As soon as he returned to the capital of Rhazgord, Sakhaar made two critical decisions. These decisions sent shockwaves throughout the entire nation, sparking different reactions among various factions.

  The first decision was to appoint Corvus as the new head of the Tiamat Guardians, replacing his cousin, Cortas. The news was met with silence from within the Tiamat ranks—no objections, no protests. The influential members of the Tiamat clan would have preferred Corvus to remain within the army, strengthening both his own influence and their family’s standing. However, none dared to challenge Sakhaar’s authority. His decision was absolute.

  But the same could not be said for the Rhazgord Army. Corvus was not just another warrior; he was a figure of respect, a Sharazir who was as strict as he was just. Soldiers looked up to him, not just as a leader, but as a symbol of discipline and strength. His reputation had only grown after recent events, turning his very presence into a source of motivation for young warriors. The thought of losing him to the Tiamat Guardians was deeply unsettling for many. The Sharazirs and warriors wanted to protest this decision, but before they could act, a second announcement changed everything.

  Sakhaar had ordered the immediate preparation for the Tribal Council.

  The mere mention of this event sent ripples across the land. The Tribal Council was an age-old tradition, held every year on the night that bridged Summer and Autumn. It was a grand gathering, where the leaders of all the major clans, legendary warriors, and esteemed figures convened before the Sanguinar himself. It was during this assembly that the state of the nation was assessed, tribal demands were heard, and crucial decisions were made. Discussions ranged from military strategies to resource allocation—how large the Rhazgord Army should be, how much each clan should contribute, and what new alliances or rivalries had formed.

  But beyond all the politics, there was something even more significant. Because once the council ended, the true event began. The Challenge for Sanguinar’s Throne.

  For three nights following the council, any warrior bold enough could challenge the Sanguinar for his position. And as long as the Sanguinar remained standing, he was obligated to accept every single challenge.

  But the throne was not the only position at stake. The two highest-ranking advisors of the Sanguinar—his closest and most trusted allies—were also vulnerable to challenges. These individuals held vital roles within the kingdom and could not afford to engage in constant duels throughout the year. However, during these three nights, they too could be challenged, and if defeated, replaced.

  With this declaration, the nation’s focus shifted. Whispers filled the streets, warriors sharpened their blades, and ambitious challengers steeled their resolve. All eyes were now set on the upcoming Tribal Council.

  The real issue was timing.

  With months still remaining until the traditional date of the Council, Sanguinar’s sudden decision to bring the meeting forward raised many questions. For the warriors preparing to challenge his rule, this was an act of weakness—a sign of fear. Their greatest advantage had been time—time to prepare, to gather strength, to plan. And now, that time had been taken from them.

  But those who understood the game of power knew the truth. Sanguinar wasn’t doing this to protect himself. Something was wrong. To those with insight, this was no ordinary gathering. It was a war council. This summons was a response to an impending storm, a crisis that even Sanguinar himself could not ignore. And he refused to face it unprepared.

  As warriors, leaders, and emissaries began their journeys toward the capital, Corvus set out on his own mission. But his destination was neither a golden throne room nor a blood-soaked battlefield.

  He was returning to the shadows of his past—to the southern district of Sorbaj.

  This part of the city was a labyrinth of hundreds of stone houses, all belonging to the Tiamat Tribe. Corvus had been born here, yet for years, he had barely set foot in these streets. He had been raised as the son of the Sanguinar, growing up within the walls of the Red Manor. But here, in these back alleys, lived the real Tiamats.

  As he guided his horse through the narrow streets, the air around him began to shift. And then, he saw them. Red-painted messages scrawled across the walls. Some were simple territorial markings:

  “Tiamat Territory.”

  But others carried a far more venomous message:

  “Stay Away, Nabuk Bastards.”

  The words made it painfully clear—old grudges still burned hot. The past had not been forgotten. Nor had it been forgiven. Corvus inhaled deeply.

  And now, the only thing Corvus could see was not just the crimson writing on the walls. It was the crimson eyes.

