Chapter 262: The Lighter Days (Extended)
The Hollow had a rhythm to it now, one Kael never grew tired of hearing. The morning chorus of roosters and livestock, the hammering of Varik's apprentices in the forge, the crackle of fires where bread and stews simmered, and above it all—the laughter of children.
Kael stood at the center of it, surrounded by a small army of young warriors. Their wooden swords waved through the air, flour bags rained like crude spells, and the little ones screamed his name as though he were some legendary monster they were tasked to bring down.
"There he is!" a boy shouted. "The Black Wolf! Bring him low!"
Kael crouched with a feral grin, baring his teeth in mock menace. "You think yourselves strong enough to hunt me?" His voice boomed theatrically, sending a ripple of shrieks through the circle. "I've eaten wolves bigger than you!"
The charge came in a flurry of tiny feet. Flour burst across his tunic, a sling snapped against his leg, and he allowed himself to stagger back, arms flailing. "Argh—" He toppled into the dirt, flopping like a wounded beast. "The mighty Kael is… slain!"
The children piled onto him with triumphant cheers. He let them tug at his hair, climb across his chest, even pretend to slit his throat with their blunt wooden blades. His laughter rolled through the air, as loud and full as a drumbeat, shaking loose flour from his hair until he looked like a ghost risen from the battlefield.
When a girl no older than five poked his cheek and declared, "You're dead for real this time!" he stuck his tongue out, groaning dramatically.
It wasn't until the mothers descended—scolding the children for wasting flour—that Kael rolled upright, brushing dust from his tunic. He gave the kids a mock salute, grinning as they scattered off, still giddy with victory.
The sight of them filled him with something warm, something that swelled against the weight he carried. This is why I fight. This is why I endure.
He didn't linger. Before long, he was hauling timbers to the new schoolhouse, sweat slicking his back as he bore loads twice as heavy as any of the others. He bent his strength to the Hollow's needs not as a lord commanding, but as a man among his people. The rope bit his hands raw, dust clung to his clothes, but he welcomed it. His power was for more than destruction—it was for this.
By the time the beams were set in place, his muscles ached pleasantly. He leaned against the unfinished wall, catching his breath. That was when he noticed her.
Lyria stood nearby, arms folded across her chest, silver hair bright in the sun. She didn't smile. Her gaze was steady, cutting, as though she were trying to peel back the layers of his calm.
"You seem too calm," she said finally, voice taut.
Kael tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. "Calm?"
"You laugh with children. You haul lumber like it's nothing. And yet—" she gestured toward the earth beneath them, the ground that hid a chained daemon below—"there's an Upper Ten sitting in the dark not far beneath our feet. You know what that means, Kael. How can you laugh while that thing waits for you to choose its fate?"
Her words hit harder than he expected. The air between them thickened. Kael drew in a slow breath, rubbing his jaw, eyes sliding past her toward the sound of the children still playing further down the road.
"If I let the weight crush me," he said at last, "what good am I to them?" He nodded toward the Hollow, toward the mothers, the smiths, the laughing children. "They need to see me steady. If I falter, the Hollow falters too."
Lyria's brows drew together, her mouth tightening. "But you're not made of stone, Kael. You can't carry all of this forever. One day it will break you."
Kael turned to her fully, catching her hand in his—rough, flour-streaked, strong. "I don't carry it alone," he said, his voice dropping to something softer, steadier. "I have you. That's how I stay calm. That's how I don't break."
Her eyes flickered, wide, and for a moment she couldn't speak.
"My calm doesn't come from pretending there's no storm," Kael continued, thumb brushing across her knuckles. "It comes from knowing that when it hits, you'll be standing beside me. That's enough. That has to be enough."
Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned away slightly, the faintest color on her cheeks. "You always know how to twist worry into something else."
Kael grinned crookedly. "Into love, you mean?"
Before she could answer, another voice chimed in.
"I think that's exactly what he means."
Both turned to see Azhara approaching, her healer's satchel slung across her shoulder. She wore that quiet smile of hers, the one that always seemed equal parts shy and knowing.
"I watched you with the children earlier," Azhara said softly. "They adore you, Kael. They see strength in you, but not the kind that frightens. The kind that protects. Maybe that's why you laugh even with Zerathis beneath us. You understand what that laughter means to them."
Kael's grin softened. Lyria's shoulders eased a little, though her expression remained wary.
Azhara stepped closer, and before Kael could protest, she reached up and dusted more flour from his hair. Her touch was gentle, fleeting, but her eyes were earnest. "We're not blind to the storm, Kael. But like you said—we're with you. Always. That's how this Hollow endures."
The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of life buzzing around them like a shield. Kael felt the weight of Zerathis, of the council, of every decision pressing down—but with their hands close, their eyes steady, it didn't crush him. Not yet.
He gave a long exhale, then, half-laughing, said, "So what you're telling me is, between the two of you, I'll never be allowed to wallow in silence."
Lyria gave him a look. Azhara laughed softly.
Later that evening, they found themselves together in Kael's quarters. The scent of roasted venison and fresh bread filled the air, steam curling off bowls of stew Azhara had insisted on making. They sat shoulder to shoulder around the low table—Kael stretched back, his long legs sprawled, Lyria perched neatly but with her silver hair loose, and Azhara's soft laughter rising every now and then as she told some story about the apprentices at the infirmary.
Kael ate heartily, tearing bread with his teeth, but it wasn't the food that eased the tension in his shoulders. It was the quiet warmth. The clink of wooden bowls. The way Lyria leaned against his arm without thinking. The way Azhara tucked her hair behind her ear, her gaze flicking from one of them to the other as though she was still marveling she belonged in this space with them.
At one point, Kael sighed, setting his bowl aside. "You know," he muttered, resting his head in Lyria's lap, "I love that everything's running smooth. The school, the farms, even the forge. But by the gods, council meetings are still mind-numbingly boring."
Lyria arched a brow, brushing flour from his hair. "So you admit it at last."
Kael smirked up at her. "I'm excited everything works. But excitement doesn't make reports any less dull."
That earned a quiet laugh from Azhara. She leaned in from behind Lyria, her arms slipping around Lyria's shoulders in a loose, sisterly embrace. Her cheek rested briefly against Lyria's hair. "Then maybe that's our task," she said softly. "To remind you why all those boring meetings matter."
Kael closed his eyes, letting the warmth of them both sink in. For the first time in weeks, the thought of Zerathis didn't press quite so heavily on him. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe—just for a night—that everything would be okay.