Chapter 266: Cracks in the Stone
The training yard was too quiet.
The young recruits shuffled across the packed dirt, their eyes flicking nervously to Kael as he strode in. The memory of yesterday's "lesson" still lingered in the bruises and broken ribs, the fear written on their faces. He had not intended to strike them so hard, to drive them past their limits until Rogan and Thalos pulled him back. But intent didn't matter.
The Hollow whispered. The story had already spread — their commander, their king, had nearly crippled the very men and women he swore to protect.
Kael stopped in the center of the yard, feeling their eyes like arrows on his back. His hands flexed at his sides. He wanted to speak, to reassure, but no words came. Instead, he turned and left, boots heavy on the dirt, his silence heavier still.
Council Worries
That evening, the council chamber was full. Rogan stood with his arms crossed, jaw set tight, while Thalos lingered in the shadows near the door. Varik's fingers tapped against the table with quiet irritation. Lyria, pale with worry, watched Kael like she was trying to read him, while Azhara sat with her chin resting in her hands, daemon eyes studying him without flinching.
"You've been reckless," Rogan growled first. "The recruits look at you with fear instead of pride. That's poison, Kael. Poison that spreads."
"You vanish at night," Thalos added, voice quiet but sharp. "The people notice. You come back before dawn looking like you've walked through hell itself. And still you train them as if they were monsters, not children learning to hold a blade."
Lyria's voice was soft but cut deeper than any blade: "You're not yourself, Kael."
Kael stood at the head of the table, hands gripping the edge so hard the wood groaned. His gaze drifted to the lanternlight, to the flicker of flame, before he finally spoke.
"I am wrestling with something none of you have had to face," he said. His voice was calm, but a storm brewed beneath it. "Zerathis."
The room fell into silence. The daemon's name weighed in the air like a stone.
Kael continued, eyes meeting each of theirs. "He laid down a gauntlet for me. His words were clear: if I wish to command him, to make him mine, I must defeat him. Break him. Subjugate him in combat."
Azhara straightened, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a frown. "That is how the upper daemons work. They respect nothing but strength. It is no gauntlet — it is his nature."
"And if you lose?" Varik snapped, his eyes like cold steel. "If he kills you, Kael? What then? Everything we've built — gone. The Hollow will collapse into chaos before your blood even dries."
Rogan slammed a fist against the table. "You're our leader, not some wandering duelist looking for glory! Don't throw yourself into a death match just because you can't sleep at night."
Kael's jaw clenched. "You think I don't know the risks?" His voice rose, sharp enough to make the flames flicker. "Every night I walk the dungeon alone, I feel them. Every time I spar, every time I nearly break someone's bones, I feel it. Zerathis is a storm chained beneath us. He is power incarnate. If I ignore him, he festers. If I kill him, I waste a force that could protect us. If I free him, I gamble everything."
Lyria whispered, "Then why not walk away?"
Kael's eyes softened when they found hers, but his answer was steel. "Because he sees me. He sees the same blood, the same hunger, the same fury I keep chained every day. If I can't master him, then I can't claim to have mastered myself."
The council sat in heavy silence.
Finally, Azhara leaned forward, daemon fire burning in her eyes. "Then you intend to fight him. To bind him, one way or another."
Kael's silence was answer enough.
The meeting dissolved into tension and whispers, but Kael remained long after the others left. His reflection stared back at him from the polished table — tired, haunted, burning.
The storm inside him only grew.