Chapter 155 – The Weight of Survival
Kael woke to the smell of herbs and smoke.
The familiar canvas of the healer's tent sagged above him, shadows cast by lanternlight flickering across its folds. His chest ached, his hands throbbed, and his body screamed as though every nerve had been branded. He tried to move, but the effort brought nothing but a groan.
"You're awake."
The voice was soft, tired, and warm.
Lyria.
She sat on a stool beside his cot, hair undone and falling in loose strands across her face. Her hand rested on his, thumb moving slowly across his skin. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, but her smile was unshaken.
Kael tried to sit, but Lyria pressed him down firmly. "No. Not yet. You nearly killed yourself."
"I had to," Kael rasped, his throat dry. He thought of the demon dog's fangs, of the rift tearing reality apart. "If I didn't close it…"
"I know." Lyria cut him off gently, her voice trembling just a little. "We'd all be dead. Or worse."
They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of muffled voices drifting in from outside the tent. Kael shut his eyes, trying to will away the exhaustion clawing at him.
Her fingers tightened around his hand. "You scared me."
Kael turned his head toward her. She wasn't angry, not really. She was afraid—afraid of losing him, of everything falling apart again. He exhaled slowly.
"I scare myself," he admitted. "Every time I push further. Every time I use this power… I feel like I'm one step away from losing control. From becoming…" He stopped. From becoming my father.
"You're not him." Her words were sharp, sudden, as though she'd read the thought in his eyes. "You're Kael. You've bled for these people. You've fought to protect them, even when it nearly killed you. That's not something a monster does."
Kael swallowed, his throat tight. For once, he didn't try to argue. Instead, he let her words sink into the cracks of his doubt.
Lyria brushed her free hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair back. "The council… they want to see you. About the girl."
"The daemon." Kael's voice was rough, bitter.
"She hasn't left your side since you passed out. She defended you when they wanted to…" Lyria hesitated, her lips tightening. "…dispose of her."
Kael felt his stomach twist. The girl's wide white eyes flashed in his mind, her scarred horns, her voice pleading for her life. "She helped me close the rift," he said. "If it weren't for her, I might not have survived. And they want to kill her?"
"They're afraid," Lyria said simply. "And fear makes people cruel."
Kael shifted, forcing himself upright despite the pain. Lyria helped him, frowning but not stopping him. He steadied his breath, clenching his fists.
"Then we'll talk," Kael said. His tone was final. "I won't let them decide this without me."
The council hall was alive with voices by the time Kael arrived, Lyria walking close at his side. He moved slower than usual, but he moved with purpose, each step heavy with determination.
The moment he entered, the voices fell silent.
The daemon girl stood in the corner, guarded, her white eyes darting around the room nervously. Her arms were bound, but there was no defiance in her stance—only fear.
Fenrik was the first to speak. "Kael. You should be in bed."
"I'll rest when this is done." Kael's voice echoed through the chamber, sharp enough to cut through the tension. He strode to his seat at the council table and lowered himself into it, Lyria sitting nearby.
The silence broke at once.
"She's dangerous."
"We don't know what she is capable of—"
"She could be a spy for the daemon lord!"
The accusations tumbled over one another, voices rising, fists slamming against the table.
"Enough!" Kael roared, his voice cracking like thunder. The hall fell into silence. His crimson eyes scanned each of them in turn. "You all saw what happened. That beast nearly killed us all. Without her help, I might not have closed the rift. She saved me—and she saved this Hollow. That matters."
Fenrik's jaw tightened. "Or she's playing at mercy until she finds a way to destroy us."
"She's just a girl!" Lyria snapped, surprising them all with her sudden fury. "Look at her—she's terrified. Does that look like a monster to you?"
Rogan leaned forward, his massive arms crossed. "Fear can be a mask. We've all seen it."
Kael slammed his fist against the table, the wood groaning under the force. "I won't condemn someone for what they might do. Not without proof."
Varik's cold gaze met Kael's. "And if you're wrong? If she turns, and it costs lives?"
Kael stared back, unwavering. "Then I'll take responsibility. She stays because I say she stays."
The room erupted again, voices clashing—fear against reason, anger against trust. Through it all, Kael remained silent, letting them fight it out until finally, the noise began to die down.
Saekaros, the lizardkin elder, spoke last. His voice was calm, steady. "Fear blinds the mind, but it does not always lie. Kael… if you believe this daemon girl can be trusted, then the burden rests on your shoulders. But understand this: if she betrays us, the blood will be on your hands."
Kael's eyes hardened. "I accept that."
The chamber went quiet. Even the daemon girl seemed stunned, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
The meeting adjourned, but the rift it left behind was not one of magic. It was one of trust.
Kael knew it. He could feel it in every glance, every muttered word as the council dispersed.
But as he looked toward the daemon girl, bound and trembling, he also knew something else.
He had made the right choice.