Two priests of Solanir approached in flowing robes, sun-glyphs glinting as they moved with practiced grace. A pair of muttered prayers, a pulse of heatless golden light—and just like that, the split near Lucien’s lip vanished. The cut along Kael’s ribs sealed without a trace. Not the Sisters, Kael thought. Their order held to a looser, more… interpretive approach to prophecy. Drop a Sister into the Pit, and it’d be like loosing foxes in a chicken coop. Expensive to keep on retainer, these priests. But worth every coin.

  Dead men don’t protect districts.

  Yuri came bounding over, clapping both Kael and Lucien on the back with a broad grin. Lucien flinched at the attention, looking momentarily embarrassed—his usual composure softened by the crowd now engulfing him. Still, he spared Kael a glance, one filled with quiet respect, before slipping away to clean up.

  “Damn,” Yuri said, breathless. “That was insane. Every time, man—I don’t know how the two of you do that.” Frank, ever the mountain of understatement, lumbered closer. His words came low, rough—like gravel rolling in a barrel.

  “Talent. Practice.”

  He gave Kael a nod and turned to bark orders at a few younger toughs who were dragging their feet.

  Then—

  The energy in the Pit shifted.

  A new presence at the entrance.

  Kael turned.

  A large, scarred lion type beast kin stepped into view, tall enough to meet Kael eye to eye—and then some. Muscle coiled beneath blackened full plate, the armor etched with faint glyphs and embedded mage cores. Enchantments flared at the joints and shoulders—force reduction, kinetic damping, elemental resistance. Not off-the-rack gear. This was personalized. Battle-tested.

  Her hair was fiery red, braided tight and trailing over one shoulder. Her eyes, by contrast, were like cool rain—a strange and unsettling calm behind the storm.

  And though she stood still—relaxed, seemingly uninterested—Kael could feel the weight of her presence.

  Tribal scars patterned her exposed arms and collar, some fresh, some faded, all earned. Across her back, a massive bone-forged sword, nocked with braids and claw charms—clearly a Pride-Fang, a roar-forged weapon born of conquest. Not a decorative piece.

  A large black case rested by her feet.

  Kael’s eyes narrowed.

  Danger level: high. Not a First Fang or shaman, but easily a contender.

  His gaze dropped to her belt. There—woven into the leather, just beneath a polished armor loop—was a gold Master Guild token.

  Sunbound.

  A rare distinction. Just beneath Guildmaster in authority and skill. That flickering mana core pulsing in the token wasn’t for show.

  She hadn’t chosen the life of a Pride-bound warleader.

  She’d walked the adventurer’s road instead.

  Interesting.

  Kael gave Yuri a pat on the shoulder and stepped forward.

  "Good display of blade control. Soldier? Borderlands?"

  Her voice surprised him—feminine, but edged with steel. The kind that could command attention across a battlefield or a crowded tavern.

  "Among other things," Kael replied, raising two fingers to his lower lip in the old gesture—a mark of respect among warrior kin.

  Her eyes widened slightly, then mirrored the motion with her own hand.

  "I see you, Thraak’ven."

  She had switched to the beast kin dialect of the Borderlands—guttural, rough, yet reverent.

  Thraak’ven. That word stirred something in his memory. Honor? You honor me?

  His understanding was rusty, but the intention was clear.

  She looked him over, slow and deliberate, gaze lingering on the tattoos coiled down his arms and the scars laced across his skin. The kind of look that wasn’t just measuring strength—but savoring it.

  She nodded once, lips curling.

  "You smell like a Drav’talor. I like you. If I wasn’t here for work, I’d make you my Sha’karan."

  Kael blinked.

  Drav’talor? That one was new.

  Sha’karan he recognized pieces of. Sha—binding. Karan—scent or essence.

  A scent-bound? A bonded mate? His heart ticked once, hard. He cleared his throat, pushing the thoughts aside.

  "Kael," he said simply, voice steady. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  Kael held his hand out to her.

  "Kavari," she replied. "I come on behalf of the Sly Fox Syndicate."

  As she reached for a handshake, Kael’s instincts surged. The torrent stirred—violent, ready. His hand dropped before she could reach it.

  Kavari flinched.

  "I’m not with them," she said quickly, voice softer now, rushed.

  "I was commissioned as a third party. I’ve brought gifts of appeasement... and I’m here as a neutral representative."

  It was strange watching her go from coiled predator to nervous envoy.

  Still wary, Kael let the torrent settle and extended his hand again. She took it, grateful. Her skin was hot—too hot. Radiant heat rolled off her palm like open flame. She held his hand a second longer than needed.

