Chapter 118 – The Roots of Survival
The Hollow had always felt alive to Kael. Its narrow streets hummed with the voices of merchants, the clang of blacksmiths, the quiet laughter of children darting through market stalls. Caravans once arrived every few days, bringing goods from mountain and coast, filling the square with bright cloth and foreign spices. But now, as Kael walked those same streets, he heard silence where once there was bustle.
The market looked half-empty. Stalls that had always been draped in goods stood bare. Coins that once rang out in steady trade clinked only sparingly.
Kael paused by a stall where a woman sold bread. Her loaves were fewer than usual, the flour stretched thin. Her smile was warm, but tired.
"Harder to sell when the caravans don't come as often," she admitted, as if reading his thoughts. "Fewer customers, fewer ingredients. We'll manage, but… it feels as though the Hollow is shrinking."
Kael nodded, though the weight of her words sank heavily on his chest. She wasn't wrong. The caravans that still came carried less, their goods carefully rationed, their merchants wary. Some caravans no longer came at all. Word of his transformation into a dragon had rippled across the world, and what it left in its wake was suspicion. Fear had hollowed the Hollow itself.
That evening, the council gathered in the longhouse. The fire crackled low, its light casting restless shadows against the walls.
"The profits from the last caravan were half what they used to be," Fenrik said, his voice taut with frustration. "Half. And that was from one of our long-standing partners. If this continues, we'll be unable to keep pace with what the Hollow consumes."
"Merchants are avoiding us," muttered another councilor, hands folded tightly. "Those who come demand higher prices, sometimes triple. The dwarves still trade steel, but it bleeds us of coin. The coastal cities argue amongst themselves, but more ports close their gates each week. We cannot depend on them."
Murmurs spread around the table.
Thalos leaned forward, eyes sharp. "It is no surprise. The world sees us as dangerous now. Some see us as monsters. If Kael is both dragon and man, then our Hollow carries the shadow of that truth. They fear that by feeding us, they sharpen the blade that will one day cut them down."
The words struck Kael deeply, though he did not flinch. He had felt this judgment in every sidelong glance from a caravan guard, in every cautious step merchants took when they entered the Hollow's gates.
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
At last, Kael stood. His voice carried a quiet weight that drew all eyes to him.
"We have relied too long on the mercy of others," Kael said. "On merchants who fear us. On kings who would rather see us burn. We built our Hollow to be a refuge, a home, not a market stall for the world to feed and starve at its whim."
He looked from face to face, meeting their eyes, letting his words anchor in their thoughts.
"My proposal is simple. We turn inward. We become self-sufficient. The mountains around us are rich with stone — we mine them. The fields at our borders lie untended — we sow them. We expand our farms, dig our quarries, build our own forges. We stop begging the world for scraps and make our Hollow strong enough to stand on its own."
The council rippled with murmurs. Some leaned back, skeptical. Others leaned forward, hungry for the thought.
Rogan crossed his arms, his face carved with grief but also intensity. "It would be grueling work. Mines don't dig themselves, fields don't sprout overnight. It would demand every able hand."
"Then let it demand us," Kael replied firmly. "Better that than starving under the weight of merchants' fear. Better that than waiting for the world to decide whether we live or die."
Lyria, seated across the fire, tilted her head. Her voice was softer, but clear. "If we grow self-sufficient, we weaken the grip others hold on us. No more depending on whether dwarves gouge us with prices. No more wondering whether ports close or open. It would not be easy, but…" She gave Kael the faintest of nods. "It would be ours."
Thalos frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. "Our Hollow was built quickly, for defense and survival. Expanding into farmland, building mines… it stretches our people. They are weary after war. Do we ask more of them now?"
Fenrik's tone was pragmatic, if cold. "If we do not, we die. Slowly. The Hollow cannot live on half-empty caravans. Kael's plan is not just wise — it may be the only way."
The council fell silent again, caught between fear and necessity. They all knew the truth: their reliance on outside trade had made them vulnerable. Kael's words cut to the bone because they were not a dream — they were survival.
Kael looked around the table one last time. His voice dropped low, filled with the iron certainty of someone who had seen too much loss.
"We've faced armies at our gates. We've buried our dead. We've seen what happens when we rely on the mercy of others. I will not let Druaka's sacrifice, or the blood we've spilled, be wasted because we were too afraid to dig, too afraid to sow, too afraid to build. The Hollow will not be a beggar's camp. It will be a home. A stronghold. A people who stand on their own."
The fire crackled. For a moment, none spoke.
Then Elyra — one of the quieter councilors — leaned forward, her voice trembling but resolute. "I lost my husband in the battle, but my sons are still here. If Kael says we must build fields, then my sons will dig. If he says we must cut stone, then they will take up pick and hammer. I would rather see their hands blistered from work than see their stomachs hollow from hunger."
Others nodded. Slowly, murmurs turned to voices, and voices to agreement.
At last, Thalos exhaled, long and reluctant, but with a flicker of respect. "Very well. We will begin the work. The Hollow will mine its own stone and grow its own grain. We will endure, not because the world allows us to — but because we choose to."
Kael sat again, but the weight in his chest eased for the first time in days. He knew the work ahead would be brutal. He knew it would test every hand in the Hollow. But it was the first step toward something greater — a future not shackled to fear, but forged by their own will.
And in the firelight, Kael thought of Druaka, of the strength she had always shown. He hoped, quietly, that she would have been proud of this choice.