Chapter 117 – Whispers Beyond the Walls
The Hollow might have been quiet in the days following Kael's return, but beyond its borders the world seethed with rumors. Messengers rode hard across valleys and rivers, carrying the tale of a dragon descending upon the kingdom, of fire that turned stone to ash and blood to vapor. Some called it divine punishment. Others whispered it was the end of the age of men. All agreed on one thing — the source of it was the Hollow.
The Kingdom of Edran
Inside the shattered capital of Edran, where scorched walls still smoked and the bodies of soldiers lay unburied, the court was in chaos. The king sat pale on his throne, his crown bent slightly from the heat of Kael's wrath. He had survived, though many of his generals had not.
"The demon boy commands dragons," one adviser stammered, his voice high and frightened. "No — he is the dragon! How can men fight against that?"
Others demanded retaliation, but their voices were weak, hollow. The army had been cut in half before it even reached the Hollow. The sight of Kael in his true form had broken morale like glass. Now soldiers deserted in droves, slipping away into the night rather than face another campaign.
The king clenched his fists. "If he comes again, there will be no Edran left to defend. The Hollow is a threat beyond reckoning." His eyes swept the council. "But what choice do we have? To bend knee? To beg?"
His words were met with silence. None dared answer.
The Border Villages
Closer to the Hollow, in the small farming villages that had once traded wheat and hides to its caravans, unease spread like a sickness. At first, the Hollow had seemed a blessing — their traders always fair, their goods reliable, their people disciplined. But now those same villagers whispered in fear by firelight.
"I saw it," one man muttered in the tavern of a village near the river. His voice was shaky, his hands trembling around his mug. "A shadow the size of the mountain itself, wings blotting the sun. And it wasn't some beast — it was him. The boy from the Hollow."
A woman spat on the floor. "Demon. They said he'd made pacts with things no man should touch. And look what he brings down on us. If the kingdoms strike back, they'll trample our homes first, not his fortress."
"But we depend on their caravans," another farmer argued, though his voice lacked conviction. "Without their iron, without their grain… we'll starve."
The woman shook her head. "Better to starve free than burn under a dragon's shadow."
By morning, families were already packing carts, fleeing deeper into the countryside. The Hollow's neighbors, once its tentative allies, now began to distance themselves.
The Wandering Clans
Farther still, among the nomadic clans that roamed the high plains, the tale of the dragon spread like wildfire. Around great bonfires, the elders debated whether the Hollow was a land blessed by gods or cursed by them.
"He is young," one elder rasped, smoke curling from his pipe. "No boy should wield such power. It will consume him — and all who follow him."
But another argued with fire in his eyes. "Or perhaps he is the weapon the world has awaited. The kingdoms choke us, bleed us dry with taxes and soldiers. The Hollow stands free. Perhaps this dragon-boy is the storm that will topple their thrones."
The younger clansfolk listened with wide eyes, torn between awe and fear. Some whispered of riding to the Hollow to pledge their spears. Others wanted to ride the opposite direction, as far from Kael's shadow as possible.
The Dwarves of Korradim
Deep beneath the mountains, in the forges of Korradim, the dwarves considered the news with grim practicality. The smiths, who had once worked iron for the Hollow in exchange for trade, now hammered in silence, listening to the echo of the tale carried down from the surface.
"He broke the kingdom," one smith said, his hammer striking hard against the anvil. "One boy, one night, and half a city burns. If he turns those eyes on us, no stone hall will stand."
Their thane stroked his beard, eyes dark with thought. "The Hollow is dangerous, aye. But dangerous men can still be bargained with. And if not bargained with… perhaps used. A dragon-boy with dwarven steel on his back? There are worse fates."
But not all dwarves agreed. Many muttered that it was time to cut ties altogether, to wall their gates and let the Hollow burn or thrive without them.
The Elves of Sylthirion
In the ancient groves of Sylthirion, where trees taller than fortresses stretched into the sky, the elves held council. Their voices were melodic, calm, but edged with fear.
"The Hollow is young," said the matriarch, her golden eyes glinting. "Yet it moves with a hunger too great for its years. Already kingdoms fall to its shadow. Soon, it will grow beyond control."
A younger elf spoke up, her voice sharp. "Perhaps that is the way of mortals. To rise quickly, to burn brightly, and to destroy. We should not interfere — let them consume themselves."
But another shook his head. "If the Hollow becomes the heart of chaos, it will not stop at men's kingdoms. Fire spreads. And fire does not care whose forest it consumes."
