Chapter 190: A Home for Six Hundred
The Hollow awoke to the sound of hammers. The once-quiet mornings—where farmers tended to their fields and miners disappeared into the earth—were now replaced with the bustling life of a settlement that had nearly tripled in size overnight.
Smoke curled up from half a dozen forges, each glowing bright with the work of newcomers who had taken their place beside the Hollow's smiths. The clang of iron on anvil rang through the streets, not in discord but in rhythm, like a song of steel being born anew.
The fields, too, were transformed. Where once only a few dozen farmers had worked the soil, now over a hundred hands tilled, planted, and carried water. The fall harvest had ended, but the winter crops were already being sown—cabbages, turnips, beans. Even the new seeds Kael had risked much to gather months ago had been planted in carefully marked plots.
Children ran freely between tents and half-built homes, their laughter ringing out in every corner of the Hollow. The walls of the settlement, once sturdy but plain, now bustled with beastkin guards and human sentries alike, keeping careful watch but sharing jokes and stories as they stood together.
It wasn't seamless—no, it was messy, loud, and sometimes tense—but it was alive in a way the Hollow had never been before.
Adapting to Growth
At the council's orders, the eastern caverns had been cleared. With Kael's chaos soldiers carving new chambers and the labor of both Hollowborn and wanderers, the caverns became makeshift housing. Smoke holes were dug, hearths were raised, and bedding was laid out.
Saekaros moved tirelessly among them, his calm, steady presence keeping tempers from flaring. When two dwarves and a beastkin nearly came to blows over forge work, it was Saekaros who settled the dispute with a few sharp words and a heavy hand on each shoulder.
Everywhere Kael walked, he was met with nods of respect—or wide-eyed stares. The newcomers whispered his name like a half-remembered legend. The one who unites bloodlines. The one who fears no daemon lord. The one who leads by standing at the front.
Kael ignored the whispers. He had no need for titles. But he knew the weight of them pressed against him all the same.
Quiet with Thalos
That night, long after the hammers had quieted and most of the Hollow slept, Kael stood near the eastern gate, Umbra's shadow stretching alongside him. He knew he wasn't alone.
"You're brooding again," Thalos said, emerging from the dark. His arms were crossed, his usual half-smile absent.
Kael gave him a sidelong glance. "And you're skulking again."
Thalos snorted, but his eyes stayed fixed on the distant horizon. "You have a way of making me feel outnumbered, Kael. At that vote—thirty-two stood against you. I was one of them. But it feels as if my voice means nothing compared to the rest."
Kael was silent for a long time, letting the cool night air stretch between them. Finally, he turned fully toward Thalos.
"Do you know why I value you, Thalos?"
The man raised a brow. "Because I swing a sword better than most?"
Kael shook his head. "Because you never tell me what I want to hear. You've stood beside me longer than most. You've questioned me, opposed me, even infuriated me at times. And that's why I need you here."
Thalos frowned. "Feels more like I'm just the wrong voice in the room."
"No," Kael said firmly. "You're the voice that keeps me from forgetting I can be wrong. If I ever stop hearing you, if your voice is drowned out by the majority—then I become blind. And the Hollow cannot afford a blind leader."
Thalos' jaw worked as he looked away, clearly unsettled by the weight of Kael's words.
"You'll always have a place here," Kael continued, softer now. "Even if you stand against me in every vote. I don't want a council of nodding heads. I want brothers and sisters who challenge me. And you… you've always been one of those."
Thalos let out a long breath, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Damn you, Kael. You always know how to make it harder for me to stay angry."
Kael smirked. "Good. Stay sharp, stay angry when you need to. Just don't ever think your voice doesn't matter. Not to me."
The two stood in silence then, watching the torches flicker along the walls. Two old friends, one a leader, the other his constant thorn—and his anchor.
Kael's Reflection
As Kael made his way back through the Hollow, he saw small but meaningful signs everywhere.
A dwarven child shared bread with an orc boy. A human mother taught a beastkin how to weave wool. At the healer's tent, Azhara's crimson form glowed faintly as she dulled a miner's pain with her strange daemon gift.
The Hollow had grown. It had changed. And though the weight of six hundred lives pressed against his shoulders, Kael felt—just for that moment—that they were strong enough to carry it.