Chapter 132 – The Gate of Choice
The gates of the Hollow stood tall and fortified, dark wood reinforced with iron and stone. Spring had just tipped into summer, and the air carried warmth with a hint of damp earth. The watchtowers were manned, archers alert, while patrols lined the wall in quiet anticipation. Word had spread quickly—the nomads had arrived.
Kael stood before the gates, clad not in armor but in his plain tunic and cloak. He wanted no image of intimidation, though his presence was enough to silence the gathered crowd behind him. His chaos soldiers stood off to the side, still and watchful, though even they radiated unease.
Beyond the gates, dust swirled as the caravan approached.
They came in waves: women guiding weary children, men burdened with packs, wagons drawn by skeletal oxen. The sound of shuffling feet, of tired murmurs, drifted into the Hollow. And at their head walked a figure unlike the others—an old lizardkin, his scales dulled with age, his frame cloaked in a worn but dignified robe. His eyes, a pale gold, burned with quiet conviction.
When the caravan halted, he stepped forward. The silence stretched until Kael himself walked out past the gates, meeting the lizardkin in the open clearing between the Hollow and the plains.
They faced one another, leaders of two very different peoples, but in that moment equals.
"I am Kael of the Hollow," Kael said, his voice steady, carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Who are you, and why have you come to my gates?"
The lizardkin bowed his head, the gesture respectful but not servile. "My name is Saekaros," he said, his voice gravelly yet strong. "Once I was a wanderer. Now I am a guide to these souls who follow me. We seek refuge, and we seek you."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Me?"
Saekaros's golden eyes did not waver. "Word has spread across the lands of a place where the cast out, the hunted, the broken may yet find a home. Word of a demon boy who stood against kings and armies to protect his own. I did not believe such stories until I walked this far and saw your walls with my own eyes."
Kael said nothing, waiting.
Saekaros drew a slow breath, then began his tale.
"I was born far south, in a kingdom where lizardkin are permitted to live so long as we bow, serve, and never dream of more. It was there I met her—a beastkin woman with eyes like the night sky, wild and unbroken. I loved her. She loved me. And in time, we had a child." His voice cracked faintly, though his bearing remained unbroken. "The humans called it abomination. The elves called it blasphemy. Even some of our own spat upon us. They came for us in the night. My beloved fell. I took my child and ran."
The murmurs from both the Hollow's citizens and his caravan filled the air, a soft rustle of sorrow. Kael's chest tightened, memories of Druaka and his own grief pressing faintly against him.
Saekaros continued, his voice stronger now. "Along my road, I found others—an elf who fled her house for refusing a forced union, a beastkin whose human master sought to brand his very soul, children born of bloodlines both blessed and cursed. Each saw in me a man who would not bend, and each chose to walk beside me. I did not seek to lead. But when I looked back, I saw a caravan where once there had been only my footprints."
His gaze sharpened, fierce and proud even through the weight of years. "Now we stand before you. Not as conquerors. Not as beggars. As those who wish to belong."
The clearing was silent but for the wind in the grass.
Kael stepped closer, his voice clear, heavy with authority. "What I have built here is not charity. The Hollow is no place for those who wish to hide while others bleed and toil. Every soul within our walls works. They earn their place, side by side, no matter their blood, their past, or their scars. That is our law."
He let the weight of the words linger before finishing. "If you will work, then perhaps there is a place for you here. If not—turn back now."
Saekaros bowed his head again, more deeply this time, though there was pride in the gesture. "We ask for nothing we do not earn. We have carried burdens heavier than stone and sharper than steel. We will work, if work is what you demand."
He motioned, and two youths stepped forward, carrying a heavy chest between them. With careful reverence, they set it down at Kael's feet. Saekaros gestured to it.
"These are the books we carried, when food was scarce and danger near. Histories, sciences, crafts, maps… the knowledge of countless lives. We offer them to you, as a token of gratitude—and as a promise. If the Hollow is to be our home, then let it also be a place where such knowledge can grow, not rot."
Kael crouched, placing a hand on the chest's worn surface. His eyes met Saekaros's again, a silent exchange of intent.
Behind him, the council whispered among themselves. Fear. Curiosity. Uncertainty. But Kael raised his hand, silencing them without looking.
Finally, Kael straightened. His voice carried not just to Saekaros, but to every soul present.
"Then hear me, all of you. The Hollow is no kingdom, no empire. It is a home. If you will work, if you will fight, if you will give of yourselves to see it grow—then you may stay. But if you seek to take without giving, if you betray what we build here, you will be cast out. Do you understand me?"
A murmur rose from the caravan. A word carried across it like a tide:
"Yes."
Saekaros bowed once more, deeper than before, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. "Then we are yours to command, Kael of the Hollow."
Kael nodded once, sharp and resolute. "Then welcome home."