Chapter 312 — A Meal Among Royals
The Ocean King's hall was a place of majesty and serenity, its vaulted ceilings carved from pale stone that shimmered with the faint glow of bioluminescent coral. Soft light rippled across the walls as if the sea itself was breathing inside the chamber. At the center, a long polished table stretched the length of the room, laden with dishes that testified to the wealth and artistry of the kingdom beneath the waves.
Silver-scaled fish, seared until crisp yet tender, glistened under a sweet glaze made from kelp syrup. Stews bubbled in ornate bowls, brimming with shellfish and clams that gave off a rich brine and spice. Fresh-baked seaweed bread, dusted with pearl-white salt crystals, released a warm aroma that mingled with the salty air drifting in from the open windows.
Kael sat among it all, a stranger in a foreign throne room, but one treated as a guest of honor. At the head of the table sat Thalren, the Ocean King himself, wearing his coral crown with the natural authority of one who had weathered countless tides. His queen was poised at his side, her gown of deep ocean-blue flowing like liquid silk, her expression calm but watchful. At the far end of the table, the royal children leaned forward eagerly, their wide eyes fixed on Kael, unable to hide their curiosity.
It was the eldest who broke the quiet first. "Your people eat the land's beasts, don't they? What do they taste like compared to fish?"
Kael took a measured sip from his goblet before replying, his lips curving faintly. "Different. Heavier. Some tougher, some richer. It depends on how you prepare them. But—" he gestured with his fork toward the spread before him, "—your chefs may have ruined me for anything else."
The boy grinned at the compliment, earning a hushed laugh from his siblings.
Then the youngest piped up, her voice filled with unguarded wonder. "Is it true you're a dragon? Father said you turned into one during a battle!"
The king's voice rumbled in warning. "Mind your manners."
But Kael only chuckled, folding his hands on the table. "Your father doesn't exaggerate. I can take the form of a dragon. But remember this—when I change, I am not a beast. I remain Kael. That is the difference between wielding power and being consumed by it."
The children's awe was palpable. "Could you show us?" the youngest asked, leaning closer with wide eyes.
Kael's smile thinned. "Not here. A dragon's presence is… overwhelming. Even allies might feel crushed beneath it. Another time, perhaps."
Disappointment flickered briefly across their faces, but respect quickly replaced it.
It was then the queen herself leaned forward, her voice cool and graceful, though sharpened with intent. "You come here alone, Lord Kael. Yet we have heard whispers of an elf woman at your side—your companion. Tell me… where is she now?"
Kael stilled. He set down his goblet with deliberate care, and for a heartbeat he saw Lyria in his mind—her sharp eyes, her unshakable devotion, the warmth she gave him when the weight of command threatened to crush him.
"She is in the Hollow," he said at last, his tone steady. "Leading in my absence. Guarding our people while I seek to secure them a brighter future. They trust her as much as they trust me. She carries their strength as surely as I do."
The queen regarded him for a long moment, her lips curving ever so slightly into something like approval. "A wise decision. A ruler cannot walk every road at once. To share that burden is not weakness—it is wisdom."
The king raised his goblet then, the gesture both celebratory and solemn. "To wisdom, and to brighter futures."
Kael lifted his own cup in answer, the polished metal cool in his grasp. He drank deeply, though his thoughts remained guarded.
As the meal stretched on, the children's questions continued. They asked about the Hollow—what it looked like, what kind of people lived there, if the stories of daemons walking side by side with humans were true.
Kael answered each question honestly, though with measured restraint. "Yes, daemons live among us. Some by chance, some by choice. They fight for us, work beside us, bleed beside us. Not all daemons are bound to evil—just as not all men are bound to good."
That answer stirred whispers, the children stealing glances at their parents, but neither king nor queen rebuked him. Instead, Thalren set down his fork, speaking with the weight of a ruler who understood hard truths.
"You build something bold, Kael. Something fragile, perhaps… but bold. The seas remember men who try to reshape the world. Few succeed. But those who do… change it forever."
Kael inclined his head. "Then may history remember me as one who succeeded."
The queen's soft laugh rippled like the tide. "Ambition suits you, Lord Kael. But ambition is also dangerous. Do not forget that."
Kael met her gaze evenly. "I haven't forgotten. That is why I walk carefully. And why I choose my allies with care."
