Chapter 313 — Council and Quiet Moments
The Hollow's great hall was lit with braziers, their flames flickering across the banners of the council. Kael sat at the head of the long table, parchment and designs spread before him like a battlefield of ink and paper. His return from the Ocean Kingdom had brought with it not only new opportunities, but new questions that demanded answers.
"The Ocean Kingdom agreed," Kael began, steady but firm. "Production and testing of the communication devices will be theirs. We'll provide iron, mana crystals, and a limited stream of magisteel. In return, we gain priority access to the prototypes."
The council exchanged glances, the weight of his words sinking in.
Lyria spoke first, her voice soft but resolute. "If this works… our people will be safer, armies coordinated, caravans protected. The Hollow will be untouchable."
"Or a target," Rogan muttered, arms crossed over his broad chest. "No empire will sit idle while we hoard something this powerful."
"That is why," Kael said, his gaze steady, "this alliance stays between us and the Ocean Kingdom for now. The world isn't ready for this to spread. If word leaks too soon, we'll be buried in enemies."
Selina leaned forward, one eyebrow arched, the faintest smirk on her lips. "Then we should also give the world something to chase, something we control. A resource only the Hollow can provide."
Kael gestured for her to continue.
"Dungeon harvests," she said without hesitation. "Magical ores, rare herbs, alchemical reagents, beast cores. All refined by our craftsmen. Sell them in controlled quantities, and we dictate their worth."
Thalos stroked his chin, nodding. "Dangerous, but effective. No one else has access to dungeons like ours. If we manage the expeditions carefully, the Hollow could become a hub for rarities no other market can touch."
Varik grunted. "And the newcomers from the outposts—what's their place in this?"
"They're settling well," Azhara answered, though her voice carried the fatigue of her ongoing recovery. "They've been given food, clothing, and medical care. Many have already asked to work. They want to belong. They will belong."
Kael leaned forward, his tone sharpened by purpose. "Good. Then here's our plan: from this day on, dungeon expeditions will be organized. Teams trained and rotated. Anything of value—be it herb, ore, or beast—will be harvested, catalogued, and refined. We will build an economy from the dungeons themselves, and our caravans will carry what only we can provide."
The room went quiet for a beat before nods of approval rippled across the council.
Kael dismissed them soon after, and as the council drifted from the chamber, he lingered in thought. For once, their path forward felt less like a reaction to crisis and more like strategy—deliberate, controlled, promising.
Later that evening, Kael wandered through the Hollow's quieter streets. The lanterns lining the stone roads bathed the town in a golden warmth, laughter and music spilling from taverns. Children ran past him with sticks pretending to be swords, their carefree shouts echoing against the walls.
He slowed as he neared the healer's ward. On a bench just outside, Lyria sat with Azhara leaning against her shoulder. Their voices were low, but the night carried them clear.
"You shouldn't have pushed yourself," Lyria murmured, her fingers brushing a strand of white hair from Azhara's face. "Not like that. You nearly—" her voice faltered before steadying, "—you nearly gave everything."
Azhara gave a faint, tired laugh. "And I would again. For him. For all of you. Because for the first time… I feel needed."
Lyria's expression softened, her thumb tracing gently against Azhara's cheek. "You've always been needed. You just refuse to see it." Her voice lowered, carrying an intimacy Kael rarely heard. "And I don't want to lose you. Not to the Hollow's enemies… not to your own pride."
Azhara turned her head slightly, meeting her gaze, her usual sharpness dulled by something more vulnerable. "Then keep reminding me. Keep me here."
Kael stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. Both women looked up, startled, but he raised his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Lyria flushed, Azhara smirked. "You always intrude, Kael. It's your one constant talent."
Kael chuckled, lowering himself to sit beside them. Without hesitation, he reached for their hands—Azhara's on one side, Lyria's on the other.
"Then let me intrude properly," he said. His voice dropped into something earnest. "You don't face this alone. Not as warriors. Not as healers. Not as women I care for more than I care for my own life."
For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Azhara leaned against his shoulder, and Lyria did the same. A rare, fragile stillness settled over them.
But the silence didn't last long.
"Kael," Azhara murmured, her lips twitching into a grin, "you're comfortable enough. Like a very stubborn pillow."
Lyria snorted. "More like a rock someone draped a blanket over."
Kael arched a brow. "A rock? That's what I get after carving my soul open in front of you both?"
Lyria laughed then—a rare, genuine sound—and Azhara's smirk widened into real laughter that shook her shoulders against him.
The three of them sat there long into the night, warmth replacing weariness, laughter softening the weight of war. For the first time in what felt like forever, Kael allowed himself to relax—not as a leader, not as a commander, but as a man surrounded by those who gave him reason to keep fighting.