Chapter 142 – Steel Beneath the Peace
The Hollow thrummed with life.
Children raced through the streets, laughing as they carried baskets of herbs and small tools for their parents. Farmers' hands were stained green with soil, their fields lush and promising after weeks of tireless work. From the forges came the steady ring of hammer against anvil, and the scent of hot iron mixed with roasting bread on the wind.
Kael stood atop the newly raised watchtower and let his eyes sweep across it all. The walls stood firm, the crops stretched in neat rows, and smoke rose from chimneys where families cooked meals in peace. It was not a perfect world—he knew peace never lasted—but for the first time in what felt like years, the Hollow felt more like a home than a fortress.
Behind him, heavy footsteps crunched against the wooden planks. Fenrik's voice cut through the still air.
"You're watching like a hawk again. You ever going to just enjoy the quiet, Kael?"
Kael gave a faint smile without turning. "The quiet is when you prepare for the storm, Fenrik."
"That's exactly why I came." Fenrik folded his arms. "We've been talking. You train your soldiers, your shadows, and your magic. But when's the last time you trained with us?"
Kael turned slightly, catching Fenrik's grin. Behind him stood Thalos, Rogan, and Varik—and Lyria, arms crossed with a sly smile tugging her lips.
"You've been avoiding us," Lyria teased, her eyes flashing. "You've got plenty of excuses: council, fields, mines. But we all know the truth—you don't want to get thrown on your back in front of the Hollow."
Kael snorted softly. "Thrown on my back? By you?"
"By any of us," Rogan said, his red hair catching the light like fire. He rested his massive axe against his shoulder, smirking. "It's about time you proved the dragon isn't just for show."
Varik, calm as always, gave a small nod. "Strength is needed, Kael. Not just to inspire. To reassure." His sharp blue eyes studied Kael closely. "If we can push you, even a little, then we'll be stronger for it. And so will you."
Thalos rumbled his agreement, folding his thick arms. "We can't grow soft. Not now. Not ever."
Kael looked at them all—his councilors, his comrades, his family in all but blood. He saw the challenge in their eyes, but also the trust. The Hollow thrived because of all of them. If they wanted this, then he would not refuse.
"Fine," Kael said, his voice low but firm. "If you want a spar, you'll get one."
The training yard filled quickly. Word spread through the Hollow that their leader would spar with his closest allies, and by the time Kael stepped onto the packed earth, a ring of people had gathered, eager whispers carrying through the crowd. Children sat on the fences, wide-eyed, while farmers leaned on tools and smiths wiped sweat and soot from their brows.
Lyria stood at the far end of the yard, rolling her shoulders as her glaive spun through her hands like an extension of her body. "Don't hold back just because it's me, Kael."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Kael replied.
Fenrik stepped forward first, cracking his knuckles. His stance was loose, relaxed—but Kael knew the dwarf's speed and power hid behind that casual grin.
"First round's mine," Fenrik called, circling Kael. "Let's see if the great dragon remembers how to use his fists."
The crowd roared its approval.
The fight began with a blur of motion. Fenrik darted in low, fists swinging with a speed that belied his stout frame. Kael deflected the first blow with his forearm, countered with a sharp kick, only for Fenrik to twist and strike again.
The crowd cheered as the two exchanged blows, neither giving ground. Kael moved like water, each strike measured and precise, while Fenrik was fire, fierce and unrelenting. Sweat beaded on Kael's brow as the beastkin forced him to stay sharp, never letting him rely on brute strength alone.
Finally, Kael swept Fenrik's legs out from under him and pinned him to the ground with a hand on his chest.
"Yield?" Kael asked.
Fenrik grinned despite the dust on his face. "Not bad, boy. But don't think it'll be that easy with the others."
Thalos was next.
The ogre's sheer size made the ground tremble as he stepped forward, arms like tree trunks. He carried no weapon, only his fists. "Come, Kael," he rumbled. "Show me the dragon's strength."
The spar was brutal. Thalos swung with the force of a falling boulder, his blows rattling Kael's bones even when blocked. Kael dodged, weaving around the giant, striking at weak points—but Thalos absorbed each hit with a growl.
The fight dragged on, sweat pouring from both men. Finally, Kael tapped into his chaos magic, letting a flicker of power strengthen his arm as he struck Thalos square in the chest. The ogre staggered, dropped to one knee, and let out a booming laugh.
"Well struck! You've grown stronger, Kael."
The crowd roared again, the sound echoing off the Hollow's walls.
Rogan was next, stepping into the ring with his axe slung across his shoulders. He twirled it with casual ease, smirking at Kael. "No magic this time. Just you, me, and steel."
Kael conjured his own blade of chaos-forged steel, its black surface shimmering with a faint red glow. The two circled, weapons gleaming under the sun.
The clash of steel rang out as their blades met, sparks flying. Rogan fought like a storm, wild but calculated, his strikes heavy enough to split shields. Kael answered with precision, his chaos blade cutting arcs of black and red through the air.
They fought until both weapons locked together, their eyes meeting. Rogan grinned. "Not bad, brother. Not bad at all."
They broke apart, sweat-soaked and grinning despite themselves.
Finally, Lyria stepped forward.
The crowd hushed as she spun her glaive, its blade catching the light. Her golden eyes locked onto Kael's, fierce and unyielding.
"You've fought everyone else," she said softly. "Now fight me."
The spar was different. Where the others pressed him with brute force, Lyria pressed him with grace and cunning. She danced across the yard, her glaive striking in elegant arcs that forced Kael to stay light on his feet. Every move carried a challenge, every glance a spark of their shared bond.
Their fight drew gasps from the crowd, each clash a dance of steel and fire. At last, Kael caught her weapon with his chaos blade and swept her off balance, pulling her close before she hit the ground.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world fell away.
"Yield?" Kael whispered.
Lyria smirked, breathless. "Never."
The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers as Kael helped her back to her feet, both of them smiling.
When the sparring was done, the six of them stood together in the yard, sweat-soaked, bruised, but grinning. The people cheered, voices rising in a chant of unity.
Kael looked at his companions—Fenrik with his bruised knuckles, Thalos still grinning despite a sore chest, Rogan leaning on his axe with pride, Varik watching silently but approvingly, and Lyria with fire still in her eyes.
In that moment, Kael felt it—the Hollow was not just surviving. It was strong.
And so long as they stood together, no storm could break them.