Chapter 134 – Threads of a New Tapestry
The Hollow was never truly silent anymore.
Even in the earliest hours, the sound of hammers striking iron rang from the forges, or the chatter of guards circled the walls. But with the nomads now within its borders, the rhythm had shifted. The old longhouses bustled with new voices, strange accents mixing with familiar tones. Children ran barefoot over cobbles they'd never known, and weary travelers found their first nights of undisturbed sleep in years.
And yet, with new life came new friction.
Kael spent his morning in the mines, his hands blistered and his muscles aching from swinging a pick alongside the other workers. Chaos soldiers dug ceaselessly at his command, revealing veins of silver and iron, yet Kael insisted on sweating beside them. It kept him grounded—reminded him he was more than a symbol, more than a monster cloaked in scales and shadow.
By midday, his boots were caked in dust, his throat dry as parchment. He left the mines and walked the path toward the fields where the new arrivals were helping to tend crops. Smoke curled from the cookfires where soup simmered, the scent of onion and meat thick in the air.
But the calm was shattered.
Two men stood in the field, voices raised. One was a Hollow-born farmer, stout and red-faced, gripping a wooden hoe like a weapon. The other was a nomad, his frame lean from hunger, his scales a dull green where his lizardkin blood showed. They shouted over one another, drawing the attention of workers nearby.
Kael's brow furrowed, and he strode forward.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the argument like a blade. Both men froze as Kael stopped between them, arms folded across his chest.
"Tell me what this is about."
The farmer jabbed his hoe toward the lizardkin. "He tore up half a row of seedlings! Do you know how long it takes to get these to root? We'll be set back weeks!"
The lizardkin hissed softly, his voice sharp but not without pain. "Your tools are foreign to me. In my clan, we bury seed deeper, in mounds. He mocks my way, says it is wrong!"
Kael's gaze swept over the rows. Indeed, one patch had been overturned, the seed planted too deep to sprout properly. The farmer was right. But the nomad's words held truth too. Different lands birthed different methods.
He crouched, running a handful of soil between his fingers. Then he stood, his voice calm but ironclad.
"You both care for the same thing. Food in the ground. Food for the Hollow." His eyes narrowed. "But you waste energy shouting instead of learning. That ends now."
The farmer's face reddened, but he held his tongue. The lizardkin lowered his gaze, shame flickering in his eyes.
Kael pointed at the ruined row. "This will be replanted. Together. The farmer will show you how it is done here, and you will teach him the ways of your clan. If one method fails, the other may save us. The Hollow does not choose one way. It survives by every way that works."
Silence fell, heavy but not hostile. The farmer shifted uneasily, then gave a stiff nod. The lizardkin mirrored it, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
Kael stepped back. "Good. Now do it."
As the two bent to work, Kael turned to leave—and found Saekaros watching from the edge of the field. The old lizardkin leaned on his staff, his eyes glinting with quiet approval.
Later, as the sun dipped low, Kael found himself walking beside Saekaros through the streets of the Hollow. The air smelled of bread baking, the chatter of children echoing between homes. For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
"You have a gift," Saekaros said, his voice rasping with age but steady.
Kael arched a brow. "A gift?"
"For mending threads before they unravel. You could have punished either man, or ignored them both. Instead, you found a way to tie their anger into something useful." The elder smiled faintly. "That is leadership."
Kael gave a low hum. "I don't always feel like a leader. Sometimes I feel like I'm… guessing. Trying to keep the pieces from breaking."
Saekaros chuckled, the sound dry. "That is all any leader does, boy. The difference is whether the people believe in your guess."
They walked in silence a while longer before Kael asked, "Why did you bring them here, Saekaros? Truly. Books and words are precious, but leading a caravan of starving souls into the unknown… it's more than duty."
The elder's gaze drifted to the sky, painted in streaks of gold and crimson. "Because once, I chose love over survival. I fell for Seraya, a beastkin. Humans called me defiler. My clan called me traitor. So we fled. For years we ran, hunted, jeered at, turned from gates. And along the road, others joined us. Not because I sought to lead them—but because they had nowhere else to go."
He sighed, shoulders sagging under invisible weight. "I did not bring them to you to save myself. I brought them here because I could not let them die. And because… in you, I see the same choice. Love over survival. A risk no man takes unless he believes in something greater than fear."
Kael was quiet for a long moment. The Hollow bustled around them, life weaving itself together in countless threads.
Finally, he spoke. "If we are to survive, it won't be because of me alone. It will be because of all of us. Your people, mine—no longer separate."
Saekaros smiled, lines deepening around his eyes. "Then we see eye to eye."
They stopped near the council hall, the lanterns flickering in the gathering dusk. Kael extended his hand, and Saekaros clasped it with a firm grip.
For the first time since the nomads arrived, the Hollow felt less like a fortress and more like a home.