Chapter 125 – Weight of Hands, Weight of Hearts
The Hollow was alive with the sound of spring. Iron rang in the mines, hammers striking stone, picks biting into earth. In the distance, the fields whispered with the movement of men and women tilling rows, children chasing after beasts of burden, and merchants measuring sacks of seed. The war and chaos had scarred them all, but spring demanded work, and the Hollow answered.
Kael stood in the southern fields at dawn, sweat already streaking down his forehead. His chaos soldiers—black silhouettes shaped from his will—moved with quiet precision, carrying water, pulling plows, lifting stones. They didn't complain, didn't tire, didn't bleed. And yet, Kael still worked beside them, hands wrapped around a wooden hoe, his boots sunk deep into the soil.
"Never thought I'd see our king with dirt under his nails," an old farmer joked, wiping sweat from his brow.
Kael gave a wry smile. "A field doesn't care who leads it. It grows only when you work it."
That earned a round of laughter, tired but true, and the Hollow's farmers worked with a little more energy.
By midday, Kael had left the fields for the mines. The air underground was heavy with dust, lit only by lanterns and the faint glow of veins in the rock. His chaos soldiers carried rubble to the surface while real miners chipped at stone with practiced rhythm. Kael lent his strength to lifting beams into place, his magic reinforcing the ceiling where cracks threatened to open.
Sweat soaked his tunic, and his muscles burned with the honest fatigue of shared labor. Yet there was something grounding in the weight of it.
"Careful, your majesty," one miner muttered as Kael shifted a heavy boulder into place. "You'll work yourself harder than any of us."
Kael grunted, half smiling. "Then you'd best keep up."
It drew a few chuckles, even from the most weary.
But when Kael's hands brushed the silver-veined wall, and the faint shimmer of magistone pulsed beneath the rock, the laughter faded. All eyes turned to him, and for a heartbeat, even Kael felt the weight of possibility in the stone. He said nothing, only nodded, and went back to work.
By evening, the Hollow's labor had slowed, workers returning to their homes with calloused hands and aching backs. Kael dismissed his chaos soldiers with a thought, their forms dissolving into shadow. Alone now, he walked the winding paths back toward the new palace.
Lyria waited for him at the steps, her hair catching the last rays of the setting sun. She smiled, faint but warm.
"You've been gone all day," she said, slipping her hand into his. "I was starting to think the mines had swallowed you whole."
Kael exhaled a tired laugh. "They nearly did. But the people needed me."
"And now," she said softly, tugging him toward the gardens, "you're mine."
They walked together beneath lanterns hung from branches, their light swaying gently in the night air. The Hollow was quieter here, the sounds of hammers and picks replaced by crickets and distant laughter.
Lyria stopped near the fountain, where the water caught the moonlight like silver. She turned to him, her expression softer than the steel she wore before the council.
"You give so much of yourself to them, Kael. Every day you carry their burdens. But when do you rest? When do you allow yourself to be… just you?"
Kael looked away, the weight of her words settling heavy in his chest. "I don't know if I can afford to be just me anymore. Every choice I make is for them. For us. Even the chaos inside me—if I lose control again…"
Lyria silenced him with a touch to his cheek. "You're not alone. You don't have to be. Let me share that weight, even if just for tonight."
Kael swallowed hard, his exhaustion melting under the warmth of her gaze. He leaned into her touch, and for the first time in days, allowed himself to breathe without fear of what tomorrow demanded.
They sat together on the fountain's edge, speaking of smaller things—the way the crops sprouted faster this year, the way the children played in the shadows of the watchtowers, the way spring made the air taste alive again. Their laughter was quiet, but real.
When silence came, it was not heavy but comforting. Kael's arm slipped around her shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest. The grief of Druaka lingered between them, a scar not yet healed, but tonight it was not sharp. It was softer, tempered by the presence of the one who remained.
For the first time since Druaka's death, Kael closed his eyes and let himself feel peace.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges—council debates, mines, crops, perhaps even war again. But tonight belonged to them.
And for Kael, that was enough.