Chapter 305 — Seeds of a Nation
The council chamber felt quieter than usual, the heavy air carrying a sense of something different. Not just strategy for survival, not just training or preparation for battle — today Kael had called them together with a different intent. The long oaken table stretched before them, lit by lamps of enchanted crystal, and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth.
Kael sat at the head, his broken hand bandaged, though he still carried himself with a calm, commanding presence. His gaze swept across his council — Rogan with his massive arms folded, Thalos sitting upright, Varik lounging with his daggers in easy reach, Lyria composed and regal, Azhara pale but recovering, Selina with that constant calculating gleam in her eyes, and Zerathis, lounging like a wolf forced to sit at the table of sheep.
Kael leaned forward. "We've won battles. But victories mean nothing if we do not plant the seeds for tomorrow. I've been thinking, and I want your opinions. Three ideas, all aimed at making the Hollow not just a fortress — but a home. A nation in its own right."
The room shifted. Some leaned forward, others stiffened.
Kael held up his first finger. "One. Caravans. We should establish a trade good that can only be found here — in our mountains, in our rivers, in our mines. Something no other settlement can offer. If we make ourselves indispensable, we gain coin, influence, and the interest of allies who value what we have."
Rogan grunted first. "Makes sense. If it comes from the ground, we'll mine it. Our iron is already tougher than most. Maybe we dig deeper, find mithril veins or rare stone. But it'll be hard labor. The men'll do it though — especially if it means food on their tables."
Thalos adjusted his spectacles. "Trade is strength, yes. But it's also vulnerability. If caravans flow, so do spies. We'll need escorts, guards, and subtlety. I'd prefer to keep the heart of the Hollow hidden, even while letting the world taste its fruits."
Varik smirked. "If caravans become our lifeblood, I'll make sure no thieves take a copper. But it also gives me a network. Merchants hear whispers. Trade routes bring secrets. With enough of them, I can bleed information from the whole region without shedding blood."
Lyria smiled faintly. "Commerce is culture. If people trade with us, they see us as more than shadows in the mountains. They see humanity — they see stability. That matters as much as coin."
Azhara inclined her head, though her voice carried quiet caution. "Coin and influence will strengthen us. But we must remember — trade attracts envy. Wealth invites raiders. We cannot build outward without fortifying inward."
Selina folded her arms, eyes glinting. "Trade is fine, but think bigger. If we find something truly unique, we can charge whatever we wish. I've already been working on weapon enchantments that no one else can replicate. Imagine if every sword our caravans carried bore our mark — buyers would kneel for a taste of that power."
Zerathis gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Caravans fatten the wolves as much as the sheep. But Kael is right — wealth brings power. And power, once we've sharpened it, brings dominion."
Kael nodded, then raised a second finger. "Two. Recruitment. We need more hands, more minds, more hearts. We should extend an invitation — carefully — to wandering folk, mercenaries without a home, even outcasts. Let them know they can find safety here."
Rogan shook his head. "Outsiders mean risk. But… more men, more arms. I won't turn down someone who can hold a hammer and swing it true."
Thalos frowned. "Risk indeed. Too many new faces too quickly, and discipline frays. Our people must remain loyal to the Hollow first, not to where they came from."
Varik chuckled. "Outcasts, rogues, mercenaries… my kind of people. I can sort the loyal from the liars. If they bleed with us once, they'll stay."
Lyria placed a hand over her chest. "Welcoming the unwanted is the essence of what we've built here. Many of us were cast aside before Kael gave us purpose. If we close the gates now, we betray that dream."
Azhara looked down, her pale fingers curling. "But mercy has costs. Every new arrival means mouths to feed, wounds to heal, resources spread thinner. We must not be blinded by compassion without planning for the burden."
Selina smirked. "More bodies means more test subjects… I mean, more soldiers. Useful, if you know how to mold them."
Zerathis's grin widened. "The strong will come. The weak will break. Either way, the Hollow gains."
Kael acknowledged each view, then raised his final finger. "Three. Vassals. Settlers nearby already scrape their lives together, unaided. I propose we reach out. Offer them mutual protection and trade in exchange for loyalty. They live free, but under our banner."
Rogan grunted. "That's how kingdoms are made. Strong folk under one shield. I'll not say no."
Thalos's lips pressed thin. "It is also how wars begin. Other lords will see our growth as conquest."
Varik shrugged. "Settlers mean more eyes, more ears, more knives in the dark if things go wrong. But if they swear to us, I can use them to weave a net of information no one else can touch."
Lyria's voice was soft, but firm. "A people need roots, Kael. They need farms, villages, families. Vassals give us permanence. And permanence gives us legitimacy."
Azhara lifted her chin, though strain still clung to her features. "But we must treat them as equals, not serfs. If they bend the knee, let it be by choice, not fear. Otherwise we build nothing but another empire of cruelty."
Selina leaned forward. "Vassals mean resources. Food, cloth, herbs, livestock. They work the land while we sharpen blades. It's efficient — if they don't betray us."
Zerathis chuckled low. "So Kael would spread his wings wider. Good. The daemon lords built empires from chains. Build yours from choice. See how much stronger it becomes."
The chamber fell into a thoughtful hush after the debates.
Kael finally stood, his voice low but resolute. "Then it's decided. Caravans, recruitment, and vassals — we'll begin laying the foundations. We'll risk envy, but without risk there is no growth. We've spent enough time surviving. It's time we start building."
The council dispersed in murmurs, some uneasy, others quietly hopeful.
When the chamber was empty, only Zerathis remained, leaning casually against a pillar. His golden eyes glimmered as Kael approached.
"You said you had a task for me," the daemon rumbled.
Kael's gaze hardened. "Yes. I want you to scour the lands beyond. Find the slave outposts. Record their locations, their numbers, and their defenses. Bring me everything."
Zerathis's smirk curved wider. "And when I find them? What then? Shall I burn them? Free the cattle?"
Kael's jaw tightened. "Not cattle. People. We free them — yes, it strengthens our numbers, but that's not the point. The point is giving them the chance to live, to choose, to belong. The Hollow was built for outcasts. They deserve that same chance."
For a rare moment, Zerathis's grin faded into something like respect. "Hnh. You speak like a king… but one unlike any I've ever seen. Very well, Kael. I'll hunt the chains. And when I return, the Hollow will grow stronger — one way or another."
The two men locked eyes, predator and dragon, bound not by chains but by will.
The seeds of the Hollow's next chapter had been planted.