Chapter 182: A Breath of Freedom
The morning after the council meeting, Kael rose earlier than he should have. Sleep had come in fits, restless with the echo of Varenth's final cry and the fall of the executioner's blade. No amount of iron resolve could quiet the ghosts that clung to his mind.
But when he stepped into the light of the Hollow, he didn't put on armor or carry the weight of his mantle. Instead, he dressed simply: no cloak, no weapons at his side, only the worn leather bracers on his forearms. For once, he wanted to walk the Hollow not as its leader, but as one of its people.
The streets were already alive. Merchants hauled carts of goods from the trade stalls, farmers bargained loudly over the price of grain, smiths hammered steel in steady rhythm. Kael breathed in the familiar scents of woodsmoke and fresh bread, feeling something in his chest loosen.
He didn't make it far before the first of the children spotted him.
"Kael!"
The cry rang out, and within moments, half a dozen youngsters had abandoned their games to rush toward him. A small boy clung to his leg, another tugged at his sleeve, while two girls laughed as they tried to pull him into the street where they had drawn chalk outlines for a game.
"You're supposed to be important," one of the boys said with a toothy grin. "But you're never here to play!"
Kael let out a laugh — a real one, light and unguarded — and crouched down. "Then I suppose I should change that today."
The next hour was spent chasing after them in mock games of tag, letting them climb onto his back as though he were a beast of burden, even sitting on the cobblestones as they told him wild, exaggerated stories of what they thought the outside world was like. The sound of their laughter cut through the heaviness inside him, a reminder of what he was protecting — not crowns, not politics, but lives. Innocence. Hope.
When the children were finally pulled away by mothers calling them to chores, Kael straightened, brushing dust from his hands. His gaze drifted across the square, and there he saw her.
Azhara.
She was seated beneath a canopy of cloth near the healer's pavilion, her hands glowing faintly as she worked with one of the apprentice healers to mend a scraped arm. The red of her skin contrasted against the soft pale bandages she tied, her white eyes focused and steady. Even after nearly a year among them, she still drew stares — a daemon among demi-humans — yet the people no longer recoiled. Some even nodded to her in passing, gratitude slowly outweighing fear.
Kael approached quietly, waiting until the apprentice thanked her and left.
"You look comfortable there," Kael said, his tone warm.
Azhara looked up, her expression flickering briefly before she smiled — small, tentative, but genuine. "More comfortable than I once thought I could be."
He crouched across from her, resting his elbows on his knees. For a long moment, he simply studied her. There was strength in her, yes, but also something fragile — a girl still searching for her place.
"Do you ever think about it?" Kael asked finally.
Her brows furrowed. "Think about what?"
"Your homeland. Where you came from. What you left behind."
Azhara's hands stilled in her lap. Her white eyes flickered, betraying emotion even in their strange clarity. "I… do. More often than I should. But I don't know if it counts as thinking or… remembering."
Kael tilted his head. "You've never spoken of it. Not in detail."
Her lips pressed together. For a moment, Kael thought she might shut herself off, retreat back into silence. But then, slowly, she shook her head.
"I've wanted to," she admitted softly. "But it feels dangerous. To give words to those memories is to give them life again. And sometimes I fear if I speak them, they will take root and drag me back."
Kael leaned back, resting against the stone edge of the pavilion. "Then maybe it's not about dragging you back. Maybe it's about setting them down so they don't weigh on you anymore."
Azhara's gaze snapped to him, searching. "And what would you do with those truths, Kael? What would your people do? If I tell you of my homeland — of the places, the people, the darkness — what then?"
He held her gaze, unwavering. "Then we understand you better. That's all. No one here asks you to be anything other than who you choose to be now."
Her shoulders loosened, though not fully. A shadow of hesitation still lingered in her expression.
"You ask questions no one else dares," she said quietly. "But… perhaps it's time I tried answering them."
Kael gave a faint smile, the kind he reserved for moments of trust earned rather than given. "When you're ready, Azhara. I'll be here."
The Hollow bustled on around them, merchants calling, children laughing in the distance, the clang of a hammer striking iron. But for Kael, the square seemed quieter, anchored in the simple truth of the moment: the daemon girl who had once begged for her life now sat before him as someone finding her place, and perhaps her voice.