Chapter 213 – Chains and Shadows
The Hollow had gone quiet after Varik's warning. Rumors spread quickly through the winding streets—some spoke of slavers, others of a warband, still others of ghosts from the wastes come to drag them away in chains. Yet in the quiet of Kael's chamber, the weight of truth hung heavier than whispers.
Varik lay on a cot, his body swathed in fresh bandages, the smell of herbs clinging to the air. His face was still swollen, one eye sealed shut, but the fire in his good eye had not dimmed. Kael sat beside him, elbows resting on his knees, shadows curling faintly around his boots like restless smoke.
For a long while, neither man spoke. The only sound was the crackle of the hearth fire, the slow, pained rhythm of Varik's breath.
Finally, Varik broke the silence. His voice was ragged, each word weighed with exhaustion.
"You sent me out for answers, Kael. I brought them back. But gods, I wish I hadn't. They'll come for us. They won't stop."
Kael's hands tightened. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the floor. "And they hurt you for it." His voice was low, almost a growl. "I sent you into their jaws. My command. My failure."
Varik shifted, wincing, but his tone carried stubborn strength. "Don't you dare. I chose to go. I've walked in shadows my whole life. I knew the risk." He forced a small, grim smile. "If anything… now I know what kind of monsters we face. Better me than any of the others."
Kael looked up then, his eyes burning red with the faint glow of his power. "They touched you. Broke you. Tried to break us through you. I will not let that stand, Varik. I swear it."
Varik studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. "You can't promise vengeance at the cost of reason. That's what they want—to drag you into their pace, force you to lash out. If you fight blind, Kael, the Hollow will pay the price."
Kael's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Varik's voice softened, though the weight of it remained. "If you want to protect us, then don't let anger decide. Use it. But don't let it use you."
For the first time since Varik had stumbled back through the gates, Kael reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. Not the hand of a warlord, but of a brother-in-arms. His shadows curled back, settling. "Rest, Varik. Heal. You've done more than I could ask of any man."
Varik gave a faint nod, closing his eye. "Just… don't let them take the Hollow. Don't let my blood be wasted."
The Council's Debate
The next evening, the council chamber was filled to its edges. Lanterns cast golden light across stone walls, their flames wavering in the drafts that whistled through the cracks of the mountain hall.
Kael stood at the head of the table, his cloak of black flame draped across his shoulders, his eyes sharp and restless. Beside him sat Lyria, silent but watchful, and across from them, Rogan, Fenrik, Thalos, and several elders of the Hollow.
The air was thick with tension, the scent of heated iron and sweat lingering as if even the walls knew of the danger beyond.
Kael began without ceremony. "The Iron Brand will not stop. They strike at supplies, they strike at the weak, they choke us without ever showing their full hand. Varik saw their leaders—four of them, each commanding cruelty and power in equal measure. If we wait for their next move, we give them the pace of the game. I say we take it from them."
Rogan slammed his fist against the table, the sound sharp and fierce. His scarred face twisted with rage. "Damn right. They chained my brother. Tortured him. I want blood, Kael. You give the word, and I'll put an axe in their skulls myself."
"Enough." Lyria's voice cut cleanly through the room, cold as steel. "We cannot rush headlong into their teeth. Rogan, you speak from fury, not from sense. And Kael—" she turned her gaze on him, steady, unflinching, "—you of all people should know what happens when vengeance drives the hand. You've felt it before. You've carried it. Will you make the Hollow pay for it this time?"
The room went quiet, every eye flicking between Kael and Lyria.
Fenrik cleared his throat, his voice thoughtful but firm. "The slavers want us desperate. They want us bleeding resources, scrambling in fear. If we strike openly and fail, we prove them right. Our people cannot weather another war so soon after famine."
Thalos leaned forward, his tone more measured. "But neither can we sit idle while they grow bolder. Every day we wait, they tighten the chain. Varik barely made it back alive. Next time, others won't."
Kael's hands curled into fists, his shadows rising faintly like smoke. "I will not have us caged. We bled for this Hollow. We tore it from stone with our own hands. If the Iron Brand thinks to make slaves of us, let them choke on their own ambition. I will not wait for the hammer to fall."
Rogan snarled, voice rough with fury. "Then give the order! I'll gather every blade, every axe. We'll burn their camps to ash before they even breathe another day!"
Lyria rose from her seat, slamming her palm on the table. Her voice shook with restrained fire. "And if you fail? If you march out and die on their chains? What then, Kael? What becomes of the Hollow when its leaders fall to recklessness?"
The words hung heavy.
For a long moment, Kael stood silent, his breath deep, his shoulders tense. Then he exhaled slowly, letting the shadows sink back into the floor.
"We will prepare," he said at last, his tone iron steady. "We will train, we will gather supplies, we will sharpen our blades. Varik has given us their names and their faces. When we strike, it will not be in desperation—it will be as hunters, not prey. But make no mistake…"
His eyes burned as they swept across the council.
"When the time comes, we will strike."
The council murmured, uneasy but united in the truth of his words. Rogan leaned back, unsatisfied but grimly accepting, while Lyria's gaze lingered on Kael, sharp and unyielding.
Kael turned away from the table, already planning, already seeing the shadows of war stretching ahead.
The Iron Brand thought the Hollow weak. They would learn otherwise.