  They glowed in the shadows of the alleys, peeked from behind windows, and watched from doorsteps. Everywhere he turned, Tiamat blood—marked by those unmistakable crimson irises—stared back at him.

  Whispers spread like wildfire. People rose to their feet, nodding in acknowledgment or stepping forward to watch him closely.

  Corvus did not live here, but these people were not strangers to him. Many of them were his kin by blood. The rest were his comrades from the Rhazgord army. These streets were as familiar as they were foreign. Then, the first wave came—the young ones.

  They recognized him immediately. They surrounded him, expressions a mixture of admiration and anger. To them, Corvus was not just a leader; he was a symbol. And now, that symbol had left the battlefield. The questions came like a storm.

  “Why did you leave the army?!”

  “Have you given up being Sanguinar?”

  “Are you going to live here now?”

  The streets were narrow, and the crowd pressed in. Voices rose. To these young warriors, Corvus had been a source of pride. And now, to them, it felt like he had abandoned that pride. But Corvus did not waver. He stood tall, met each gaze, and answered them—one by one.

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  “It was our leader’s command.”

  “I have not abandoned being Sanguinar, of course not!”

  “I won’t be living here, but I will be here often.”

  His horse could no longer move. The street was too packed, and his path was completely blocked. Then, the elders stepped in. They parted the crowd—not just to clear a way for Corvus, but to speak with him themselves. Their faces held no anger. But they were filled with questions. Unlike the young, they did not care only for the thrill of war. They understood power.

  Answering the reasonable questions of adults and the sincere, curious inquiries of relatives, he pressed forward. The streets overflowed with people, the constant echoes in his ears sometimes swelling into a suffocating hum. He was nearing his destination when one of the rare individuals who could roam these streets freely—even without crimson eyes—suddenly blocked his path.

  Zarqa.

  Corvus paused briefly upon seeing the man before him. Even in the dim light, he was unmistakable. Zarqa stood as upright and calm as ever, but his eyes held an unusual hardness.

  Though not a Tiamat by blood, Zarqa had been raised among them. He had eaten, fought, and been shaped by them. He was a brother without shared lineage.

  Corvus had only been in the city for two days and hadn’t yet found time to meet Zarqa. He hadn’t expected him here. But if Zarqa stood in this place at this hour… there could only be one explanation. Corvus furrowed his brow.

  “Did you leave the army?!”

  His voice cut like a blade. Shock mingled with anger.

  Zarqa was a few years older than Corvus, but his talents had propelled him far

  beyond his peers. He was hailed as a prodigy of his generation. He could have risen swiftly in the ranks, even earning the title of Sharazir by now. But he hadn’t. He had chosen to remain at Corvus’s side.

  There were two reasons. First, his bond with Corvus—deeper than friendship, stronger than brotherhood. Second, the Sanguinar’s order. But now… If Corvus had left the army, Zarqa’s obligation was void. Nothing barred him from ascending the ranks. Yet here he stood. He had followed. Zarqa replied with his usual calm but firm tone:

  “Not just me. Baldrek left too.”

  Corvus narrowed his eyes. Baldrek? Zarqa shook his head slightly and continued:

  “You should’ve seen how furious he was when he heard the news. It took everything I had to calm him down.”

  Corvus’s chest tightened further. Baldrek’s temper was legendary, but he was a disciplined man. He never questioned orders and remained loyal to his decisions.

  Corvus fired another question:

  “Did you get the Sanguinar’s permission?”

  A shadow flickered across Zarqa’s composed expression. His eyes briefly darted to the surrounding crowd. He didn’t want to speak here.

  “Come.”

  His tone was short and final—not an order, but not open to debate.

  “We’ll discuss this at the Guards’ headquarters.”

  The two moved swiftly through the dark streets. Corvus’s gnawing curiosity quickened his steps, while Zarqa’s silence hung like a weight. Worse, Corvus was displeased. Had he not been occupied these past two days, he would have met Baldrek and Zarqa immediately to discuss their plans and urge them to stay in the army. Both were skilled; their discipline and intellect would inevitably propel them to Sharazir rank. But now, they’d left without consulting him. This altered the cards in his hand, and his inability to steer this change himself ate at him.

