Chapter 336 – Ash and Reverence
The chamber was silent save for the faint crackle of torches against blackened stone. Ash still clung to the walls, and the air carried the faint tang of smoke, as though the ruins themselves refused to forget what had been lost.
At the center of it all, Kael knelt with his forehead pressed against the earth. His broad shoulders trembled—not from weakness of body, but from the weight of shame and the depth of his apology. His voice still lingered in the air, raw and broken: "Strike me, curse me, hate me—I deserve it. But know this: never again will I treat you as less than my equals."
The words seemed to hang there, heavy, smoldering like embers.
The council stood frozen, each member staring down at their lord with expressions as varied as the wounds they bore.
Rogan's fists were still clenched, his knuckles raw from striking Kael moments earlier. His chest rose and fell like a hammer bellows, fury still burning in his veins. Yet as he stared at the man on the ground, his fury began to shift, cooling into something heavier.
"You damned bastard…" Rogan muttered, his voice low, rough with emotion. "I should strike you again. But seeing you there—on the ground like that—hurts worse than any wound I took in that battle." His jaw worked, muscles twitching as he fought the war inside himself. "I followed you because you stood above us all. Because you made us believe nothing could break you. And now—" His words faltered, caught between bitterness and reluctant admiration. "—now I see you bleed like the rest of us."
He turned his head away, a curse escaping his lips, though no further blow came.
Selina's arms were folded across her chest, her posture rigid, her sharp eyes unblinking as they bore into Kael's bowed form. There was no softening in her stare, no trembling of lip or breaking of voice.
"You are a fool," she said coldly, every syllable like a blade. "A reckless, selfish fool. You speak of equals now, yet it took disaster for you to see us as more than shields to hide behind. Words will not mend what you broke."
And yet, when Kael lifted his eyes just enough to glance at her, Selina faltered. Her hand tightened against her arm, and her mouth pressed thin. Beneath her fury was a spark of something else—a wound she wasn't ready to expose. She turned her head sharply, hiding it with steel.
Varik stood stiffly, his eyes shadowed beneath his brow. He looked as though he were carved from stone, expressionless, but his voice betrayed him.
"I would have died beside you," he said flatly. "That was my choice to make. You stripped it from me." He paused, his eyes narrowing, jaw clenching. "But you bow now, and that speaks louder than pride ever could. Perhaps… perhaps there is still a man behind the dragon."
He stepped back, silent again, leaving his words to cut their mark.
Fenrik let out a harsh laugh, bitter and sharp. "Gods above, look at you. The mighty Kael, the beast who slew an overlord, groveling in the dirt." He spat to the side, his face twisting with both disgust and something like sorrow. "Do you know what it felt like? Watching you vanish into that army, knowing we could do nothing? I would have torn my own skin off to break your damned bonds."
His hands trembled, his rage like a storm with nowhere to break. "You call us equals now, but if you ever—ever—do that to me again, you'll find my blade at your throat, not your side."
His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned away before anyone could see the moisture gathering in his eyes.
Zerathis stood apart, his arms crossed, the void-forged aura about him cold and sharp. His crimson eyes regarded Kael with their usual detached precision, yet even he seemed shaken by the sight.
"You bow to them," Zerathis murmured, his voice softer than usual. "You, who would have burned the world before lowering your head. Perhaps there is more humanity in you than I thought."
His words carried no anger, no venom—only a quiet acknowledgment. He gave no more, slipping back into silence as though unwilling to reveal anything further.
The council's voices faded, leaving the chamber once again heavy with silence. It was then that Kael shifted, turning on his knees. His body trembled with the strain, but he bent low once more—this time to Thalren. His forehead pressed to the earth, the gesture deliberate and unflinching.
"King Thalren," Kael rasped, voice hoarse with exhaustion. "For sheltering my people, for sending aid when we had nothing left, for being the strength I could not… you have my gratitude. And my debt."
The Sea King stood still as stone. His eyes, the color of deep ocean, widened just slightly at the sight before him. He had fought wars, crushed rivals, ruled over vast waves—but never had he seen such a man as this.
Not a man, he thought. A beast in human skin. A dragon who bent worlds to his will. And yet here he was, pressing his head to the dirt before another king.
Thalren felt a pang of unease, as though he were standing at the edge of a storm that might one day swallow him whole. But alongside it came something rarer: respect.
He stepped forward, the chamber watching in stunned silence, and placed a firm hand on Kael's shoulder.
"Raise your head," Thalren said quietly. "You bow to me in thanks, and I accept it. But know this—" His voice hardened, carrying the weight of his crown. "A man such as you bows to no one. Not even me."
Kael looked up slowly, his eyes clouded with fatigue and shame. Thalren held his gaze, steady as the sea.
"You carry burdens that would crush lesser men. You fought a war alone, and still you stand. You call me king, but what you are—" Thalren's voice softened, almost reverent. "—what you are is something greater. The world will remember what you did here, Kael. Whether it loves you for it or fears you… that choice is no longer yours."
For the first time since bowing, Kael's chest rose with a ragged breath. He said nothing—there was nothing to say.
The council stared in silence, each of them marked by the weight of Thalren's words and Kael's humility.
In that ruined chamber, among ash and broken stone, something shifted. Not forgiveness—not yet—but the beginning of it.
And in the silence that followed, the hollow breathed again.