Chapter 196: The Cost of Mercy
The council chamber was alive with relief.
Banners had been lifted, long tables drawn out, and for once, voices rose not in worry or demand, but in joy. The stockpiles were full. Bellies no longer cried in hunger. The Hollow breathed easier, its people standing taller after weeks of despair.
"Kael," said Elder Saelric, his old voice shaking with gratitude. "You have done what none of us thought possible. In the darkest hour, you found a way to feed our people. This is leadership, this is strength. You've saved us."
Others murmured their agreement, pounding the table with open palms. Some even smiled for the first time in months.
But Kael sat at the head of the chamber in silence. His hands, scarred and calloused, gripped the chair's arms so tightly that his knuckles whitened. He nodded faintly as praise washed over him like waves against stone.
Only three voices stayed quiet.
Thalos leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his eyes shadowed with unspoken truths.
Varik's jaw worked, clenched, as though holding back words that could not be spoken in this chamber.
And Lyria sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed downward, her silence louder than any praise could ever be.
Kael felt every heartbeat like a drum against his ribs. Each cheer was a stone pressed against his chest, every smile a weight on his soul.
He had given them relief, yes. But he had traded away something precious to do it.
A Hollow Triumph
After the meeting, the people came to him. They clasped his hands, bowed, even wept with joy. Farmers thanked him for saving their families. Mothers blessed him for feeding their children. Children themselves ran to him, tugging at his cloak, eyes bright and wide with admiration.
He smiled for them. He told them they were strong, told them their Hollow would stand, told them the hard days would pass. His words were warm, steady, reassuring.
But inside? His chest was a tomb, and every word another stone sealing him within.
Druaka's Grave
Night fell heavy, and with it Kael slipped away from the joy and laughter. He walked the path up the ridge, where the earth was marked with graves. The wind was cool, and the forest whispered with unseen things.
He stopped at one simple mound. The stone that bore her name was rough, weathered. Druaka.
His knees hit the dirt, and the shadows pooled around him like mourning veils.
Kael placed his hand on the stone, his breath trembling. "Druaka," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know what I've done."
His chest heaved, words tumbling out as though torn from him. "They call me a savior. They praise me as though I've done something noble. But I sent my brothers to steal, to burn, to bloody their hands for me. I told them to damn themselves for the Hollow's sake."
Tears slipped down his face, darkening the dirt. He pressed his forehead against the stone.
"I couldn't watch them starve. I couldn't let the children waste away. So I chose the lesser evil. At least, that's what I tell myself. But tell me, Druaka—" His voice cracked, raw, desperate. "Tell me I didn't damn us all. Tell me I didn't just barter their souls for a few full bellies."
The silence answered him. The grave gave no comfort.
His fists clenched in the dirt. "I don't care what hell I'm dragged into when my time comes. But them? Thalos, Varik, Lyria—the Hollow itself? I swore I'd protect them, not stain them. And yet here I am, drowning them in my sins."
The shadows shivered around him as his grief broke loose. His body shook, his voice raw with pleading.
"Druaka, please. Tell me I made the right choice. Just once, let me hear your voice again. Tell me that saving them, no matter the cost, was worth it."
The only reply was the wind sighing through the trees.
Kael collapsed forward, his forehead pressed against the earth, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. He begged her in his heart, begged the dead for forgiveness the living could never give.
Ashes
When finally he lifted his head, the sky was beginning to pale. Dawn crept over the Hollow, painting the graves in pale light. His eyes were swollen, his throat raw.
He stood slowly, his legs stiff, and looked down at Druaka's grave one last time.
"I'll carry it," he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. "I'll carry it all. The sins, the blood, the lies. I'll be their shield, even if it means I rot from the inside out. That was the oath I made, wasn't it?"
The wind stirred, lifting his cloak as though in answer. But still, no voice came.
Kael turned, walking back toward the Hollow as the first rays of morning stretched across the land. He walked with the weight of a thousand chains, his people laughing in the distance, unaware of the ash that lined their king's soul.