  As they slipped free of the crowd, Zarqa abruptly changed direction. Corvus hesitated. They were supposed to head to the Tiamat Guards’ headquarters, but Zarqa had veered into a secluded alley. The street narrowed progressively, shadows stretching between buildings. No one was here. The wind echoed off stone walls, thickening the atmosphere. By the time they stopped in a spot shielded from eyes and ears, Corvus’s patience was fraying. He gathered his breath to unleash a barrage of questions, but Zarqa’s voice split the air like a cold blade before he could speak:

  “I know why the Sanguinar pulled you from the army and made you head of the Tiamat Guards.”

  The words froze Corvus’s blood. This was information only Sakhaar and he should have known. His brow furrowed, his eyes locking onto his friend with suspicion. *What else did Zarqa know?* Zarqa swiftly scanned their surroundings before continuing in a low voice:

  “I’m sorry I never told you before, but I’ve been part of the Tiamat Guards from the beginning.”

  His words dropped between them like cold truth. But the real blow came next.

  “Part of its unseen branch.”

  Corvus’s face turned to stone. He literally stopped breathing. It didn’t take him long to understand. He knew the Tiamat Guards weren’t just a warrior unit—they were an intelligence network that slithered through shadows, excavating the secrets of tribes. But he hadn’t known Zarqa was part of it.

  A cold wave of anger flooded him.

  “Were you spying on me all these years?! I trusted you! I thought you stayed by my side because you were my friend!”

  His voice echoed in the dark. Though he clenched his teeth to control his rage, he couldn’t hide the betrayal tearing through him. This shattered everything he knew.

  Zarqa understood Corvus’s fury but didn’t defend himself. He held his gaze, knowing evasion was impossible.

  “Believe it or not, I never betrayed our friendship.”

  His voice remained calm, but beneath it lay regret.

  “I refused countless offers to leave your side. But this is my duty, and I won’t apologize for doing it.”

  Corvus’s fists tightened. He forced himself to suppress the anger and disappointment, knowing neither would help now. Through gritted teeth, he hissed:

  “What about Baldrek?! Is he scheming behind my back too, like you?!”

  Zarqa shook his head.

  “He knows nothing.”

  Corvus studied Zarqa’s face, searching for lies. But only truth stared back. This didn’t simplify things—it made them infinitely more tangled.

  Corvus’s hand rose to grip his hair. He was already drowning in challenges, and now his trust in his most loyal man lay fractured. The anger and disappointment gnawing at him pressed like a weight on his soul. He sank into silence, thoughts colliding violently. Trying to smother his doubt, he finally snarled through clenched teeth:

  “What the fuck ever! Take me to the Guards’ headquarters so I can learn whatever other secrets you’re hiding.”

  Zarqa nodded. He’d anticipated this reaction but knew their trust would never fully heal. This rift was irreversible.

  Instead of retracing their path, Zarqa led them deeper into the alley’s darkness. Corvus followed without question. The cold wind echoed through the streets, their footsteps unnervingly loud. With every step, Corvus realized this city held far more beneath its surface.

  Soon, an iron door—uncommon in Sorbaj—materialized in the alley’s most secluded corner, nearly swallowed by shadows. The cold, black metal gleamed menacingly in the dim light. It was nearly invisible unless you knew where to look. Clearly, this place was accessible only to the initiated.

  Zarqa paused before the door and spoke softly to Corvus:

  “Listen carefully. Memorize this rhythm. You’ll need it every time you come here.”

  He raised his hand and knocked in a precise pattern—sharp, deliberate strikes that echoed in the silence. A code. A signal to distinguish friend from foe.

  A few seconds passed. The door cracked open, but instead of a towering Rhazgord warrior in armor or a stern-faced guard, an ordinary man stood there. Unremarkable, with features blending into the crowd—someone you wouldn’t glance at twice. He didn’t look like a warrior, but the sword at his belt warned of lethal capability.

  The man’s eyes quickly swept over Corvus. Then he bowed slightly and said:

  “We've been waiting for you.”