The elves debated long into the night, but no decision was reached.
The Murmurs of the Common Folk
Everywhere, from markets to taverns, from caravan trails to river crossings, one question repeated itself:
Should we stay near the Hollow, or should we leave?
Merchants who had once praised its stability now turned their wagons away, fearful of being caught in the next clash. Travelers warned one another to avoid the dark roads near its borders. And common farmers, who had once looked to the Hollow as a beacon of survival, now whispered about demons, monsters, and the folly of trusting them.
Some feared Kael's wrath if they left. Others feared being caught in his shadow if they stayed. Most were simply afraid — of him, of the Hollow, of the storm that seemed to follow wherever its young lord walked.
A Shifting World
By the time the next full moon rose, the Hollow's reputation had shifted irrevocably. It was no longer just a hidden village turned fortress, no longer a curiosity of trade and survival. It was a place marked by the presence of a dragon, ruled by a boy who wore grief like armor and wielded destruction like a blade.
And beyond its borders, the world trembled.
Rumors traveled faster than horses, faster than caravans, faster even than the crackle of fire across dry grass. By the time Kael crossed back into the Hollow after unleashing his wrath on the kingdom of Edran, word of his dragon form had already spread far beyond the Hollow's borders. It reached thrones and marketplaces alike. Some dismissed the tale as exaggeration — until the battered survivors limped back to their villages and cities, eyes wide, words broken, telling of a boy who became a dragon and left fire in his wake.
The world had changed in a single night. And across that world, leaders and rulers convened to decide what the Hollow meant for them.
The Kingdom of Edran – A Throne in Ashes
The capital of Edran still stank of smoke. Scorched stone walls rose like broken teeth around the city, and the king's great hall was half collapsed from the dragon's assault.
King Althar sat slumped on his throne, his once-proud frame shrunken by sleepless nights. His councilors stood in a half-circle before him, their robes singed and faces grim.
"He gave you an ultimatum," one adviser said, voice sharp and accusing. "And you—our king—yielded. Back away from the Hollow, he said, or be destroyed. And you—"
"I survived," Althar snapped, his voice hoarse. "Would you rather I die spitting curses at a creature that cannot be slain?"
A silence followed. None dared answer, for they had seen the truth with their own eyes.
Another councilor cleared his throat. "Trade caravans from the Hollow still pass near our villages. Do we allow them safe passage?"
The chamber filled with mutters. Some argued to outlaw them, others to seize their goods. But an older minister raised a trembling hand.
"My lord… if we sever trade, we invite ruin. Their iron is unmatched, their grain plentiful, their tools beyond our craft. And their traders carry themselves with discipline. To cut them off now would weaken us more than them."
The king pressed his palms to his temples. He remembered the shadow blotting out the moon, the heat of fire that had nearly turned him to cinders. At last, he spoke.
"We cannot fight them," Althar admitted. "Not yet. Their caravans may pass… for now. But every coin we spend with them buys us more danger."
And so, Edran chose survival over pride, allowing Hollow caravans entry but under heavy restrictions. Each cart was searched, each merchant questioned, each step watched by soldiers. The people of Edran muttered, calling the Hollow a kingdom of demons — but still they bought their steel, their food, their cloth. Fear made them customers, even as it made them prisoners.
The Dwarves of Korradim – Smoke and Steel
Deep within the mountains, the dwarves gathered in the Iron Council. Their great hall glowed with the orange of forge fires, their voices rumbling like the anvils that rang behind them.
"Ye've all heard the tale," rumbled Thane Borgrim Stonevein, his thick braids swaying as he slammed a fist on the stone table. "The boy became a dragon, and the men of Edran scattered like rats. Now comes the question — do we still trade with the Hollow?"
Some of the dwarves muttered darkly, crossing their arms.
"They'll bring doom upon us," growled one elder. "If we feed their forges, we sharpen the claws of the beast that'll one day strike us."
But another, younger councilor leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "And if we cut them off, we anger the dragon-boy. Which is worse, eh? Let him wield weapons made of stone and wood? Or let him carry steel forged in Korradim, so that we may at least keep him satisfied?"
Borgrim stroked his beard. He had seen many wars, many lords rise and fall. This was different. This was a child of shadow and fire, blood of dragons in his veins.
"Here's my word," Borgrim said at last. "We'll trade. But the price rises. Triple for every ingot, double for every sword. Let the boy learn that dwarven steel comes at a dear cost."
The council muttered but agreed. And so the Hollow's caravans still found welcome in the mountains — but every hammerstroke rang with both profit and unease.
