Chapter 122 – Whispers in Stone
The cavern breathed around him.
Kael's hand hovered over the surface of the massive doors, his fingers tracing the grooves of symbols older than any script he knew. The stone was colder than it should have been, colder than the surrounding air. Beneath that chill pulsed something else—like a vein beneath the skin, carrying not blood but power.
He pressed his palm against the surface.
A rush hit him. Not a voice, not words, but sensation: weight, depth, shadow. As if the door did not stand before him, but stretched endlessly behind itself into worlds unseen. His chaos magic rippled, instinctively recoiling as though it brushed against a rival current.
Umbra snarled low in his throat, hackles rising.
"I feel it too," Kael murmured, voice rough. He let his hand fall away. "It's waiting."
But the Hollow could not wait.
He summoned his chaos soldiers into the cavern—spectral figures of shadow and flickering light, shaped like warriors but bound to his will. They moved without hesitation, their ethereal picks and tools striking against the cavern walls with rhythmic force.
The miners had already scraped away much of the outer rock, exposing rich veins of iron and copper. But under Kael's command, the soldiers dug deeper, faster. Their picks passed through stone like it was clay, breaking through layers that would have taken mortal hands weeks to clear.
Hours passed in that endless grind, Kael's mind balancing between the work and the presence of the doors behind him. Sweat slicked his skin despite the cavern's chill, his chaos magic burning hot in his veins as he kept his soldiers manifest.
Then came the light.
A strike from one of the spectral picks sent a sharp flash through the cavern wall, not like sparks of iron but a soft, unnatural glow. Kael's eyes snapped to it immediately.
"Stop," he commanded. The soldiers froze.
He stepped forward and brushed away loose stone with his own hands. The glow deepened, shimmering with hues of blue and violet that seemed to swirl inside the rock. His chest tightened.
"Magistone…"
The word slipped out like a prayer.
It was rare beyond measure. Whole kingdoms waged wars for even fist-sized fragments of it. Here, before him, stretched a vein wide enough to rival the Hollow's entire stockpile of metals. The stone pulsed with latent power, humming beneath his touch.
Weapons forged from it could cut through enchanted steel. Armor crafted of it could withstand dragonfire. And in the hands of a chaos wielder… the possibilities clawed at Kael's imagination.
He stood between two choices, both impossibly heavy.
The magistone, waiting to be mined, offered wealth and strength enough to transform the Hollow into something unassailable. His people would never fear again, not kings nor armies nor dragons.
But the doors—those ancient, patient doors—whispered with a different promise. Their hum resonated with the magistone, as though the vein itself had grown around them, protecting them, binding them. What if the two were connected? What if the stone was not merely treasure, but a key?
Kael paced before the sealed threshold, his hand running through his dark hair.
"Magistone can arm an army… or tempt it to ruin," he muttered. "And these doors… if they hold what I think they do…"
He thought of Druaka, her blood on his hands. Of the villagers who still watched him with wary eyes. Of the power he had taken in dragon form, and the fear it had left behind.
What kind of leader would open a door he did not understand?
What kind of coward would turn away without ever knowing?
Kael stepped closer.
His palm pressed flat against the center of the doors once more. The runes flared faintly in response, as if recognizing him, testing him. He let his chaos magic surge into the stone, feeling for any purchase, any weakness. The cavern dimmed as his shadow flared, casting long, writhing lines of darkness across the walls.
Umbra barked sharply, pacing at his side. The wolf's unease only spurred Kael further.
The doors shuddered beneath his push. Not much—just the faintest tremor, like a heartbeat beneath ancient ribs. Dust cascaded from the arch above, and the runes brightened, faintly pulsing.
Kael gritted his teeth, muscles straining, chaos roaring from his chest into the stone.
"Show me," he growled, every word vibrating with power. "Show me what you're hiding."
The air thickened, heavy with the scent of ozone. For a breath, Kael swore he heard something—a sound beyond the grinding stone. A whisper. A promise.
And the doors… began to move.