Chapter 229 – The Festival of Freedom
Summer dawned with a brilliance that seemed to set the Hollow alight. The air was thick with the scents of roasting meats, fresh bread, and sweet berry wine. Laughter rang through the streets, weaving with the sound of pipes and drums as the people prepared for the first Festival of Freedom.
Banners of deep crimson and silver were strung across the streets, fluttering in the warm breeze. Children darted between the stalls, chasing one another with wooden swords or painted masks, their shrieks of delight echoing against the newly built stonework. Merchants displayed their wares proudly: carved trinkets, polished blades, colorful fabrics. The Hollow was alive.
Kael stood at the heart of it, watching with a rare ease in his chest. For years, his people had known only survival. Now, they were celebrating. His council had worked tirelessly to make it happen, and today, every one of them was free to share in the joy they had helped create.
Rogan was the easiest to spot, though Kael nearly laughed aloud when he saw him. The hulking warrior, scarred and broad, sat cross-legged on the ground, showing a group of children how to hold wooden practice spears. They mimicked his every movement, though more than one toppled backward trying to copy his wide stance. Rogan's booming laugh rolled across the square, his joy as unrestrained as the children's. For all his gruffness, he had found his place not only as a commander, but as a teacher of the young.
Thalos, meanwhile, was surrounded by older youths, a cluster of eager eyes fixed on him as he told a tale of an ancient elven hero. His words rose and fell like music, and Kael could see in the faces of his students how they hung on every word. The once-solitary elf had grown into a cornerstone of their community, wisdom and patience guiding more than swords ever could.
Varik moved like a shadow through the crowds, but not with suspicion—today, his sharp eyes were softened. He leaned against a stall with a mug of ale in hand, trading jests with a group of dwarves, who roared with laughter at his wit. Every so often, he flicked his gaze toward the outskirts, ever the watchman, but even Varik allowed himself to relax, his smirk genuine and unforced.
Saekaros was a sight to behold. Standing at the center of the market square, he had gathered dozens of Hollow folk around him, leading them in songs that blended orcish chants with human verse. His deep voice boomed, carrying the strength of the people's spirit, and as others joined, the sound became a chorus that vibrated through Kael's bones.
Azhara, ever graceful, tended a stall where herbal drinks and healing tonics had been transformed into sweet refreshments. Mothers approached her with babes in their arms, elders came seeking small comforts, and she met each with a smile as serene as the moonlight. Yet Kael noticed, in rare unguarded moments, her eyes softened as she watched the young ones run past, the joy of health and life evident in her expression.
And then there was Lyria.
She moved beside Kael with a calm, poised grace, though her sharp eyes missed nothing. She laughed when children tugged on her sleeves, listened intently when villagers stopped her to speak, and even allowed herself to join a group of young archers, offering them pointers on their stances. Each arrow they loosed struck closer to the center under her quiet guidance, and Kael swore he had never seen her smile so fully.
The festival swelled as the sun climbed higher. Music rose, food and drink flowed freely, and joy spilled from every corner. Kael found himself drawn to the people's laughter, to the life around him—but more than that, to the woman at his side.
As dusk approached and lanterns were lit, he led Lyria away from the crowd, toward a quiet rise above the Hollow where the noise became a soft murmur below. The lantern glow painted her in gold and crimson, and Kael felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the summer air.
For a time, they simply stood in silence, looking down at what they had built. The Hollow was alive with dancing, music drifting upward like the heartbeat of a people reborn.
Then Lyria spoke, her voice softer than the wind. "Do you ever wonder what this will look like… years from now? When we're older?"
Kael glanced at her, brow furrowed. "Older?"
She turned her head to meet his gaze, her smile faint but steady. "Legacy. What we're leaving behind. What all of this will mean when we're gone."
Kael was quiet for a long moment. Legacy had never been something he dared to think of before. Survival had been his only concern. Yet now… he looked down at the Hollow, at the laughter, the strength, the freedom. And he thought of Druaka, of the sacrifices that had brought him here.
"I wonder," he admitted. "But for the first time, I think it will last. That they'll remember us not for the wars we fought, but for the peace we built."
Lyria's hand brushed his, then curled around it. Her voice lowered, intimate. "And what of family? Children of our own?"
The words struck him with a force greater than any blade. He turned to her fully, his chest tightening as he saw the earnest light in her eyes. He had thought of it, in the quiet moments—her laughter with children in the Hollow, the way his heart eased when she was near. But he had never dared to voice it.
"I want that," he said, the words heavy with truth. "With you. Only with you."
Her lips parted, and for a moment she seemed almost startled, though not in displeasure. Then her grip tightened, and she stepped closer, her forehead pressing against his. "And I with you. I want all of it, Kael. The battles, the burdens… but also the laughter, the children, the years that come after."
Kael exhaled, a sound that was half a laugh, half a release of something he hadn't known he carried. His arms came around her, pulling her close, and he kissed her with all the certainty in his soul. This was not a kiss of desperation, nor of fleeting passion—it was steady, anchored in the promise of a future.
Below them, the festival raged on, the people of the Hollow celebrating their freedom. But on that hill, Kael and Lyria carved out a quieter celebration of their own: the promise of legacy, of family, of a life not just fought for, but lived.
And for the first time, Kael believed in tomorrow.