The table quieted for a heartbeat, the air thick with unspoken meaning. Then Thalren clapped his hands once, breaking the tension, and servants brought forth platters of sugared sea fruit and crystal-clear wine.
The meal carried on with laughter and lighter talk, but Kael's mind wandered even as he shared in their warmth. He thought of Lyria, of Azhara, of the Hollow. Of the new lives he was responsible for. And beneath it all, a storm brewed—a quiet conviction that the tide of alliances was beginning to shift, and whether it carried them to safety or ruin would depend on every choice he made.
The Ocean King's hall shimmered like a cathedral carved from the bones of the sea. Pale stone walls reflected the glow of bioluminescent coral, and the vaulted ceiling seemed to sway with the rhythm of unseen tides. A long polished table stretched down the chamber, laden with dishes that spoke of wealth and abundance—glazed silverfish, steaming clam stews, bread baked with flecks of kelp and pearl salt. The scent of brine, spice, and warmth filled the air.
Kael sat among it all, a guest in the company of Thalren the Ocean King, his queen, and their children, whose wide eyes fixed on him as though he were a tale come to life.
The youngest child leaned forward first, voice quick with curiosity.
"Is it true? Do you really live with daemons?"
Kael set down his goblet carefully, lips curving faintly. "It is true."
The child frowned. "But aren't daemons… bad?"
The king made a quiet sound of warning, but Kael only shook his head. "It's all right. A fair question." He rested his hands on the table, speaking with the same calm he used with the children of the Hollow. "Tell me—are all storms bad?"
The children blinked, confused.
Kael continued, "A storm can destroy homes, flood the land, even take lives. But the rain it carries feeds the crops. The wind clears the air. Without storms, the world would wither. Daemons are much the same. Left unchecked, they bring destruction. But with guidance, with purpose, they can bring strength and change."
The eldest tilted his head, brows furrowed. "So… you're saying they're like storms you can live with?"
Kael chuckled. "Exactly. And when storms and people learn to live side by side, the world grows stronger."
That answer seemed to sit with them. The youngest fiddled with her spoon, still chewing on the thought. Then she asked, almost in a whisper:
"Do the people in your Hollow ever get scared of them?"
Kael paused. He thought of the villagers, of the children playing in the square with daemon recruits towering nearby. Of fear that had slowly been replaced with acceptance. "At first, yes," he admitted. "Fear is natural. But do you know what happened?"
The children shook their heads.
"They watched," Kael said simply. "They saw daemons stand guard while they slept. Saw them share bread, carry wood, even play games with the little ones. Fear doesn't vanish because someone tells you not to be afraid. It vanishes when you see, day after day, that the ones you feared bleed the same as you. Cry the same as you. Laugh the same as you. That is how peace is built."
The room went quiet at that. Even the servants slowed in their movements, listening.
The queen's voice broke the silence, smooth and deliberate. "A child's honesty often cuts deepest. You explain your dream well, Lord Kael. Perhaps too well." Her eyes narrowed with thought. "But dreams are fragile. They can be shattered with one betrayal."
Kael inclined his head. "And yet, if no one dares dream, the world remains the same. Chained by fear and hatred. I would rather try and fail, than never try at all."
The eldest child spoke again, his voice careful now. "Then what is the Hollow? Really?"
Kael leaned forward slightly, his voice steady and low. "The Hollow is not just a place. It is a promise. A promise that anyone—human, elf, daemon, or otherwise—can have a home. That no child will starve, that no one will live as a slave, that everyone has a chance to stand with dignity. It will not be perfect, but it will be free. That is the Hollow."
The children exchanged looks—awed, uncertain, but deeply curious. The youngest whispered, almost to herself, "A place like that sounds… like a dream."
Kael's smile was soft but unyielding. "Yes. And one day, it will be more than a dream. It will be the truth."
The queen studied him silently, her expression unreadable. At her side, the king finally raised his goblet. "To dreams that change the tides," Thalren said, his voice carrying the weight of the sea.
Kael lifted his own cup, the reflection of the coral light glinting in the wine. "To dreams worth bleeding for."
And as the meal carried on, filled with laughter, more questions, and the warmth of shared food, Kael felt the shift beneath the surface—the unspoken weight that both rulers and children had heard his words, and they would not easily forget them.