Chapter 333 – Ashes and Stone
The Hollow breathed with the sounds of rebirth.
The clatter of hammers striking wood and chisels cutting stone filled the air, mingling with the murmur of weary voices. Where once smoke and ruin choked the streets, now scaffolds climbed upward, and tents of blue and silver rose among the rubble, marking the aid that had come from the Ocean Kingdom.
Thalren did not simply command from afar. He walked the ruined streets himself, cloak trailing through the dust, boots sinking into ash. His queen's words echoed in his mind—"Choose your words with care." He had, but words were not enough. Action was needed, and he would act.
Beside him, members of the Hollow's council guided their people, each suited to their own task. Rogan's booming voice barked orders to laborers, his strength making him more of a foreman than a warrior in these moments. Selina had already commandeered one of the work tents, sketching crude blueprints on parchment with ink-stained hands. Fenrik and Varik coordinated defenses, speaking quietly to the militia, reminding them that while rebuilding was vital, vigilance was survival.
For a moment, Thalren found himself impressed. Broken though they were, the Hollow's leaders had not shattered with their home.
The Visit
When dusk fell, the Sea King followed Lyria into the healer's tent where Kael lay.
The sight of him was a shock, even to Thalren's seasoned eyes. Kael's massive frame lay still upon the cot, his chest rising and falling shallowly. His skin was pale, scarred, and streaked with darkened veins where mana had burned him from within. His right arm trembled faintly even in sleep, a lingering echo of strain.
"By the gods," Thalren murmured, his voice heavy with the weight of what he saw. "This is what it took?"
Lyria's hand brushed gently over Kael's hair, her expression torn between sorrow and devotion. "He gave everything. Every shred of his strength, every ounce of his soul. And for what? To leave us in ruin." Her voice cracked, but she did not falter. "Yet if he had not… none of us would still be here."
Azhara stood opposite her, arms crossed, though the redness in her eyes betrayed sleepless nights. "I screamed for him to stop. He didn't listen. He never listens. He chose to carry everything alone." She looked at Thalren sharply. "Do you know what it's like to watch the man you love destroy himself just to keep you alive? To see him… not even look back as if we mattered less than his burden?"
Thalren did not answer immediately. He stepped closer, gazing down at Kael.
"I know what it is to bear a kingdom's weight on my shoulders," he said at last, his deep voice rumbling low. "And I know what it is to sacrifice without asking for thanks. But this…" He shook his head, jaw tight. "This is not sacrifice. This is self-destruction."
The two women fell silent at his words, each turning inward with their grief.
"He must live," Lyria whispered finally. "Not as our shield, but as our Kael. If he cannot see that soon, we will lose him—even if he wins every battle."
The Meeting with Zerathis
Later that evening, Thalren stepped outside the healer's tent and nearly collided with Zerathis. The daemon stood tall in the fading light, his horns casting long shadows across the ground, crimson eyes burning with something unreadable.
"King of the Ocean," Zerathis said, voice sharp but respectful. "I wondered when you would seek me out. Or perhaps it is fate that placed us in each other's path."
Thalren's hand brushed the hilt of his ceremonial sword, though he made no move to draw it. His gaze locked on the daemon's. "You are the one they call Zerathis. Kael's shadow, his enforcer."
Zerathis smirked faintly. "Enforcer. Ally. Brother-in-arms. Call it what you will. I follow him because he earned it. Because he does what few others would dare." His tone sharpened. "Even if it kills him."
"Even if it destroys everyone around him?" Thalren countered, voice cutting.
The two stared, the air between them thick with tension. For a moment, it seemed blades might be drawn—not of steel, but of words honed to deadly edges.
At last, Zerathis gave a low chuckle, tilting his head. "You are sharp, Thalren. Too sharp for your own good. Perhaps you'll live long enough to see why Kael needs me. Needs us." He turned, beginning to walk away.
Thalren called after him, his voice deep as the sea. "And perhaps you will live long enough to see why even the strongest cannot stand alone."
Zerathis paused, shoulders stiff, but said nothing more. He vanished into the bustle of the rebuilding, crimson eyes glimmering in the twilight.
The Night's Reflection
As the Hollow's fires burned into the night, Thalren stood on a half-collapsed wall, looking out over the ruins. Builders moved by torchlight, voices rising in chants of work songs. Council members worked alongside their people, sweat and grit binding them tighter than any oath.
The Hollow was broken, yes. But as Thalren watched them rebuild, he realized something profound.
Broken things could be reforged.
And sometimes, reforged steel was stronger than what it had been before.