Chapter 115 – Ashes and Quiet
The Hollow was alive again.
Children's laughter drifted through the streets as they chased each other between the rows of timber houses. Smoke curled gently from cookfires, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread mixing with the spring air. The clang of the forges and the rhythm of axes splitting wood rang out, steady and purposeful.
For the first time since the battle, the town looked and sounded as it had before—the routine of life restored, like a heartbeat returning after a long silence.
And yet, beneath it all, Kael could feel the tension.
When he walked through the market, eyes followed him. Merchants paused mid-sale, voices trailing into hushed whispers. Mothers guided their children away with gentle hands. Even the council members kept a certain stiffness in their greetings.
They no longer looked at him like their protector. They looked at him like the fire he carried—necessary, but dangerous.
Kael bore it silently.
He helped where he could: lifting heavy beams for a new barn, repairing a broken cart wheel, listening to a hunter's report of strange tracks near the river. But always, the weight of their gazes pressed on him, like invisible chains across his shoulders.
By evening, Kael returned to the palace, exhaustion clinging to him more from the stares than from the labor. He found Lyria waiting on the balcony, her silver hair catching the last rays of the sun, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
"You've been gone all day," she said softly as he stepped beside her.
"Had to keep busy," Kael muttered, leaning against the railing. His gaze followed hers out toward the forest, though his thoughts were far away. "It feels like if I stop moving, the silence will crush me."
Lyria turned, studying his face. "It isn't silence, Kael. It's their fear."
His jaw clenched. He didn't deny it.
She reached out, resting her hand lightly against his. "Do you think I fear you?"
He shook his head almost instantly. "No. Never."
"Good." Her voice firmed, a steel edge beneath the gentleness. "Because I don't. I see the man who's carried us this far. The boy who lost everything, and still chose to build instead of destroy."
Kael's chest tightened. "But they don't see that. Not anymore. To them, I'm just—" He cut himself off, struggling with the word.
"A dragon," Lyria finished. Her hand slid to his cheek, turning his face to hers. "Yes. But you're our dragon. My dragon."
Her lips pressed to his before he could answer. It wasn't the hungry, desperate kiss of passion—it was soft, grounding, an anchor in the storm. For the first time in days, Kael let himself lean into it.
When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling.
"You carry too much," she whispered. "Let me carry some of it with you."
Kael's hands found her waist almost unconsciously, drawing her closer. "I don't know how."
"Like this." She kissed him again, longer this time, her fingers tangling in his hair. The tension bled from his shoulders as the warmth of her body pressed against his. For the first time since Druaka's death, Kael felt the sharp edges of his grief dull—not gone, but softened by her presence.
They moved inside, the heavy curtains of the palace chamber falling behind them. Lyria guided him to sit, then curled into his lap, her head resting against his chest. No words were needed; the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath were enough.
Kael closed his eyes, his arms tightening around her.
For once, he wasn't the leader, the dragon, or the weapon. He was just a man—mourning, weary, but not alone.
And in Lyria's quiet strength, he found peace.