Chapter 149 – Shadows at the Gate
The Hollow's walls rose like a promise in the morning mist.
The strike team limped back through the gates, their armor bloodied, blades dulled from the Vale of Ash. They carried no prisoners, no trophies, only exhaustion and the haunted weight of what had almost been unleashed. The townsfolk gathered quickly, whispers rippling as Kael led the battered company to the council hall.
The great chamber buzzed with tension the moment they entered. Saekaros stood with arms crossed, golden eyes glinting beneath his hood. Rogan leaned against the wall, arms folded, while Varik paced like a caged wolf. The other councilors sat forward in their seats, expressions tight.
Kael didn't wait for ceremony.
"The ritual was broken," he began, voice low but firm. "The nomads are scattered. Their leaders are dead or fled. The monolith they were using lies in ruins. For now—" his gaze swept the council "—the Daemon Lord sleeps."
A murmur of relief swept the table, though it was jagged, uneasy.
Thalos set down his hammer with a heavy clunk. "We smashed through them, aye, but not without cost. They were fanatics. Every man, woman, and child ready to bleed themselves dry to rouse that thing. It wasn't a warband—it was a cult."
Fenrik's jaw tightened. "Which means there will be others. Zealots don't scatter and vanish; they crawl back, rebuild, whisper in shadows until the fire catches again."
"Then we'll be ready," Rogan growled, voice harsh. His eyes flicked to Kael. "We've beaten them once. We'll beat them again."
Kael inclined his head but said nothing. His silence hung heavy.
Saekaros broke it, voice calm but weighted. "This cannot be treated lightly. What was begun in the Vale was not the work of desperate nomads. It was guided. Fed. Someone—or something—gave them the knowledge to breach those seals. The world does not remember how to wake such things. Not anymore."
A chill rippled through the room.
Lyria leaned forward. "Then we must assume another hand is at work. A kingdom, perhaps. A mage cabal. Whoever they are, they'll try again."
The council erupted into debate—some urging preemptive strikes, others demanding stronger walls and tighter watches. Voices rose, clashing like blades.
Through it all, Kael sat silent, his face unreadable. He offered no hint of the shadowed words that still clawed at the back of his mind: dragonoid, bloodline, destiny. Not yet.
Finally, when the shouting grew too heated, Kael's voice cut through it like a blade.
"We focus on strength. More soldiers. More watchtowers. Our people must be ready, no matter where the next threat comes from. The Hollow has survived every trial because we faced them head-on. This will be no different."
The council settled, some nodding grimly, others still uneasy. But none could deny the steel in Kael's words.
The meeting adjourned soon after, heavy but resolved.
That night, the Hollow was quiet. Lantern light glowed warm against timber walls, the hum of voices fading as families retreated to rest. Kael sat alone on the balcony of his home, the night air cold against his skin.
He hadn't moved since returning. His hands still remembered the chill of the monolith. His ears still carried the echo of that voice.
"Brooding doesn't suit you," Lyria's voice came softly from behind.
Kael didn't turn. "I wasn't brooding."
"You were staring at the sky so long I thought you'd try to wrestle the stars." She came to stand beside him, the night breeze tugging at her pale hair. Her eyes searched his. "You're hiding something."
Kael exhaled slowly. The words pressed at his throat like thorns. Finally, he spoke.
"When I touched the monolith… something answered."
Lyria stilled. "…The Daemon Lord."
Kael nodded. "He spoke to me. Not in riddles or madness. He knew me. Knew what I am." His voice roughened. "Dragon and demon. He called me dragonoid. Said I carry ruin in my blood."
Lyria's hand found his arm, grounding him. "Kael…"
"He said I have a role to play. That my rage, my grief, my very blood belongs to some design I can't escape. That when he wakes, the world will tremble… and I'll stand at the center of it."
Silence stretched. The night pressed close, broken only by the wind through the trees.
At last, Lyria whispered, fierce and steady. "He lies."
Kael turned, eyes searching hers.
She stepped closer, her hand against his chest, where his heart hammered like a drum. "You are not your father's corruption, nor your mother's fire. You are Kael. The man who built a home for those with none. Who fights not for prophecy, but for people. That is the truth. The only truth."
For a moment, Kael wanted to believe her. Truly, wholly believe her. But the Daemon Lord's words still burned.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. "I want to believe that."
"Then start," she said softly. "Believe it in me, if not in yourself."
Kael let the silence hold them, the warmth of her presence battling the chill that lingered from the Vale.
But in the depths of his mind, the Daemon Lord's laughter still lingered.