Chapter 292 — The Price of Survival
The battlefield lay silent now, the roar of combat replaced by a heavy, uneasy calm. Smoke curled above shattered banners, charred earth, and twisted remnants of the Church's army. The Hollow's people stood victorious—but the cost had been staggering.
Kael's eyes scanned the battlefield, his chest heaving from exertion. He should have felt relief, triumph. Instead, a gnawing unease weighed on him, deeper than any exhaustion from battle. Something was wrong.
The Collapse
A sudden commotion near the healer's tent drew Kael's attention. There, in the aftermath of tending dozens of wounded, Azhara stumbled. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed onto the dirt, her robes smeared with blood and soot.
"AZHARA!" Kael's roar cracked across the field, sending several healers scurrying toward her.
He raced forward, heart hammering. She coughed violently, and Kael froze as thick blood poured from her mouth. Her life energy, poured out so relentlessly during the battle, had kept the Hollow's warriors alive—Kael included. Without her, every soldier, recruit, and even the innocent had faced near-certain death.
Kael dropped to his knees beside her, hands trembling as he pressed against her chest, trying to stabilize her. Her eyes flickered open, glazed but focused on him.
"It… it was worth it," she rasped, her voice faint but steady. "You… all… survived… because… of me."
Kael's jaw clenched, rage and guilt warring inside him. "You idiot," he whispered, gripping her shoulders. "You can't throw yourself away like this!"
She coughed again, wincing. "I… knew… the risks… but… you all… had to live."
The Healing
Kael's fury gave way to action. He swept her into his arms, careful but urgent, and carried her into the tent. Lyria and Rogan followed closely, concern etched across their faces. Thalos muttered a curse under his breath, while Varik's expression remained stoic, though his eyes betrayed unease.
Inside, Kael laid Azhara on a bed of blankets. He began administering stabilizing spells while the other healers rallied, gathering poultices, salves, and healing herbs. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. Her pulse, though weak, was persistent.
"She poured everything into the battlefield," a healer murmured. "Without her… they would all have died."
Kael's hands trembled as he pressed them against hers. "I know," he said softly. "But I won't let her die for this. Not now. Not ever."
A faint, pained smile touched Azhara's lips. "Kael… focus… on the people… the Hollow…"
Kael pressed his forehead to hers, feeling the fragile warmth of her body. "I am focusing on them," he said. "And I'm focusing on you. You're not done—not by a long shot."
The Aftermath
Outside the tent, the Hollow's people celebrated. Children ran through the streets, laughing despite the devastation, while soldiers and recruits tended to the wounded. The Hollow had survived, but every victory had its cost.
Inside the tent, Kael remained by Azhara's side, hands firm and protective. Her energy had been spent to the brink, yet she was alive. Each shallow breath, each weak pulse, reminded him of the fragility of life and the depth of her sacrifice.
He knew she had poured everything she had into protecting him, into protecting the Hollow. And he would not waste it.
He would see her recover. He would see her heal. And he would ensure that no one ever needed to risk their life again the way she had.
Her eyes fluttered closed, exhausted but steady. Kael rested his hand over hers, resolve settling into his chest. They had won, and she had survived. And in that moment, amidst the rubble and the blood, Kael made a silent vow:
No more sacrifices would be made unnecessarily. No more lives wasted. And he would bear the weight of every battle himself, if that was what it took to protect the people he loved—and the woman who had given everything for them.