Chapter 955 — A Hollow on Edge
The council chamber was dim when Kael entered. Morning light streamed through the high windows, pale and silver, glinting off the dark stone table that sat at the room's center. The air was thick with quiet anticipation—every council member already gathered, their expressions sharp and expectant.
Zerathis leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. Lyria sat to Kael's right, hands folded neatly before her, eyes watchful. Selene was leafing through a stack of notes; Varik tapped a gloved finger against the table's surface, restless as ever. Fenrik stood at the end, cloak drawn tight, and Eris was silent within Kael's mind—listening.
Kael stopped at the head of the table. The flicker of torchlight painted shifting shadows across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but heavy with something deeper—remorse.
"Until further notice," he began, "the Hollow is on high alert."
A murmur swept through the room, quickly quieting as Kael raised a hand.
"The church's defeat at their stronghold wasn't an end," he continued. "It was a delay. Franklin escaped, and whatever project they began is still in motion. Until we have actionable intel on their next move, no one—no one—relaxes their vigilance. Patrols double at the northern ridge. Gates sealed by dusk. I want our sentries trained to spot even the whisper of a holy sigil."
Selene nodded, already jotting notes. "We'll keep the research division running in shifts. No scholar leaves the Hollow unescorted."
"Good," Kael said. Then he drew in a slow breath. "There's something else."
He stepped forward, facing the council fully now. His gaze lingered on Zerathis. The daemon warrior's crimson eyes met his, unflinching, though confusion stirred there.
Kael's next words cut through the chamber like a blade.
"I owe you all an apology. Especially you, Zerathis."
The room fell still. Even Eris stirred faintly, curious.
Kael didn't avert his gaze. "I let Franklin escape. I had him, and I hesitated. Because of that, he's still out there, plotting whatever comes next. You've followed me into fire, through war, through madness itself—and I failed to end the threat when I could have."
Zerathis pushed off the wall, his jaw tightening. "Kael—"
But Kael shook his head. "No. This isn't debate. This is ownership. I expect you all to hold me to the same standard I hold each of you. I won't hide from my mistakes."
A long silence followed. Then Zerathis took a single step forward, his tone rough but not unkind.
"You hesitated because you're human," he said. "Because you remember what mercy feels like. If I'd been in your place, Franklin would be ash—and I'd regret it later."
Kael's lips twitched faintly, the shadow of a smile. "You've learned restraint."
Zerathis gave a low grunt. "Don't make me regret it."
A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the council, easing the tension slightly. Even Lyria allowed herself a small, relieved exhale.
Kael nodded once. "Then it's settled. We prepare for whatever comes next. If the Church so much as breathes our way again, we'll be ready."
He dismissed the council not long after, watching them file out into the corridors with renewed purpose. The Hollow moved like a great machine now—polished, unified, vigilant. But Kael's heart was not at rest.
Later that day, as the sun began to dip low behind the Hollow's cliffs, Kael stood on the outer balcony overlooking the city. The wind was cool, laced with the smell of stone and iron and rain.
Eris had been quiet for hours. He thought she was giving him space—until the world seemed to ripple.
The air shimmered before him. The sky bent, light fracturing into shards of violet and gold.
Kael straightened instinctively, hand falling to his sword. "Eris—"
"I feel it too," she whispered. "Something is… crossing."
Then the shimmer deepened, forming the outline of a tall, ethereal figure cloaked in crimson smoke. The daemon he had freed from the shard. Its body was formed of shifting chaos light, its eyes burning like molten glass.
Kael didn't draw his weapon. He simply stood, staring.
"You," he said softly.
The daemon inclined its head. Its voice rolled like thunder over water.
"You freed me from the Church's prison. I owe you… acknowledgment."
Kael's hand tightened at his side. "You don't owe me anything. They were using you."
A rumbling sound that might have been laughter came from the being. "Mortals always think in terms of debt and duty. But gratitude… that I can give freely."
Eris was still within him, but she was quiet—almost reverent.
Kael studied the daemon carefully. "What will you do now?"
"I do not know," it admitted. "This world has changed. I remember fire, and the old wars. I remember your kind burning what they feared. But you freed me—not for power, not for worship. For that, I will watch you."
"Watch me?" Kael asked, wary but calm.
The daemon's form flickered, its voice fading like a fading storm.
"You are a curious soul, Kael of the Hollow. You stand between light and ruin. Be careful which you step toward."
And with that, it was gone.
The world snapped back into place—the sound of the wind, the hum of the Hollow below, the fading echo of that deep, ancient presence.
Kael stood still for a long while, his mind turning like grinding gears.
"You think it's a threat?" Eris asked, her tone low.
"No," Kael murmured. "I think it's a promise."
He looked out over his city—his home. The banners of the Hollow fluttered against the dusk, strong and defiant. But deep down, Kael knew peace was only ever borrowed time.
And someone, somewhere, had just started counting the seconds.