single beat of his wings sent soldiers flying back in droves. A single claw crushed siege towers into ruin. A single roar scattered cavalry lines like frightened deer.
And then Kael descended upon the city walls.
The stones cracked beneath his claws as he perched upon them, his massive form casting the capital in shadow. His head arched back, eyes blazing, as he unleashed another stream of violet fire. Whole battlements melted, watchtowers collapsed, the screams of defenders filling the night.
By the time Kael landed before the gates, the army was broken. Men dropped their weapons and fled into the city, their courage shattered. What had been thousands was now a panicked rabble, scattering from the shadow of a god.
And then Kael spoke.
His voice rumbled through the night, deeper than thunder, heavier than stone.
"King of Arden!" he bellowed, his words echoing through the ruined walls. "Hear me, and know this truth. If you march on the Hollow again, I will not stop at your armies. I will not stop at your walls. I will not stop until your kingdom is nothing but ash and silence."
He lowered his head, eyes narrowing, his teeth bared in a predatory snarl.
"This was mercy."
The torches on the walls flickered, the silence of fear spreading like frost. Kael's gaze swept across the city, searing into the hearts of any who dared to meet his eyes. Then, with a powerful beat of his wings, he turned away.
The ultimatum had been delivered.
Kael walked back into the Hollow at dawn. His form was human again, but the echo of the dragon lingered in every step, in the shadows that curled subtly at his heels. Villagers stopped in their tracks as he passed, eyes wide, whispers trailing in his wake.
Not terror this time. Not grief.
Something else.
Respect.
Fear, yes—but fear tempered with awe.
Kael returned to the council chambers, where the others had gathered in tense anticipation. He looked each of them in the eye before speaking, his voice calm, steady, carrying a weight it had never held before.
"They will not march again," Kael said simply. "Not unless they want to face the dragon."
He did not boast. He did not rage. He only spoke truth.
And for the first time, Kael felt the weight of his grief shift—not gone, never gone—but carried now with strength. He was no longer the boy who stumbled into leadership, haunted by loss. He was the dragon of the Hollow, and he would protect his people with fire and shadow, no matter what came.