Chapter 327 — The Weight of a Kingdom
The council chamber was tense, shadows stretching long beneath the torchlight. The scouts had only just returned, dust and blood still clinging to their armor. Varik leaned against the great table, face pale, while Zerathis's molten eyes burned with something close to grim respect.
Kael sat at the head of the table, one hand on the carved armrest, the other pressed to his temple. He looked tired, but his voice carried like steel drawn from a forge.
"Tell them," Kael ordered.
Varik exchanged a look with Zerathis before speaking. "The orc encampment stretches farther than the eye can see. At least a hundred thousand strong, every tribe we've ever heard of gathered under one banner. And at the center…" He hesitated. His jaw clenched. "Their leader. The Overlord."
Selina leaned forward, brow furrowed. "How strong?"
Zerathis's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Strong enough to make the air itself tremble. His aura is like a storm—chaotic, unyielding. I've fought monsters that were called legendary. Beasts that nations feared. He is stronger. Twice as strong, at least."
A ripple of unease moved through the chamber. Thalos cursed under his breath, fingers tightening around his cane. Azhara's usual calm faltered, her lips pressing thin.
Lyria spoke, her voice softer, but the strain in it unmistakable. "Then what hope do we have? If even our combined strength falls short—"
Kael rose suddenly, his chair scraping against the stone. The room fell silent under the weight of his gaze.
"Our hope," Kael said, voice like iron, "is in survival. We prepare the Hollow for evacuation. Thalren has promised to take our people—every soul that cannot fight must be made ready to leave."
Selina blinked, caught off guard. "Evacuation?"
"Yes." Kael's tone brooked no debate. "We protect the people first. They are our future, not this place of stone and timber. Let them live, and the Hollow endures, no matter where we stand."
The chamber quieted, and then Kael's next words fell like hammer blows.
"While the people flee, I will make for the Overlord. The battle begins and ends with him. If he falls, the horde scatters."
The council erupted.
"You cannot fight him alone!" Thalos barked, slamming his cane down.
"This is madness!" Azhara's voice cracked, fear for him clear.
"Kael, even dragons would falter against such a being," Lyria pressed, desperation in her eyes.
But Kael did not waver. "There is no one else. No one strong enough. If I fail, then it was never possible to begin with."
"Then we fight together!" Selina shot back. "Better to die at your side than let you carry the burden alone."
It was Zerathis who rose, stepping forward into the storm. His voice rumbled like smoldering stone. "No."
All eyes turned to him.
Zerathis's gaze locked on Kael, a warrior's understanding passing between them. "He's right. Against an Overlord, numbers mean nothing. We would die in the first clash, leaving him weakened by our loss. The only path is his path. He alone has the strength to kill what the rest of us cannot even wound."
"You can't be serious!" Azhara hissed, her usual calm cracking into anger.
"I am," Zerathis said, steady as bedrock. "And if he falls, then so does the world. Better that he fight with his full might, unburdened, than be dragged down by our weakness."
The chamber was heavy with silence. Kael felt their eyes on him—doubt, fear, love, loyalty, all tangled into one unbearable knot.
He straightened, forcing his voice to steady, though the memory of the voice in the grove still burned in the back of his mind.
"Then it's settled. The council ensures the people's safety. Zerathis ensures I reach the Overlord. That is our plan. Nothing else matters."
The council said nothing more, but the air was thick with unspoken grief.
Later, as the chamber emptied, Kael lingered by the window, staring out over the Hollow. The bustle of preparations below was already beginning, but for a fleeting moment, he let the mask slip. His hands trembled, and his chest tightened.
He was afraid. Terrified. But the path was set.
The world demanded he walk it.