Chapter 330 — The Hollow Prepares
The Hollow had never been so alive—yet never so afraid.
From the moment Kael gave the order, the council moved as one, spreading his commands across the settlement. The people, though weary from past trials, obeyed with grim determination. The threat of a hundred thousand orcs looming over them left no room for hesitation.
The Council at Work
Thalos barked orders at the militia, his booming voice echoing through the training yard. Farmers, merchants, and craftsmen dropped their tools to pick up spears, shields, and bows. Some were shaking, others steady, but under Thalos's eye they began to resemble soldiers rather than civilians.
Rogan drilled the more experienced fighters, using their last encounters with the church and slavers as examples of what would be needed. "No wasted movement! Strike hard, strike fast—keep each other alive!" His voice was steel, but his eyes betrayed the worry he refused to show.
Lyria oversaw the supply lines, tallying food, water, and weapons with meticulous precision. She had already ordered rationing to begin, and though complaints rose from the people, her sharp gaze silenced them. "Every grain counts," she told them. "Every flask. Waste nothing."
Azhara and the healers worked tirelessly, preparing salves, bandages, and potions. She moved through her tent with quiet urgency, but Kael noticed the pallor in her cheeks, the lingering exhaustion from the last battle. Still, she did not falter.
Saekaros gathered families in the square, assigning evacuation routes and hiding places. Maps were drawn, contingencies made. "If the walls fall, you run. Do not look back," he told them. His words were harsh, but necessary.
And through it all, Zerathis and Varik moved like shadows on the outskirts of camp, checking defenses, inspecting weapons, and watching the treeline as if the orcs might march on them at any moment.
Kael's Watch
Kael stood at the center of it all, moving from one council member to the next, reinforcing their work, steadying frayed nerves. To the militia, he was strength. To the healers, reassurance. To the frightened children clinging to their mothers, he was calm.
But beneath the surface, Kael felt it—the gnawing weight of the decision he had already made. The council could plan, the people could prepare, but he knew in his soul that only one thing mattered: the Overlord.
Get them safe. Get me to him. That's all that matters.
At sunset, the Hollow's bustle slowed only slightly as torches lit the streets. Kael climbed the western wall and gazed into the forest. In the distance, he swore he could see the faint orange glow of the orc fires on the horizon.
For the first time in a long while, fear gripped him. Not for himself—but for everyone who had come to rely on him.
Umbra appeared silently at his side, golden eyes cutting through the night. You feel it too, the wolf said, low and resonant. The storm is coming.
Kael rested a hand on Umbra's shadowy fur, his gaze fixed on the forest beyond. "Then I'll be the one to break it."