Chapter 966 — When Purpose Falters
The council chamber was quieter than usual. No raised voices. No frantic arguments about supply lines, raids, or intelligence. Just a strange, heavy stillness — the kind that comes when the war drums stop, and the only sound left is the echo of what's already been done.
Kael sat at the head of the long stone table, his fingers loosely clasped before him. Around him sat the familiar faces — Lyria, Selina, Zerathis, Varik, Fenrik, and a few of the newer scholars and generals who'd risen in the Hollow's ranks.
It should have been a moment of triumph. The Church's experiments had been destroyed. Their forces were in disarray. The world was quiet again.
And yet, Kael could feel it — that uneasy emptiness crawling beneath his skin.
"Supplies are stable," Fenrik was saying. "Trade with Greystone and the Ironside has never been better. Thalren's smiths are sending us shipments of mythril every moon. The Hollow's never been stronger."
"Which is exactly what worries me," Varik muttered. He leaned forward, his scarred hands clasped on the table. "Strong civilizations grow soft without purpose. We were built on survival. Now we're sitting in comfort, waiting for something to happen."
Lyria's voice was calm, measured. "Peace doesn't have to mean stagnation, Varik. We can use this time to heal — to grow beyond war."
"Peace?" Varik's tone carried a faint scoff. "There's no such thing. Not for us. Not while the surface world still sees us as monsters in the dark."
A quiet murmur spread through the room, and all eyes turned to Kael — expecting him to say something, to cut through the noise like he always did.
But Kael didn't speak right away.
He just sat there, staring at the polished stone of the table, seeing his reflection in its faint shimmer — older, wearier. He had been leading for so long that he'd forgotten what it meant to not have a clear direction.
Finally, he said, "You're both right."
That drew everyone's attention. Kael stood, pacing slowly along the table's edge, the flickering torchlight throwing long shadows across the room.
"For years, we've defined ourselves by what we fought against. The Church, the surface kingdoms, the threats that crawled from the Abyss. But now, for the first time since the Hollow was founded… there's no one left to fight."
He looked around the table — at faces that had bled and suffered alongside him.
"And I don't know what comes next."
The admission fell like a hammer.
Even Zerathis looked momentarily stunned.
Kael continued, his tone softer now. "Our people need purpose. Direction. Without it, we'll rot from the inside. We can't just wait for the world to bring another war to our door."
Selina leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "Then perhaps we create our own purpose. The Spirit Project proved we can bring new life into this world — reshape what's possible. If we turned that same ingenuity toward rebuilding what was lost…"
She trailed off, eyes flicking toward Eris, who stood quietly near the door.
Kael followed her gaze.
Eris stood perfectly still, her silver eyes unfocused — as though she were listening to something only she could hear.
When the council adjourned, Kael lingered in the empty chamber. He stared at the map etched into the center of the table — a map of the world above and below, dotted with faint marks from every battle they'd fought.
He'd never realized how much of his identity had been tied to conflict. Every plan, every decision, every night spent awake had revolved around survival.
Now that survival was guaranteed, he felt hollow — a leader without a direction.
He rubbed a hand over his face. "Eris."
The spirit turned from where she stood, her new human form moving with slow, deliberate grace. "Yes, Kael?"
"What do you think?" he asked quietly. "What should we do now?"
She blinked, as if the question itself unsettled her. "You're asking me?"
"I'm asking someone who isn't blinded by habit," Kael replied. "You see things differently."
Eris hesitated, processing, then said, "You built the Hollow as a refuge. Now it stands as a beacon. Perhaps the next step is to make it a bridge."
Kael frowned slightly. "A bridge?"
"To the surface," she said. "To the ones who still see you as myth. You cannot remain underground forever. Growth demands connection — even if it invites risk."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You think they'd accept us? After everything?"
"I think," Eris said softly, "that they will never have the chance to try if you keep hiding."
Her words struck something deep in him — a chord he didn't realize had been waiting to sound.
That night, Kael stood alone on the overlook above the Hollow — the same one he'd once stood on before their war with the Church. But the view was different now. The forges glowed warm, not furious. The people laughed. Children ran across the bridges carved into the stone.
Peace was a strange kind of battlefield.
And yet, in that moment, he realized Eris might be right.
The Hollow couldn't just survive anymore. It had to become.
He whispered into the quiet, "Maybe it's time to stop hiding."
Below, the wind carried his words into the depths, where they lingered — faint echoes in a city that had once been born from shadow.
And in the darkness of her quarters, Eris stood by her window, watching the same stars.
Her hand pressed lightly against her chest, over the place where her heart now beat.
She didn't understand why it hurt when she thought of Kael's voice — only that it did.