Chapter 259: The Binding of Chaos
The chamber was dark, lit only by the dull flicker of torches. Kael sat in silence, staring at his hand. His fingers flexed against his palm, shadow and steel blood whispering at the edge of his will. Zerathis's words had not left him since their encounter.
You carry his blood. You were born to rule, not to grovel.
Kael closed his eyes and tried to banish the voice. Yet instead of vanishing, it only deepened, merging with a thought he should never have entertained. An idea that had sprouted in his mind like a weed.
The chaos spell.
He had read of it once, long ago—scribbled in a ruinous text salvaged from the ruins of a fallen kingdom. A ritual, not unlike a duel, where two beings of will and power could be bound together. The victor would impose their strength, their will, and their soul upon the other. If he could perform it against Zerathis, then maybe—just maybe—the daemon could be bound, not by chains of obsidian, but by Kael's own dominance.
It was madness. It was almost suicidal. Yet it was a weapon no one else in the Hollow had even considered.
Kael did not bring it before the council. Not yet. Instead, he chose two men he trusted: Varik and Rogan.
They met in a side chamber, far from listening ears. Kael leaned forward across the stone table, his tone sharp and urgent. "I have an idea. One that could end Zerathis as a threat—but it won't be easy to hear."
Varik's brow furrowed. Rogan's arms crossed, muscles taut. "Go on," Rogan said.
Kael exhaled slowly. "There's an ancient spell. A chaos-binding ritual. It ties two souls together in combat. Whoever wins the duel… claims dominion over the other." His eyes hardened. "If I challenged Zerathis with it and won, he wouldn't just be chained. He'd be mine. He'd have no choice but to obey."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Rogan swore under his breath, running a hand over his beard. "You've gone mad. That thing is god-tier. You'd be gambling your life on a spell that might not even work the way the old texts claim."
Varik shook his head, face pale. "He's right. Kael, binding a mortal is one thing. Binding an upper daemon? That's… it's like trying to leash a storm. The risk isn't just death—it's obliteration. Your soul could be devoured, erased. You wouldn't even leave a body behind."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I know the risks. But the alternative is worse. Those chains won't hold forever. And if he breaks free, none of us can stop him. Not me, not you, not the Hollow's army. At least this gives us a chance."
Rogan slammed a fist against the table, stone cracking beneath it. "A chance, aye. But at what cost? You talk like you're willing to throw your life away!"
Kael leaned back, meeting both men's gazes with steel in his eyes. "If it means protecting all of you—protecting what we've built—then yes. I am willing."
The weight of the words hung heavy between them. Varik rubbed his temple, clearly torn. Rogan muttered another curse, pacing like a caged wolf. Neither gave their blessing, but neither could argue further. The seed of the idea had been planted. And now it lived in all three of them.
Later that night, Kael found solace not in books or weapons, but in the quiet warmth of his companions.
He entered his chambers to find Lyria sprawled on the bed, polishing a dagger while Azhara fussed with a stack of herbs and cloth. The normalcy of the sight almost made him smile. Almost.
"You look like you've been chewed up and spat out," Lyria said dryly, not looking up from her blade.
"Feels about right," Kael muttered, dropping into the chair by the hearth. He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
Azhara glanced up, eyes softening. "Too many thoughts again?"
Kael smirked faintly. "Too many, and none I can say aloud."
That didn't stop them. Azhara moved behind his chair, her arms draping lightly around his shoulders, her cheek brushing against his hair. "Then don't say them. Just… breathe."
Lyria finally set the dagger aside and stretched, catlike, before flopping onto her stomach across the bed. "She's right. You're going to grind yourself into dust if you keep carrying all of this alone. You know that, don't you?"
Kael closed his eyes, feeling the knot in his chest loosen just a little under their presence. "I know."
For a long time, none of them spoke. Azhara hummed quietly, tracing lazy patterns against his chest through his tunic. Lyria tossed a cushion at his head when his sigh sounded too heavy, earning a laugh from him that cracked the darkness for the first time that day.
In their presence, the weight of Zerathis, the chains, the impossible spell—it all faded for a time. He didn't need to decide anything here, in this room. He only needed to let himself be Kael—not the Hollow's leader, not the half-blood heir of a daemon, but simply himself.
And as Lyria teased him again, and Azhara's arms tightened around him, Kael allowed himself to rest.