Chapter 306 — A Banner Unfurled
The morning broke with pale light over the Hollow, the mountain air cool and crisp. For once, Kael was not preparing for battle or training. Today, his armor was polished but undecorated, his magisteel blade sheathed across his back, and his cloak carried no war-borne dust. He wasn't riding out to conquer — he was riding out to build.
A small escort accompanied him: Rogan at his side, silent but steadfast; Azhara against his protest, her eyes calm though her steps carried faint weakness from her recovery; and a handful of Hollow guards, carrying the banner of the black dragon — Kael's sigil, stitched in silver thread upon midnight cloth.
Their first destination was a settlement nestled in the foothills — a demihuman village of lupine folk, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, with furred ears and tails. The air was filled with the scent of pine and smoke from their cooking fires, and wary eyes followed as Kael and his company entered.
The chieftain, an older wolf-man named Darok, met them at the edge of the village, flanked by his kin. His voice was deep, edged with suspicion. "Dragonlord of the Hollow. Why do you come here?"
Kael dismounted, his cloak settling against the earth. His tone was steady, respectful. "Not to command. Not to plunder. I come with an offer — one I bring to all the free folk of these lands."
He spoke clearly, his voice carrying to the gathered villagers.
"Protection. From raiders, slavers, and the chaos beyond these mountains. My Hollow stands strong, and under its shield, no blade will touch your kin. In return — I ask your loyalty in times of need, and your willingness to trade openly. Mutual aid. Mutual strength. Nothing more, nothing less."
The crowd murmured. Some sneered, others looked thoughtful.
Darok narrowed his eyes. "And if we refuse?"
Kael didn't flinch. "Then you remain as you are. Free, but vulnerable. The Hollow will not raid you, nor demand your labor. I offer a choice — not chains. But know this: the world beyond grows darker. Slavers, warlords, nobles with eyes on these lands. When they come, will your spears alone hold them back?"
Silence. The villagers looked to their chieftain. Darok's ears twitched. At last, he gave a short, sharp nod. "We will try your pact, Dragonlord. But know this — if your protection proves false, if your word breaks, then we sever ties."
Kael bowed his head slightly. "That is fair. My word will not break."
The day stretched long, Kael traveling from settlement to settlement. Foxkin farmers, hawk-like avian hunters, reptilian clans dwelling near riverbeds. Each encounter bore its own tension, its own skepticism. Some scoffed, accusing Kael of wanting to build an empire. Some laughed bitterly, saying no "human-born" lord could be trusted. Others listened, their eyes wary but hopeful.
Kael repeated his vow at every hearth and council circle: protection, trade, loyalty in times of need. No conquest. No chains. Only choice.
By dusk, three villages had sworn tentative loyalty, while two demanded time to think. None rejected him outright. It was more than Kael had dared hope.
That night, back within the Hollow, Kael sat in his chamber with parchment and quill. His broken hand still ached, but he pushed through the pain, scrawling words with a steady determination.
"To Thalren, King of the Deep Currents, Lord of the Ocean Kingdom," he wrote, his script sharp and disciplined.
"I extend to you a proposal, not of war, but of discovery. Our Hollow thrives in the mountains as your kingdom thrives in the sea. Between us lies knowledge yet untested. I propose a joint venture — a scientific experiment that may yield advancement for both our peoples. Let us see if ocean and mountain together may forge something greater than either alone. I await your reply."
He sealed the message with wax, pressing his sigil into it. The courier was dispatched before dawn.
The next evening, the council gathered again. Most expected another debate, but Kael entered with a harder expression than before. At his side was Zerathis, his dark armor gleaming like the night.
The daemon lord tossed a map onto the table, unrolled with a flick of his clawed hand. His grin was feral. "Three slave outposts. Here. Here. And here." He jabbed the locations with a talon, the parchment nearly tearing.
The council leaned in, silence thickening.
"Each one run by human slavers fattening their coffers," Zerathis went on. "Hundreds of captives between them — or more. Soldiers. Merchants. Families. Demihumans. They cage them all. I've counted numbers, guard rotations, fortifications."
Kael's jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist. He looked over the map, shadows flickering in his gaze.
The Hollow had begun to grow. The banner was rising. And now, three stains of cruelty marked the path forward.
"Then we know our next move," Kael said, his voice low, almost a growl. "No chains in these lands. Not while I draw breath."