Chapter 228 – A Festival of Freedom
The Hollow thrummed with life in a way Kael had only once dreamed possible. The scars of war lingered, yes, but they were no longer chains around the people's necks—they were lessons that pushed them to work harder, to build stronger. The new summer sun gleamed on walls that were no longer hastily nailed planks but solid timber and fitted stone. Masonry had found its roots here, with orcish strength and dwarven precision joining human ingenuity to craft buildings that would last generations.
The ring of hammers on anvils echoed through the streets, not the harsh notes of desperation but the rhythm of industry. Smiths turned out blades that gleamed sharper than before, armor better fitted to protect, tools meant to build and farm rather than only kill. Woodworkers shaped homes and furniture with artistry that rivaled elven craft, while the forges produced not just weapons, but hinges, nails, and plows—signs of a growing civilization.
And the schools—Kael took a quiet pride in them. Walking past the stone-and-wood structure in the mornings meant hearing the shouts of children reciting letters, laughter breaking out as Thalos patiently guided them. The sight of a generation learning not only how to fight, but how to think, was more powerful than any sword in Kael's hands.
All of it came together in the council hall that day.
The circular table gleamed under the light of lanterns. Each chair was filled: Rogan, with his scarred arms folded but his eyes sharp as ever; Thalos, composed and attentive; Varik, lounging as if he hadn't just returned from a long sweep of their borders; Lyria, calm and watchful beside Kael; Saekaros, smiling with his ever-present warmth; and Azhara, pale-eyed and serene, her notes on the Hollow's health stacked neatly before her.
One by one, reports were shared, and for the first time in Kael's memory, they were smooth. No dire warnings, no looming threats—just steady progress.
"The recruits are learning quickly," Rogan reported with a rare hint of pride. "They fight with discipline now, not just rage. Give me another month, and I'll have them ready to march as a real unit."
Thalos nodded. "The children too. Their reading is improving. They've even begun writing small stories of their own. They have hope—and that's worth more than all my drills combined."
Varik smirked, tapping a dagger against the table. "Borders are quiet. No bands bold enough to test us yet. The Hollow's name is spreading, and with it, a warning—those who come here don't return."
Saekaros leaned forward, his tusks gleaming in the lantern light. "The people are thriving. I hear more laughter than I hear complaints. The market's fuller than it's ever been. Even in the heat of summer, spirits are high."
Azhara set her notes aside. "Illness is low. Wounds heal faster with proper care and proper supplies. We've begun storing herbs for the colder months to come. For once, we are prepared."
Kael listened to it all, leaning back in his chair, a rare sense of peace settling into him. When silence fell, he let it linger, the weight of their success hanging like a warm cloak around the council chamber. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his gaze circling the table.
"We've bled for this," he said. "All of us. The Hollow isn't just surviving anymore—it's thriving. And I think… it's time we mark that. Not with more walls or more weapons, but with something the people can feel." He paused, letting his words settle. "I propose we hold a festival. A festival of freedom. Not just to celebrate what we've built, but to remember why we built it—to honor those who fell, and to show the world that we are unbroken."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Saekaros slammed a fist against the table, his grin wide. "By the gods, yes! Music, food, dancing—let the people see with their own eyes what they fought for!"
Rogan's lips twitched upward into something dangerously close to a smile. "Might even be good for the recruits to remember what they're protecting."
Thalos inclined his head. "It would be wise. Morale is strength in itself. If the people are united in joy, their courage will only deepen."
Even Varik chuckled, sheathing his dagger. "I can think of worse ways to spend my days than drinking free ale while the people cheer."
Lyria's eyes softened as she looked to Kael. "It's a good idea," she said quietly. "They need this. We all do."
Kael nodded, hiding the faint warmth that bloomed in his chest at her words. Around the table, the mood had shifted—lightened, brightened. Plans began to form quickly: food stores to be opened, musicians to be gathered, decorations strung across the Hollow. A proper festival, one that would linger in memory for years.
When the meeting adjourned, the council scattered to their duties, each eager in their own way. But as the others left, Kael caught Lyria's hand, holding her back. She looked at him curiously, but didn't resist as he led her out into the evening air.
The sun was low, painting the sky in gold and violet. The Hollow below buzzed with preparations already, word of the festival spreading faster than Kael thought possible. But he didn't lead her down into the crowds. Instead, he led her upward, toward the northern rise where the wind carried the scent of pine and wildflowers.
They stood together, the world stretched out before them. Kael's hand tightened on hers, and when he turned to face her, there was no council, no Hollow—only her.
"You were right," he said softly, voice low enough the breeze nearly stole it away. "Back then, when you were angry with me. I thought I was protecting you, but really, I was just holding you back. I thought strength meant shielding you from pain… but I should've known better. You're stronger than anyone I've ever known."
Lyria's lips parted, eyes flashing with something sharp, but Kael lifted his hand to her cheek before she could speak. "You're not just my partner in battle, Lyria. You're my equal. My better, in so many ways. And I don't ever want you to think I doubt that."
For a long moment, she said nothing, her eyes searching his. Then she stepped forward, closing the space between them, her hands gripping the front of his tunic. When she kissed him, it wasn't gentle—it was fierce, desperate, filled with all the fire she carried.
Kael staggered back a step, then caught her, his arms locking around her as though he'd never let go. The kiss deepened, their strength clashing and melding all at once. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his hands traced the curve of her back, pulling her closer.
Their lips didn't part, their bodies unmoved. They just held that single kiss for as long as they could, their minds at ease as long as they were together.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, her forehead pressed against his, Lyria whispered, "I don't need protecting, Kael. I just need you. All of you. No walls between us."
Kael's chest ached with the weight of it, but it was a good ache. He kissed her again, slower this time, reverent. "Then that's what you'll have. Always."
They stayed there as the sun sank, wrapped in each other's arms, the Hollow alive with laughter below them. And for the first time in a long, bloody journey, Kael let himself believe in something simple, something pure. A festival of freedom was coming. And with Lyria by his side, he finally felt free himself.