Chapter 319 — Between Battle and Breath
The Hollow hummed with new life. For the first time since its founding, the streets and forges bustled with more than survival. Crates of ore from the dungeon were being hauled into the smithies, where sparks showered the air as militia recruits and blacksmiths hammered at iron. Glowcap mushrooms were carried to the alchemists and healers, their pale green light staining workbenches as they were ground into powder or brewed into potions.
The crystals gleamed brightest of all, their mana-rich veins laid carefully out on velvet cloth as Selina inspected them. Her eyes flickered, calculating every possible experiment, every new weapon they could birth from the Hollow's harvest.
Kael walked among it all, his boots crunching on gravel as he observed. He stopped when he reached the infirmary.
Inside, it wasn't chaos—it was order.
Azhara stood at the center, her usually soft voice sharp and commanding as she directed the healers.
"Three more stretchers here! Don't overpack the wound with glowcap salve—it burns too hot. Good, now keep pressure. You, fetch more clean water. Move!"
Her robes were flecked with blood, her skin pale from her recent ordeal, but her eyes blazed. The other healers, once hesitant, now followed her every word as though she'd always led them.
Kael leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her work. She hadn't noticed him yet—too focused on the wounded militia recruits laid out before her.
For the first time since the battle against the Church, Kael felt something stir in his chest. Not just pride. Something heavier. Azhara had nearly died pouring herself out for him and the Hollow, and yet here she was, pouring herself out again. Not recklessly this time—but with control, with authority.
When she finally noticed him, sweat on her brow and blood on her hands, she offered a weary smile. "They'll live. Every one of them. I won't let what happened last time happen again."
Kael nodded once, his voice quiet. "You've done more than I could've asked for. They're standing because of you."
For a heartbeat, her expression softened, and Kael had to look away before his thoughts betrayed him.
Later that night, the council convened. Around the firelit chamber, the mood was strangely bright. The harvest had been bountiful. The militia had survived.
Rogan leaned forward, hands braced on the table. "Iron's already being smelted into usable stock. We'll have enough to reinforce weapons and armor before the next descent."
Selina tapped a crystal with one clawed finger, its glow dancing in her eyes. "The mana crystals are the true treasure. If properly cut and stabilized, we could power more than weapons. Tools. Devices. Perhaps even something greater."
Thalos raised a brow. "We'll need to ration them wisely. Sell too many, and we lose the advantage. Use too few, and we stagnate."
Lyria spoke next, her voice calm but firm. "The glowcaps are already proving useful for healing. They're volatile, yes, but their potency rivals some of the rarer herbs aboveground. Azhara is already experimenting with combinations."
At the mention of her name, Azhara looked up from her notes, exhaustion still plain on her face. But her voice was steady. "We'll need more. The gather teams must press to floor two. Every healer agrees—the supplies we have won't last through another war."
A silence followed, heavy with the weight of her words.
Kael finally broke it. "Then that's what we'll do. The gather teams return. Floor two and beyond. Each floor cleared, harvested, and returned with fresh supplies. Each floor tested by our fighters before we send the civilians down. That way, we don't lose anyone we don't have to."
Zerathis smirked faintly. "Practical. Brutal. Just like you."
Kael ignored the jab. His gaze swept over the table. "We'll make the dungeon work for us. Piece by piece. Floor by floor. And when we reach its heart—whatever feeds this endless tide of monsters—we'll be ready."
The meeting adjourned, but Kael lingered, staring into the flames. The Hollow was growing. The dungeon was feeding them. His people were becoming stronger.
Yet his eyes kept drifting back to the infirmary in his mind, to the image of Azhara commanding healers with blood on her hands and fire in her eyes.
She had almost died for them once. He would not let it happen again.