The Elves of Sylthirion – Whispers Among Leaves
Beneath the canopy of the ancient forest, the elves convened in their moonlit council glade. Silver-haired elders sat in a circle, their voices carrying like soft music on the breeze.
"The dragon stirs," said Matriarch Elyndra, her voice calm but edged with sorrow. "And it wears the face of a boy."
A younger elf shook his head. "We should sever ties. Let men and their monsters consume each other. Our groves must remain untouched."
But another elder, her eyes like deep pools, spoke with quiet conviction. "If the Hollow is shunned, it will not wither. It will grow sharper, more desperate, more wrathful. Better to guide the flame than to flee from it."
Elyndra closed her eyes. She had walked the world when Kael's mother still lived, though few knew it. She remembered the scent of dragonfire on the wind, the trembling of the earth when wings darkened the sun.
"We will not close our borders to them," Elyndra said softly. "But neither will we welcome them blindly. Watch their caravans. Speak to their traders. Learn what moves in their hearts. If Kael is indeed both boy and dragon… we must know what kind of king he will become."
The elves chose caution, walking the narrow path between ally and observer.
The Free Cities of the Coast
In the bustling port towns along the southern sea, the tale of the dragon set merchants into a frenzy.
"Do you know what this means?" cried one merchant prince, throwing his jeweled hands into the air during a gathering of the League of Free Cities. "A new power rises inland! If the Hollow secures its trade routes, it will funnel wealth through its coffers and cut us off from the markets!"
Another, fatter man shook his head, sweat rolling down his cheeks. "Bah, I'll have no part of it. If the boy is truly a dragon, then we'd be better off closing our harbors to his merchants before he burns our ships as he burned Edran."
But a third, lean and clever-eyed, leaned forward with a smile. "You fools. Can't you see it? This Kael… he's no king yet. But if we feed him gold, if we whisper in his ear, if we tie his wealth to ours — then perhaps he will grow dependent. A dragon chained by coin, not steel."
The vote was split. Some cities shut their ports to Hollow caravans. Others opened them wider than before, hoping to profit from the boy's rise. The coast fractured in its loyalties, but one truth was certain: the Hollow was now the talk of every merchant hall.
The Nomadic Clans of the Plains
The riders of the plains had no thrones or halls, only firelight and the open sky. Yet their voices carried weight across the steppe, for their horsemen were fierce and their loyalty easily swayed.
The tale of the dragon stirred them deeply. Some clans declared Kael the chosen of the storm gods, the breaker of chains who would tear down the kingdoms that taxed and oppressed them. They sent scouts to follow the Hollow's caravans, hoping to one day pledge their spears.
Others declared him a curse, a child of death who would bring ruin to all. These clans broke their camps and rode far from the Hollow, determined never to let their children see its shadow.
For the first time in generations, the plains were divided. The Hollow had become the wedge that split clan from clan.
The Guilds of Men
Not all power lay in thrones. In the cities of men, the adventurers' guilds, merchant guilds, and thieves' guilds alike whispered of the Hollow.
The Adventurer's Guild in particular was shaken. For years they had sent their sellswords and mercenaries into the wilds to contain monsters. But what was one boy who was both man and monster? Already, guildmasters wrote to one another, debating whether to declare the Hollow a forbidden zone, a place no adventurer could enter without sanction.
Yet others saw opportunity. "If the boy is as powerful as they say," muttered a guildmaster in the city of Drel, "then imagine the treasures he guards. The relics he hoards. Adventurers will flock to test themselves against him."
And so rumors spread: of contracts to spy on the Hollow, to steal from its caravans, even to assassinate its leaders. The guilds, unlike kings, had no fear of ultimatums. Their fear was profit left unclaimed.
The World Trembles
By the time two weeks had passed since Kael's return, the Hollow's shadow stretched across the land.
Edran tolerated their caravans but under suspicion.
The dwarves traded, but at steep prices.
The elves watched, cautious and calculating.
The Free Cities split, some welcoming, some shunning.
The plains clans divided, some flocking closer, others fleeing.
The guilds schemed, their eyes bright with greed.
Everywhere, one truth whispered louder than all others: the Hollow could no longer be ignored.
For some, Kael was a terror to be contained. For others, he was a weapon to be harnessed. For a few, he was a beacon of change, a fire that might burn away the old world.
But for most, he was simply fear made flesh.
And as the Hollow continued its quiet routines — trade, farming, council meetings — the outside world braced itself, waiting for the dragon to stir again.