Veyra lounged on her throne of welded steel, the crimson plates of her armor glinting in the flickering firelight. Her court was a den of predators—pirates, mercenaries, killers, all watching Kael and his companions with thinly veiled hunger.
Kael stepped forward into the center of the chamber, his voice even but carrying weight. "We didn't come here to beg. We came to offer something the Council fears: a chance to fight back."
The court erupted with laughter. Some jeered, others spat. One scar-faced raider leaned close to another and muttered loudly, "He'll leave in pieces."
Veyra silenced them with a raised hand. Her eyes never left Kael. "And why would Korrath fight the Council? They leave us alone. They fear the chaos we breed here."
Taren's voice cut in, cold and precise. "For now. But when Havenreach grows, when Kael's rebellion spreads, do you think the Council will allow your kingdom of scraps to stand? They will cleanse you the way they cleanse everything—quietly, efficiently, without mercy."
The hall shifted uneasily. Veyra's smile faltered, just for a moment.
Kael seized the opening. "Join us, and Korrath becomes more than an outlaw's refuge. It becomes a stronghold. A rallying cry. You won't just survive—you'll shape the future."
Veyra rose from her throne, slow and deliberate. She circled Kael like a predator testing its prey. "You speak well for a soldier. But words are cheap here." She gestured toward the fighting pit in the center of the hall, its floor stained dark. "On Korrath, strength is truth. Prove yours, and maybe we'll listen."
The court cheered, stomping and roaring, the sound echoing through the cavernous chamber.
Kael didn't hesitate. He unstrapped his rifle, setting it aside, and stepped into the pit.
Lyra's hand caught his arm briefly. Her eyes searched his, filled with worry. "Don't die proving a point."
He gave her the faintest smile. "I don't plan to."
The challenger emerged from the crowd—a brute twice Kael's size, his arms wrapped in metal bands, his chest scarred from a dozen battles. He grinned, revealing broken teeth, and slammed his fists together with a clang.
The fight began without warning.
The brute charged, swinging heavy blows that rattled the floor. Kael dodged, his movements sharp, efficient. He struck back with precision, each blow aimed not to crush but to cripple.
The crowd roared as fists met flesh, as Kael was thrown to the ground and rose again, blood on his lip but fire in his eyes.
The brute lunged for the final strike. Kael caught his arm, twisted, and drove him into the floor with a crack that silenced the hall.
The man didn't rise.
Kael stood over him, breathing hard but steady. He raised his eyes to Veyra, unflinching.
"Is that proof enough?"
Silence lingered for a heartbeat, then the hall erupted—not with mockery, but with respect. Cheers, shouts, fists pounding against metal walls.
Veyra studied Kael for a long moment, then inclined her head slightly. "Perhaps you are more than words. Perhaps."
She returned to her throne, her smile sharp as a blade. "You will have my answer. But not tonight. Korrath does not bend easily."
Kael nodded. "I wouldn't want it to."
As he left the pit, Lyra met him with steady hands, brushing blood from his jaw. Her touch lingered, her eyes locking with his in unspoken relief.
Behind them, Taren's gaze followed Veyra with a calculating gleam.
"The queen plays her game," he murmured. "But so do we."