  Kael waved her along, leading toward the meeting chamber. Toughs—pretending not to eavesdrop—hurried to grab the case she’d brought and followed. Inside, the room was simple but battle-tested: a wide oaken table, a perimeter of chairs, and detailed maps of the Iron District pinned and marked, the operational hub for Fadefall defense.

  He handed her a bottle as they entered. She took it without hesitation, pulling a long swig and exhaling with a pleased rumble. Her ears twitched. Her tail flicked.

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  Kael reached for the two glasses he’d set out, then reconsidered—and quietly put them away.

  "So," he said, settling across from her. "Third party… and the Sly Fox Syndicate."

  She handed him the bottle, her fingers grazing his as she let it go—too slow to be accidental.

  Kael took a pull. The burn ran clean down his throat, cutting through the taste of tension.

  Kavari watched him closely. Eyes narrowed. Breath held.

  She sighed, low and almost feral, like someone restraining the urge to pounce.

  “Your beast kin tongue is better than most I’ve heard from a human,” she admitted, voice a velvet growl. “But I can tell it’s rusty. And while it pleases me immensely to hear the tongue of the plains, let’s switch back to Common. For both our sakes.”

  Kael gave a silent nod and leaned back slightly—casual, but alert.

  She reached into a pouch at her side and pulled out a folded letter—thick, flowery parchment. The perfume hit him before he even opened it. Elven. Sweet and excessive.

  She slid it across the table like a weapon.

  Kael unfolded it and scanned the contents.

  The handwriting was immaculate. Posh. Perfect. Artificial.

  “We appreciate your discretion and restraint in resolving the incident. Minimal damage to establishment and security. A small price to pay for continued cooperation.”

  He snorted softly.

  Bullshit.

  The letter didn’t say what it meant—didn’t dare say it.

  What it really meant was: We’re afraid.

  Not of him.

  Of what he leads or what he represents.

  They could kill him. A good knife, a dark alley—that was all it would take.

  He wasn’t delusional. He didn’t see himself as immortal.

  Not because they were a major faction—not yet.

  But because something was shifting. The board was moving.

  He kept reading, eyes narrowing.

  Kavari waited, her posture relaxed but her gaze anything but. She watched his face, his eyes. Her own eyes didn’t stop there—sliding down his arms, to the scars on his neck, his chest. Her tail flicked once, slowly.

  When he finally looked up, he caught her mid-motion—licking her lips.

  Kael didn’t flinch, but his stare hardened.

  “Anything else you can tell me?” he asked, voice level.

  “Who commissioned you? Who signed the contract? Why send a Sunbound gold-rank for a glorified delivery job? You’re worth your weight in coin.”

  He let his eyes sweep over her armor.

  “Literally, in your case.”

  “Apologies for my behavior,” Kavari said, her voice low—a rasp caught somewhere between hunger and restraint.

  “I don’t usually take contracts during this cycle. It’s my time to be still. To ground myself.”

  Her gaze raked over him, slow and searching. “I didn’t expect to find a worthy warrior outside the Prides. Let alone one who carries that kind of scent.”

  She shifted in her seat, jaw tense. “My instincts are loud. Too loud. It’s hard to think when every part of me wants to fight or—”

  She stopped herself, breath uneven. “I think a spar with you might help. Blood tempers the storm.”

  She tried for a smile, charming—but her body was too tense, her red aura flaring at the edges.

  Her words said spar. Her eyes said something else. Promises unspoken.

  Kael stood slowly.

  She felt it—he could see her feel it—the moment the weight of his presence shifted.

  He crossed the room in unhurried steps, and the heat rolling off her rose with every inch he closed.

  Her pupils dilated. Her breathing hitched. Her tail twitched once, then again. Ears perked.

  Kael didn’t speak.

  He leaned in, slow and deliberate, until his frame loomed over her chair.

  The space between them vanished.

  His legs bracketed hers. Her shoulders pressed back against the seat, lips parting slightly.

  The sound came first—a low rumble in her throat, the start of a purr.

  Kael reached up—soft, almost reverent—and touched her cheek.

  Her eyes fluttered. She leaned into the contact.

  Then—snap.

  His fingers slid behind her neck, under the braid—

  And clamped down.

  Firm. Commanding. Like a dominant beast kin checking a younger one.

  Right at the base of the skull, where the nerves sparked and instincts lived.

  The heat vanished.

  The flush on her cheeks turned to something colder—shock, shame.

  Kavari froze, every muscle taut. The rumble died in her throat.

  Her eyes flicked away, ears folding back. Embarrassed. Exposed.

  “Spar?” Kael said quietly, voice like iron dragging over gravel.

  “With a whelp?”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  The mighty beast kin—the gold-ranked warrior with fire in her blood—looked away like a scolded cub.

  Kael let go gently, the warmth gone from his touch now.

  The message had been sent.

  Dominance wasn’t always violence.

