Chapter 194: Bread Bought in Shadows
The Hollow's heartbeat was uneven. For all the progress made—the stronger walls, the deeper mines, the farms now sprouting green in their caverns—six hundred mouths gnawed through everything faster than it could be replenished. Hunger made sharp tongues and desperate hands. Kael had seen it once already; he would not see it again spiral unchecked.
The Silent Hunt
On the road, miles from the Hollow
Thalos pulled the cloth mask higher over his nose, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the distant glow of a village. Only a dozen homes huddled together, smoke curling from chimneys, livestock penned nearby. Peaceful, unsuspecting.
"Too easy," Varik muttered at his side. His voice was low, bitter. "They'll curse our names for this, though they'll never know who we were."
"They'll curse bandits," Thalos replied, voice flat. He adjusted the leather wraps on his gauntlets. "Not us. Never us."
Behind them, a dozen trusted fighters crouched in the shadows. No banners, no insignias. Just hungry men and women willing to dirty their hands so others could eat.
The plan was simple. Quiet entry, food taken from storage, livestock driven off if possible. No killing unless forced. Leave behind signs—boot prints, broken arrows, a scrap of cloth—things to fuel the lie of a bandit camp.
Thalos exhaled once, then gave the signal.
They moved like shadows across the field. Varik slipped through a back gate, axe low but ready, while others hoisted sacks of grain onto broad shoulders. The bleating of goats muffled into the night as ropes were tied and animals led away.
One villager stirred, stumbling from his home, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He froze when he saw the shapes in the dark.
Thalos's blade was at the man's throat in an instant. Not pressed deep, just a warning. "Go back inside. Say nothing."
The man's terrified nod was enough.
Within minutes, it was done. The raiders vanished into the night with their spoils, leaving behind overturned barrels and false tracks pointing north—toward the rumor of a bandit camp that would never exist.
Kael's Burden
Back in the Hollow
While his oldest friends stalked through the night, Kael sat in the council chamber, shadows long across the stone table. Only a handful of council members were present—Fenrik, Saekaros, and Lyria at his side. Rogan paced like a restless bull, arms folded tight.
"This shortage will break us," Rogan growled. "We've stretched rations to the bone. The people will riot if things worsen. You can feel it in the air."
Fenrik leaned forward, his tone calmer. "Then we need to hear what Kael has in mind. You've said you're working on something—what is it, brother?"
Kael's gaze moved from face to face, weighing every word before speaking.
"I won't lie to you," he began. "We are walking a razor's edge. But I will not allow the Hollow to starve. Not now, not after we've built this far. I've set something in motion—something temporary—that will buy us time until the farms and trade routes can catch up."
Saekaros's brow furrowed. "Temporary? What does that mean, Kael?"
"It means," Kael said carefully, "that I've taken steps to ensure we'll have what we need, even if supplies from outside falter. I'm not asking for blind faith, but for patience. Trust that I won't gamble with the lives we've sworn to protect."
Lyria studied him, sharp as ever. She caught the tightness in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes, and she knew there was more beneath his words. But she didn't press—not here, not now. Instead, she placed her hand over his on the table. "We'll trust you, Kael. You've earned that much. But don't carry it alone. Whatever you've set in motion, we stand with you."
Kael gave a small nod, grateful for her steady presence. "Good. Then hold fast. The Hollow will weather this storm."
Return of the Wolves
Three nights later, the gates opened at dawn. Thalos and Varik strode in with their fighters, carrying bulging sacks and driving a small herd of goats before them. Dust clung to their boots, but their eyes were steady.
The storerooms filled again—grain stacked high, smoked meat replenished, goats bleating loudly as children laughed to see them. Relief swept the Hollow like fresh air after smoke. For a moment, it felt as if hunger itself had been defeated.
But Kael saw the look in Thalos's eyes, the hard set of Varik's jaw. They had done what was needed, but it had cost them something invisible—something heavy.
That night, when the others feasted on bread and milk as though it were a king's banquet, Kael slipped away with his two brothers-in-arms.
In the dim corridor, Thalos finally spoke, his voice low. "It worked. But if we keep this up, we're no different from the brigands we despise."
Varik nodded grimly. "We can't do this forever. Once, twice—fine. But more than that, and the lie won't hold."
Kael looked between them, his voice firm. "Then we'll make sure it doesn't come to that. These raids are not our future. They are our shield until our people can stand on their own legs again. I swear to you both—we will not become monsters."
Thalos held his gaze for a long moment, then finally gave a short nod. "See that we don't. Because the Hollow's soul hangs on it."
Kael stood in silence long after they left, shadows flickering faintly around his hands. He wondered if perhaps the soul he risked most was his own.