Chapter 274 — Lessons of War, Lessons of Peace
Life in the Hollow had begun to change in subtle ways since Zerathis's chains had been broken.
Children no longer lingered in the streets at dusk; they scampered home with nervous glances at the great horned shadow that stalked through Kael's side of the compound. Guards doubled their watch at the gates even when he was within. Every conversation seemed to carry the daemon's name like a weight. Some whispered reverence, others suspicion.
Kael felt the tremor in his people but chose, as he always did, to meet fear with order. And today, order meant blood and bruises on the training ground.
The courtyard had become a makeshift arena, dust rising in clouds as recruits circled the center. Zerathis stood like a mountain of black iron, shoulders rolled back, molten cracks glowing faintly across his chest. His eyes burned with that low simmer Kael had come to recognize as his natural state — not fury, not calm, but something in between, the hunger of a blade before it's drawn.
Opposite him, four figures stepped forward: Thalos with his crackling wards shimmering across his arms; Fenrik with his twin blades gleaming like quicksilver; Varik crouched low, dagger flashing in the sun; Rogan towering above them all, axe in hand. Veterans all, and today they weren't sparring each other — they were sparring the daemon.
The recruits pressed closer, whispering, waiting to see how their heroes would fare.
Kael folded his arms, watching. This was necessary. If the Hollow was to accept Zerathis, they had to see that even monsters bled when struck.
The fight began with a roar.
Fenrik darted first, twin blades flashing like lightning. Zerathis caught one with his bare hand, the molten veins in his palm hissing against steel. He backhanded Fenrik across the arena, only for Varik to dart in, low and fast, daggers flashing. The daemon let one strike glance off his ribs but pivoted his foot, sweeping Varik's legs out from under him with bone-cracking force.
Then Rogan came — a tower of muscle and fury. His axe met Zerathis's forearm in a shower of sparks. For a heartbeat, man and daemon pushed against each other, veins bulging, the crowd roaring at the sheer spectacle. Then Thalos's ward struck from behind, exploding in a burst of arcane force that staggered Zerathis to one knee.
The recruits gasped. The veterans pressed the advantage.
Fenrik recovered and darted back in, blades sinking into Zerathis's thigh. Varik leapt atop his back like a wolf, daggers sinking toward the daemon's throat. Rogan's axe arced high, aiming to cleave.
For a moment, it looked as if they might actually topple him.
Then Zerathis laughed.
The sound was thunder, cruel and deep. His skin ignited in molten streaks as he exploded upward, tossing Varik into the dirt and ripping Fenrik's blade from his thigh with a hiss of steam. He caught Rogan's axe mid-swing, twisted, and slammed the man onto his back hard enough to rattle teeth.
One by one, he sent them sprawling into the dust, broken but alive.
The recruits stared in awe — not at their veterans, but at the daemon who had beaten them all. Kael let the silence linger before stepping forward.
"Enough." His voice carried like steel against stone.
Zerathis straightened, chest heaving, still glowing faintly from within. His grin was savage, but it faded when Kael's eyes locked with his.
"You've shown them strength," Kael said. "Now you will learn restraint."
The daemon tilted his head, molten eyes narrowing. "Restraint is the leash of the weak."
"No," Kael replied. "Restraint is the weapon of the strong. You will learn this, or you will not remain in my Hollow."
He gestured toward the onlookers. Azhara stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression carved from stone.
"She will teach you," Kael continued. "Not in battle, but in healing. You will work under her hand, in the core, learning what it means to mend instead of destroy. To see lives as more than fuel for your wrath."
Zerathis's molten grin flickered with disdain. "You would chain me to herbs and salves?"
Kael's stare hardened. "I would chain you to wisdom. Do not mistake the two. If you want to keep your place at my side, you will take her lessons to heart."
Azhara's white eyes flicked to Kael, disbelief flashing in them. "You're asking me to guide him?"
"I'm commanding him to obey you," Kael said. "The Hollow will never trust him if he is nothing but a blade. Teach him balance. If he fails, I'll end him myself."
The silence was thick enough to choke on. Then Zerathis inclined his head slowly, grudgingly, and rumbled: "Very well. Teach me."
The recruits released the breath they didn't realize they'd been holding. Kael turned, satisfied, but felt the tension still lingering like a storm on the horizon.
That night, when the training ground had emptied and the Hollow had settled into uneasy quiet, a horn blared at the outer gates. Guards scrambled to their posts, steel drawn, shouts echoing through the stone corridors.
Kael was already moving, cloak snapping behind him as he strode into the cool night air.
At the gates, torches lit a lone figure standing in the shadows. Not bandit, not trader, not villager. Just one figure, cloaked and hooded, waiting.
The guard captain's voice trembled. "A mystery traveler, lord. Says they've come seeking you."
The figure raised their head, eyes glinting beneath the hood.
And the Hollow held its breath.