Chapter 145 – Shadows on the Horizon
The Hollow woke with the scent of fresh bread, the ringing of hammers, and the chatter of farmers headed for their fields. It was a morning that felt normal, a rare treasure after seasons of turmoil. Kael walked through the bustling square with a calm expression, nodding to villagers who waved as they hauled baskets of grain or led animals to pasture.
Yet beneath that calm, he felt the tug of unease. Peace never lasted long in his world.
The council chamber filled slowly, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. The carved table — once new, now worn smooth by countless meetings — had become the heart of the Hollow's decision-making. Lyria sat near Kael, her gaze sharp, while Fenrik leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Rogan and Varik entered together, their heavy steps echoing, and Thalos followed, ducking beneath the doorway. Saekaros was last, carrying a bundle of scrolls under his arm.
The meeting began with good news. Reports of the mines, forges, and new herb caverns showed prosperity. Injuries were few, and the blending of nomad knowledge had cut down on illnesses. Food stores were strong.
But then Varik's expression darkened as he placed a small map on the table.
"We've had scouts report unusual movements beyond the eastern woods," he said. His voice carried its usual sharp edge, but underneath was something heavier. "Patrols sighted smoke where no village should be. And tracks—hundreds of them—leading south."
The council leaned in.
"Bandits?" Fenrik asked.
Varik shook his head. "Too organized. They're moving in lines, not scattering. And the smoke—controlled burns, not raids."
Saekaros unfurled one of his scrolls, his claw tapping an inked symbol. "I have read accounts of this before. Nomad clans forced from their homes often regroup, banding together into war-hosts. Sometimes they come as beggars. Sometimes…" He looked around the table, eyes grave. "…they come as conquerors."
The words sat heavy in the air.
Kael leaned forward, his hand resting on the map. "How close?"
"Days, at most," Varik replied. "Their direction is unclear, but if they march south, they'll cross near us."
Silence fell. The Hollow had seen battles, armies, kingdoms — but the thought of a roaming host of desperate, hardened nomads stirred unease even in Kael's chest.
"We can't afford another war," Rogan rumbled, breaking the quiet. "Our people are still healing."
"And we cannot afford to be naïve," Thalos countered, slamming his fist on the table. "If they come armed, they come as enemies. We strike first."
Fenrik shook his head, his tone measured. "Striking first could drive us into another full-scale conflict. But waiting and doing nothing could be worse."
Saekaros adjusted his scrolls. "The truth is, none of us yet know their intent. If they are merely seeking new lands, we could gain allies. If not…" He trailed off.
Lyria's eyes moved to Kael. "What do you think?"
All eyes followed. Kael stared at the map, the silence stretching. He remembered the fear in his people's eyes the night he had become the dragon, the cries when Druaka had fallen, the blood staining the Hollow's gates. He had promised himself that no matter what came, he would protect them — but protection now required more than strength. It required careful choices.
Finally, Kael spoke. His voice was low, deliberate. "We prepare as if they are a threat. But we will not move first. If they approach in peace, we meet them in peace. If they approach in war, then they will learn the strength of this Hollow."
Thalos opened his mouth, but Kael raised a hand, silencing him. "I know what you'll say. That hesitation costs lives. But striking first costs something greater — the soul of what we've built. We cannot claim to be different from the kingdoms we despise if we meet every stranger with steel."
The chamber stilled.
Saekaros nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth curving. "Wisdom, spoken plainly."
"But," Kael added, his gaze hardening, "we will not be caught off guard again. Double the watch at the gates. Strengthen the palisades. Ready the forges. And Varik—" He looked at the sly ogre. "—I want eyes on them every hour until they reveal themselves."
Varik smirked faintly. "Consider it done."
The council agreed, though unease lingered.
As the meeting adjourned, Kael stepped outside into the sunlit square. Children chased each other through the streets, their laughter bright, their world oblivious to what might soon arrive at their gates. Lyria came to his side, her arm brushing against his.
"You gave them hope," she said softly.
"I gave them orders," Kael replied.
"You gave them both," she countered. Then, after a pause: "Do you believe what you said? That we can choose peace if it's offered?"
Kael exhaled slowly, watching the villagers bustle about. "I want to believe it. But the world doesn't often give us what we want."
Her hand slipped into his, grounding him. "Then we'll make the world give it to us."
For a moment, Kael let himself believe it could be true. But in the back of his mind, the shadow of marching feet and rising smoke whispered that the Hollow's greatest trial was yet to come.