Chapter 215 – Fire Beneath the Ice
The Hollow awoke to smoke.
Not from their own hearths, but from the south, where one of the smaller lumber camps had stood. Patrols returned pale-faced, reporting ash and ruin—timbers burned, tools shattered, three men dead, and the rest scattered into the forests, lucky to escape alive.
The Iron Brand had made its first move.
The council chamber rang with raised voices.
Fenrik slammed a fist against the oak table. "They struck a camp that feeds our very walls! If we don't respond, what message does that send? That the Hollow can be bled without consequence?"
Lyria's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp and precise. "And if we march out now, half-prepared, they'll bleed us further. That's the game—bait us into anger, stretch us thin, and then strike harder."
Across the table, Rogan leaned forward, fists clenched tight. "Then we strike harder first. You want to wait while more families are burned alive? You want to let Varik's torture go unanswered? You call it bait—I call it an opportunity. Put steel to their throats, and end this before it grows worse."
The room simmered with unease. Some nodded with Rogan, others with Lyria. All eyes turned to Kael.
He sat at the head of the table, shadows creeping restlessly at his feet, their edges sharp and flickering like a fire barely contained. His gaze swept across his people—friends, allies, leaders who trusted him. His chest ached with fury, a burning that no ice could quench. He wanted nothing more than to march south and drown the Iron Brand in shadow and flame until not a single one remained.
But he could not. Not yet.
Slowly, Kael rose. The chamber hushed at once, the weight of his presence filling the space. His voice came low and cold, each word deliberate.
"I want their blood. Make no mistake—I want every last slaver broken and burned for what they've done to Varik, for the lives taken, for daring to lay their hands on what we've built here." His hands tightened against the table, shadows crawling like veins across the wood. "But I will not throw the Hollow into ruin just to satisfy my rage. We have built too much. Too many depend on this place. One rash act, and it all comes apart."
Rogan's jaw worked furiously. "So we sit. We wait. And while we do, they grow stronger."
Kael's eyes locked on him, sharp as drawn steel. "We are not sitting. We are watching. Preparing. Every wall, every blade, every hand in the Hollow will be ready. And when the time comes…" His shadows snapped like chains around the markers on the map, coiling until they crushed the carved symbols representing the Iron Brand scouts. "We will strike—not in anger, but in annihilation."
The chamber fell into tense silence. Even Rogan leaned back, though his scowl remained fierce.
Thalos broke the stillness. "So patience, for now. But not forgiveness."
Kael gave a grim nod. "Never forgiveness."
That night, Kael found Rogan outside, sitting on a stone wall, a jug of ale in one hand. The night air was cool, the stars hard and cold above. Rogan didn't look at him as he approached.
"You almost sound like Lyria back there," Rogan muttered, bitterness lacing his tone. "Patience, preparation, waiting. But that's not what's burning in your chest, is it?"
Kael stopped a few feet away, his arms crossed. His eyes were heavy, shadows curling faintly around his boots. "No. Every part of me screams for vengeance. For Varik. For the families torn apart. For the insult they dare spit in our faces. I want to rip the sky open and drown them in my chaos until there's nothing left but ash."
Rogan finally turned, eyes narrowing. "Then why not? Why chain yourself when you could end this?"
Kael stepped closer, his voice tightening. "Because I am not just myself anymore. My anger is not just my own. If I go out there chasing blood, I risk everything we've built. I risk the Hollow. And if I fall—if you fall—we leave them weaker, leaderless, broken. That's what they want."
Rogan's grip tightened around the jug. His voice was rough, low. "And yet doing nothing burns worse than wounds."
Kael sat on the wall beside him, his face grim. "Then we don't do nothing. We take a measure of vengeance. Small, sharp. Enough to remind them that the Hollow bleeds, but it also bites. But we do it on our terms, not theirs."
Rogan studied him, the fire in his eyes cooling into something more focused. "A measure, then. Enough to keep the fire stoked."
Kael's hand clenched into a fist, shadows swirling around it like storm clouds. His voice was quiet, but it cut like steel. "Make no mistake, Rogan. My rage hasn't dimmed. When the time comes, when we finally break them, it won't be patient or measured. It will be final. But until then—we endure. Together."
Rogan gave a sharp nod, clapping Kael's shoulder. "Then together it is. I'll keep my blade ready."
The two men sat in silence after that, the cold night wind carrying the weight of their anger away into the darkness. But beneath the calm, fire burned in both of them—fire waiting for the moment to erupt.