Kliatana's words rang with the quiet dignity of a true royal. The people who recognized her began to murmur, some crying, others simply staring with hope and longing. The atmosphere shifted. Fear gave way to relief, then to gratitude.
He lowered his hand.
The gravity field dispersed. The people gasped as their limbs were freed, air finally flowing to their lungs. Soldiers slumped to their knees, some in relief, others still trembling.
Javier's voice followed, cold yet commanding.
"You all heard her. Kliatana of the royal line asked for mercy... and I granted it. Not because of your words, but because of hers."
He pointed at the battered townsfolk.
"But remember this: if it weren't for her, you'd be buried right where you stood."
He turned to Thilan.
"I don't need your gratitude. I want your obedience. This land now belongs to Armand. You speak of justice? Then let justice begin, under Armand flag, under Armand law. Not under your cowardice."
