Chapter 136 – A Season of Balance
The Hollow had not felt so quiet, nor so alive, in months.
Morning came with the rhythm of hammers on stone and laughter in the square rather than the wails of the wounded or shouts of disputes. Smoke curled from the forges, mingling with the scent of fresh bread from the communal ovens. In the healer's hall, voices were softer now—less groaning, more conversation, a sign that their burden had eased.
Kael walked through it all, Umbra at his side, and he could feel it in his bones. Peace. Not the brittle kind before battle, but something sturdier, something earned.
He saw Hollow-born youths apprenticing under nomad weavers, their nimble fingers learning knots and patterns they'd never used before. In turn, beastkin children chased Hollow dogs through the mud, shrieking with laughter while their parents shook their heads with mock exasperation.
At the training yard, Rogan's drills thundered on, yet the line of recruits didn't break, their bodies stronger now, their eyes burning with resolve. Even Fenrik, once hostile to the idea of outsiders in uniform, watched with folded arms and only the faintest of scowls.
Kael allowed himself the smallest smile. They are no longer merely surviving. They are becoming something more.
The council chamber smelled of ink and parchment as Saekaros carefully unfolded a tally sheet. His voice was rough but steady.
"I have taken count, as we agreed," he said, his lizardkin eyes sweeping across the table. "There are two hundred able-bodied among us, men and women both, who can lift a tool or weapon. Twenty-five of our elders, who give counsel and tend to the children. And twenty-five little ones, from babes to near-grown."
A murmur went through the council.
"Two hundred able hands," Thalos said, leaning forward. "More than I'd dreamed when we started this. Not soldiers, not yet, but builders, miners, farmers."
"Fighters, when they must be," Rogan added gruffly.
"Do not forget the elders," Saekaros said gently. "Their hands may be weak, but their wisdom keeps us from folly."
Fenrik drummed his fingers on the table. "And the children? Too many mouths, too few contributors."
Kael cut him a sharp look. "They are the future of the Hollow. Every bite of bread they take is an investment. We don't measure their worth in labor. Not yet."
Silence followed. Even Fenrik dipped his head.
Lyria, seated at Kael's side, broke it. "The Hollow has never been more balanced. For the first time in too long, we have more laughter than wailing. That is no small thing."
Kael leaned back, crossing his arms. "Then let us not grow complacent. This peace is precious, but fragile. We'll keep preparing, keep working—but for now… let's take this moment to breathe."
And for once, the council agreed without argument.
That evening, as dusk painted the sky in hues of violet and gold, Kael and Lyria walked the edge of the fields. Farmers were packing away tools, children still darted through the rows, and the air smelled of freshly turned soil.
"It almost feels like another life," Lyria said softly, brushing her hair back from her face. "When I think of where we were months ago, I would never have believed this was possible."
Kael's gaze lingered on the workers, their voices carrying with easy warmth. "I thought I would bury us in grief," he admitted. "When Druaka fell, I thought the Hollow would crack with me. Yet here we are, steadier than before."
"You steadied them," Lyria said, her tone firm. "You steadied me. Even when you were breaking, you carried us."
Kael shook his head. "Not alone. You've carried me as much as I've carried anyone. I don't know if I could have risen from the ashes without you."
They stopped by the water's edge, the river catching the last light of the sun. Kael turned toward her, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes I wonder if I've earned this peace. If it's just waiting to be torn from us again."
Lyria stepped closer, her hand brushing against his. "Peace isn't earned, Kael. It's made. Day by day, through choices like this. Through holding on to each other when the world wants to pull us apart."
Their eyes met, and something in Kael broke loose. The tension that had lingered in him, coiled like a spring since Druaka's death, loosened under her gaze. He cupped her cheek, rough fingers tracing the smooth line of her jaw.
"I don't want to be your leader tonight," he whispered. "Not your protector. Just your man."
Her lips curved into a soft, trembling smile. "Then be mine, Kael. Just mine."
The sparks between them caught fire as he pulled her close, their kiss fierce and tender all at once. The world—the river, the fields, the Hollow itself—seemed to fall away until there was only the two of them, pressing together not out of desperation, but out of relief, out of the fragile joy of finding warmth after so much cold.
After being together a few times now they knew what the other enjoyed, the sensitive and most pleasurable areas of the others body. As they enjoyed the other's pleasure and physical touch, their minds began to go blank and their bodies couldn't help but feel Joy. Their faces contorted into smiles and faces of pure and simple exstasy, their minds and bodies focused solely on pleasures intend for the other. As they moved around into different positions, their bodies became accustomed to the rigorous activity, lasting late into the night.
When they finally parted, breathless, Kael rested his forehead against hers. "Maybe we've bounced back, after all," he murmured.
"Not bounced," Lyria corrected gently, her thumb brushing his lips. "We've rebuilt. Stronger. Together."
And for the first time in too long, Kael allowed himself to believe her.