The world expected Drax to burn it.
Instead, he stunned it into silence.
At dawn, his message came — not through fire or fleet, but through every broadcast crystal, den-den channel, and shadowfax courier still untouched by war. His voice echoed across oceans and continents, carried into rebel bunkers and noble courts, pirate coves and common taverns alike. Gone was the roar of a tyrant. In its place, calm — commanding, deliberate, calculated.
"Enough blood has been spilled. Enough cities razed. I offer peace."
Raizen and his crew were aboard the Tempest Gale, anchored off the coast of the neutral island of Veylin when the message reached them. The crew gathered in stunned silence, listening as Drax laid out his offer:
Ceasefires on all fronts.
Reconstruction aid to kingdoms that surrendered.
Amnesty for rebel leaders… if they disbanded.
And above all — a New Order, with Drax as Supreme Arbiter, claiming to unite the seas under one law, one will, one eternal flame.
It was not surrender in name — but in truth, it was total submission.
The world wavered.
Some nations, weary of war and frightened by what they had seen in Vel'Tharon, began to consider the offer. Others, particularly kingdoms on the brink of collapse, saw it as a way to survive. Even within Raizen's alliance, cracks appeared. Murmurs. Doubts.
"He's offering to rebuild," one rebel general argued. "Better a future in chains than no future at all."
In Veylin's council hall — a domed chamber lit by storm lanterns and heavy with tension — Raizen faced a growing storm of dissent.
"You're not a king, Raizen," barked Lady Myra of the Eastern Fangs, slamming her metal arm on the table. "You can't speak for every rebel faction."
"We didn't follow you to die in flames," added a smuggler-turned-commander from the Northern Isles. "If Drax can end this…"
Zuri, ever still, stood behind Raizen like a shadow. Koba's absence loomed larger than ever now — the voice of strategy lost in the fire. And for once, Raizen felt the weight of leadership not in the swords he faced, but in the eyes that questioned him.
He rose slowly, letting the silence settle.
"The war has always been about more than survival," he said. "It's been about truth. About choice. You think submission brings peace? Drax doesn't want peace. He wants a monument to obedience, built from the ashes of every rebel dream."
He pointed to the skies, still streaked with smoke from distant burning ports.
"We've seen what his peace looks like. Cities scorched for hesitation. Entire islands disappeared into flame. And now, when we strike back? When we win even a fraction of ground?" His voice hardened. "He offers peace. Because he knows fear alone won't break us — but division might."
Some looked away. Some nodded. And some remained unmoved.
But the message was clear.
This was Drax's gambit — not a surrender, but a weapon in disguise. Diplomacy as fire. Unity through submission. Chains polished until they glittered like freedom.
In the following days, emissaries from Drax arrived at neutral ports, cloaked in gold and fire-stitched robes. Some were welcomed. Some were assassinated. Others vanished without trace. The world hung in balance, and every choice now weighed like a blade over the rebellion's throat.
In the quiet of his quarters, Raizen stood before a map of the world — pins marking battles won and lost, territories freed and threatened. The lines between them blurred. Allies wavered. Enemies hesitated.
And Drax watched it all unfold.
Raizen whispered to the map, to himself, to Koba's memory and to the fire whispering in his blood:
"You can't offer peace when the house is already burning."
He knew what had to come next.
Because war — true war — had just begun.
END OF THE CHAPTER14