  Sometimes it was knowing when to lean close—and when to squeeze.

  She took a moment to steady herself.

  Eyes downcast, chest rising and falling as she worked through the flush of heat and shame.

  "Thank you for that," she said quietly.

  "I needed it."

  There was no bitterness in her tone. Just honesty—and maybe a touch of gratitude.

  "I don’t know who commissioned the job," she continued, lifting her gaze again, sharper now, more focused.

  "But judging by the payment and the look on the Guild master’s face… it came from someone high up. Possibly the head of the Sly Fox Syndicate."

  She gestured toward the case sitting beside the table.

  "Once you open what I brought, I think you’ll be… pleased. And for what it's worth, this visit has a dual purpose."

  Kael narrowed his eyes. "Dual purpose?"

  "The incident the other night," she said, tone more cautious now.

  "Jake, Sergio, Slate… and Alina."

  That last name clicked—Kael felt it land. The tension in his jaw, the twitch in his fingers.

  "They were humbled by their encounter with you," Kavari said, allowing herself the smallest smirk.

  "We had to dispatch additional members to finish the job—hive core, broodmother, egg chambers. It was a full nest."

  She leaned back in her chair, armor creaking slightly.

  "They didn’t know about the guild tokens failing to ping properly when hivelings are around. That’s on us."

  She tilted her head. "After hearing what happened at the bar, we thought we were going to get death signals back from all four of their tokens."

  A soft breath. Then a smile—genuine this time, though tired at the edges.

  "But here we are. Thanks to you."

  "Alina was raving about you," Kavari said, rolling her eyes with a smirk. "Something about lunar pledges and Moonmarch nonsense."

  She waved a hand dismissively. "I should’ve listened to her. You’re a treat to meet, truly. If anyone in the pride caught wind of this little encounter, I’d be treated like the Velk of the pride."

  Her confidence was returning—Kael could see it in the lift of her shoulders, the sharper edge of her smile.

  He passed her the bottle again. She took a long pull, her throat working as the liquor disappeared. As she drank, Kael thought.

  Velk.

  The term clicked—young one. A cub.

  In this context? Probably laughing stock.

  He smiled faintly and spoke.

  "Why send bronze, iron, and two tin ranks against hivelings?"

  Kavari grimaced.

  "Bad intel. It was supposed to be a relocating broodmother, not a full hive."

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You know as well as I do, a lone broodmother isn’t a real threat until the swarm hits. We were expecting a cleanup, not a war zone."

  Kael nodded, his expression darkening.

  "Still. That kind of underestimation could’ve gotten all of them killed."

  "I know," she said, softer now.

  "The guild’s stretched thin. Thinner than I want to admit."

  She exhaled sharply, tail flicking once behind her.

  "Disappearances in Brassreach are piling up. Nothing concrete to act on. And a new pirate king’s emerged in the archipelago. We’re rerouting assets constantly."

  She rubbed the back of her neck.

  "And the rail line? You’ve seen the royal train in the central district? By the central bridge? They want to connect Brassreach before the Fadefall. The Triune Crown is paying hard gold, so many have flocked there. It keeps getting hit by monsters. Sabotage, ambushes, you name it. Every time we think we’ve secured a segment, something tears it up again."

  Kael’s jaw clenched. The Fadefall was coming, and the world felt like it was unspooling at the edges.

  She passed the bottle back to Kael, and he took the last pull, her scent still clinging to the rim—salted sweat, crushed petals, and something wild underneath.

  “I have two personal questions,” he said, voice low. “How are the Ash Claws this far north?”

  She blinked. Visibly startled.

  “Ehh…” She hesitated, leaning back just slightly. “People aren’t supposed to know about that.” Her eyes narrowed, scanning his face. “How do you know?”

  Kael gave the faintest of smiles. “Good intel.”

  She studied him for a moment longer—then, as if deciding he’d earned it, switched to beast kin tongue, the words rough and gutteral, but full of meaning.

  “For what you did for me... and because I see the worth in your scent... I’ll tell you, a royal’s pulling strings. Wants something from them. Some famed scholar—big name, high court? Wants to write the next great tome on the battle-born. They agreed, for their weight in grain, tools, wine. Not coin. Never coin.”

  Kael nodded slowly, mind turning. Royals and by extension the Triune Crown, meddling in beast kin affairs. Dangerous curiosity.

  But he had one more question.

  “Last one,” he said. “I’ve got a young battle-born—lion type. She’s coming up on her Name Day. She thinks I’m her First Fang. Thinks the Ironbound are her pride.”

  Kavari froze.

  A long pause.

  Then her eyes widened, truly this time. Her lips parted slightly, stunned. Disbelief, almost reverence, flickered across her face.

  “By the Ancestors…” she whispered.