Chapter 325 — A Council of Fear
The council chamber of the Hollow was heavier that night than it had ever been. Torches hissed in their sconces, casting long shadows across the wooden table where maps, Varik's field sketches, and Thalren's sealed reply lay spread open. The silence that clung to the room was not the silence of discipline but of dread.
Kael sat at the head, his eyes raking over the reports again even though he had already committed every word to memory. Beside him stood Zerathis, still and patient, like a sentinel who had seen the abyss and was unbothered by its teeth.
Varik broke the silence first. His voice was low, but it carried.
"They are not raiders. Their families are with them. The pits they dug… their intent is to stay. The Overlord binds them, not by force but by worship. I've never seen such cohesion in orcs. Not once."
A hush followed. Fenrik leaned forward, his thick arms crossed over the table. "A hundred thousand strong. Our militia, trained and hardened though they are, number less than ten thousand. Even with Thalren's aid—three thousand veterans—it would be a slaughter."
Selina frowned, tapping one nail against the rim of her goblet. "Evacuation then. Move the Hollow's people to Thalren's kingdom before the horde marches. He has already promised shelter."
"No," Thalos said firmly. His broad frame was tense, his jaw set. "The Hollow is our home. It was carved from nothing, built with blood and fire. Abandoning it now… it would break us. And when the orcs push past here, they'll be at Thalren's borders anyway."
Lyria, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. Her voice was steady but her eyes betrayed unease. "If we stay, we risk everyone. If we flee, we risk our spirit. Neither choice feels like victory."
The discussion circled like vultures over carrion, every voice weighed down by the same hopeless truth. Rogan, normally the first to volunteer for a head-on clash, stared grimly at the map.
"We can raid their supply lines. Harass the edges. But against that number, we're gnats biting at a storm. The Overlord would barely notice us before crushing us."
The silence that followed was thick. All eyes turned to Kael, as if waiting for him to speak some impossible truth into being.
At last, Kael exhaled, his gaze narrowing. "Then let me and Zerathis go into their heart. An army is only as strong as its will. Remove the Overlord, and the horde breaks. Their faith in him is absolute—without him, they scatter."
The words dropped into the room like an axe.
"Absolutely not!" Selina snapped, rising to her feet. "If you fall, the Hollow is finished before the orcs even march. You are its spine, Kael. The kingdom dies with you."
Fenrik slammed a fist on the table. "Reckless. Brave, aye, but foolish! No one man—no matter how strong—can wade through a hundred thousand to reach the heart. Even with Zerathis, it's suicide."
Rogan gritted his teeth. "You've led us this far with strategy, Kael, not blind valor. Don't throw it all away."
Lyria's voice trembled despite her best effort to keep it calm. "You mean too much to too many. I would sooner chain you here myself than watch you march into that sea of death."
Even Thalos, who was normally Kael's iron support, shook his head. "Your duty is here. To lead. To plan. Not to gamble your life in a desperate strike."
Kael's jaw tightened as he listened to them one by one, their words laced not only with reason but with fear—for him, for the Hollow, for everything they had built. Zerathis's expression flickered once, perhaps disappointment, perhaps approval of their loyalty, but the daemon said nothing.
At last Kael leaned back, folding his arms. His golden eyes swept across each of them, lingering longest on Lyria. He said nothing further on his idea.
The council adjourned with no clear solution, only the echo of dread filling the hall. Plans for patrols, stockpiles, and drills were set in motion, but none spoke with conviction.
When the chamber emptied, Kael remained seated for a long moment, staring at the map. His hand hovered over the spot where Varik had drawn the Overlord's sigil, but he did not touch it.
Later, when the Hollow had quieted, Kael found a place beyond the walls—a grove where moonlight touched the earth with pale silver. Umbra curled nearby in the shadows as Kael sat cross-legged, eyes closed, breath steady.
He sought calm, but what came instead was the weight of choice, pressing into him like armor too heavy to bear. He let the fear wash over him, let the uncertainty bite at the edges of his resolve.
The forest was silent, save for his slow breathing and the whisper of the night wind. And there, in the stillness, Kael meditated—alone with the burden of a hundred thousand enemies and the fragile hope of his people.