Chapter 285 — The Shadow in Waiting
The council chamber was restless. The echo of boots against the stone floor, the constant murmur of voices, and the metallic scrape of blades being checked and oiled filled the Hollow with an anxious rhythm. The last battle had been won, but its smoke had not yet cleared before another storm rose on the horizon.
Kael stood at the head of the long table, cloak drawn about his shoulders, his eyes hard and cold as steel. Behind him, the great map of the valley stretched across the wall, marked with pins and notes of troop movements, supply routes, and fallback points. His hands rested against the edge of the table, fingers curled tight as he looked over the gathered faces of his council.
"They will come again," Kael began, voice steady but carrying the weight of inevitability. "The Church of Saint Ovre has not forgotten its humiliation. They send more soldiers, more zealots. But this time, they send something else."
"Valcor," Zerathis growled from his seat, arms folded across his massive chest. His crimson eyes burned, and for once his usual cruel smile was gone. "The Dragon Slayer. A man who has carved his legend from the corpses of wyrms and kin of fire. They would not waste him unless they intended to finish you."
A heavy silence filled the room. Rogan broke it with a snarl, slamming his gauntleted fist against the table. "Then we'll bury him. Throw the whole Hollow at him if we have to."
"No," Kael said sharply, cutting through the noise. His gaze swept across the room. "Teren Valcor is mine. No one is to engage him but me."
The words landed like a hammer. Thalos leaned forward, his scarred face grim. "You can't mean that. If what Zerathis says is true, this man was shaped for this one task—to slay you. Alone, you court disaster."
"I agree," Varik said, his usually calm tone sharpened with unease. "This isn't just about pride, Kael. If you fall, the Hollow falls with you. We cannot risk you fighting him alone."
Even Azhara, who often tempered her voice with reason, shook her head. "The Hollow needs you alive. No single duel is worth gambling everything we've built."
Lyria's voice was quiet, but it carried through the chamber. "You're not just our leader, Kael. You're our shield, our hope. If he kills you…" Her voice faltered, but her meaning was clear.
Zerathis shifted in his chair, his clawed fingers tightening against the wood until it creaked. "I despise that man more than you can know. To see him bleed would be my pleasure. But even I say this—do not face him alone."
Kael let the weight of their words hang in the air, then straightened, eyes narrowing with iron resolve. "Listen to me. You saw what happened when the Church last sent their faithful against us. They crumbled. They broke. This man is different. If you fight him, he will cut you down. None of you—" he looked at Rogan, then Varik, then even Zerathis "—none of you are his prey. I am. And I will not see my people slaughtered because you stepped into a battle that was never yours."
The chamber erupted again—protests, growls, sharp retorts. Kael slammed his hand on the table, chaos magic sparking at his fingertips, the room trembling with its pulse. "Enough!"
The voices died, silence falling heavy. His gaze swept across his council, eyes glowing faintly with the latent fury that burned inside him. "This Hollow will prepare for the Church's army. Rogan, Thalos, drill the militia until their arms shake and their legs give out. Varik, you and Zerathis will scout their approach, find where they mass, and bring me word of every step they take. Azhara, you will double the healers and prepare for casualties. Lyria, the stockpiles fall under your command—food, water, steel, and medicine. Saekaros, keep the people informed. If fear spreads, it will kill more than blades."
They all nodded, some begrudgingly, but the tension remained thick.
"Let me be clear," Kael continued, his voice dropping low, cold as the steel at his hip. "Teren Valcor belongs to me. No interference. No last-minute rescues. If he walks into my path, I will end him, and him alone."
For a moment, the firelight caught his eyes, and the council saw something raw and dangerous there—not recklessness, but certainty.
Lyria was the only one who dared break the silence again, her voice soft but trembling with emotion. "If you face him alone… then you'd better come back to us alive, Kael. Don't you dare leave me to pick up the pieces of what's left."
Kael's expression softened for only a moment, his eyes flicking to her. "I won't," he said, the words like a vow.
The meeting broke, though unease lingered in every glance cast Kael's way. As the others dispersed, Kael moved to the balcony, staring out into the night where the horizon met shadow. He could already feel it—the hunter drawing near, his presence heavy in the air, like the sharp tang of blood before battle.
Teren Valcor had arrived in their world. And soon, their blades would cross.