Kairo's proclamation did not echo.
It simply stayed—hanging in the air like a blade halted an inch before the strike, heavy with promise and threat alike.
For a heartbeat, the chamber forgot how to breathe.
Lyra was the first to fracture.
Not with words. Never with words.
Her composure slipped for the briefest instant—eyes widening, lips parting slightly before she caught herself. The mask returned just as quickly, smooth and unblemished, but the damage had already been done.
She hadn't expected this.
Varen did.
His eyes lit up, feral delight sharpening his grin as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. He looked like a man who had just been handed an excuse to watch something burn.
"Oh?" he murmured, voice low, amused. "That's interesting."
Claymond remained still.
Too still.
His expression did not change, nor did his posture. Hands rested calmly before him, fingers interlaced, gaze steady on Kairo. But inside, something shifted—subtle, unwelcome.
He had expected many things from the young commander. A proposal. A challenge. Perhaps even defiance dressed in courtesy.
Not a claim.
Not a demand for authority.
Behind him, the eyepatched maid stirred.
For the first time since entering the chamber, her closed eye opened. The red iris caught the sunlight filtering through the high arches, glowing faintly as it fixed on Kairo. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite not—before the eye closed again, expression returning to serene indifference.
As if nothing had happened.
Stone scraped softly somewhere beyond the table.
In the distance, two ratmen crouched on a broken ledge overlooking the round table. The grey one tilted his head, whiskers quivering.
"What's boss doin'?" he whispered, ears flicking toward the voices.
The black one, lounging with a lazy tail curl, snorted. "Probably bossin' around. Same as always."
They didn't understand what had changed.
Only that something had.
Shiri moved sharply, slithering closer and seized Kairo by the shoulder.
"You idiot," he hissed under his breath. "What do you think you're doing?"
Shiri grabbed Kairo's shoulder, fingers digging in.
"You idiot," he hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"
Kairo didn't turn.
His gaze stayed fixed on the round table, on the figures seated there. His voice came low—steady, almost calm.
"Isn't this what you said?" he murmured. "Be confident. Show myself."
Shiri stiffened.
"That's not—" he whispered urgently. "That's not what I meant!"
Kairo finally shifted, just enough for Shiri to see his expression.
Unshaken.
"Trust me," Kairo said quietly. "I've got this."
Shiri searched his face desperately—for doubt, for hesitation, for the smallest crack of fear.
There was none.
With a conflicted scowl, he released his grip and stepped back.
Varen burst into laughter, the sound booming against the chamber walls as he slapped the table.
"Well, I'll be damned! Didn't see that coming!"
Claymond said nothing.
Lyra did.
She straightened, spine rigid, surprise fully buried beneath frost.
"Do you seriously expect us," she asked coldly, "to hand over command of half our forces? The same forces keeping our people alive?"
Kairo inclined his head once.
"I know how it sounds," he replied. "But I can handle it."
"Handling it," Claymond said evenly, "isn't enough."
All eyes turned to him.
He folded his hands together, voice calm but unyielding.
"We know of your victories, Kairo. But those were fought under different circumstances. Smaller scales. Contained risks."
The chamber felt tighter with every word.
"We cannot gamble the backbone of our territories on confidence alone."
A pause, then exhaled.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But we'll have to decline."
The words settled heavily between them—final, measured, and absolute.
"Then tell me," Kairo said calmly, "what do you want from me?"
Every head turned back to him.
He took a step forward, blue eyes burning with resolve. "What do I need to do," he asked, "to prove I'm capable of commanding your armies?"
The words weren't loud—but they carried weight.
Lyra's expression hardened instantly. "Don't you get it?" she snapped. "We can't just—"
Renn's voice was calm, grounding. He placed a gentle hand near her arm. "Lady Lyra."
Lyra paused. Her jaw tightened, then slowly unclenched. She inhaled, exhaled, and looked away for a moment before nodding. "You're right," she said quietly. "Apologies. I lost my composure."
Claymond's gaze lingered on her longer than necessary.
(Weird. She doesn't break that easily.)
He shifted his attention back to Kairo, studying him carefully. His posture was rigid, shoulders squared, fists clenched—but his eyes…
(Not a single trace of doubt.)
Kairo wasn't posturing. He wasn't bluffing.
(He truly believes in himself.)
Varen leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, grin wide. "Well," he said casually, "I've got a pretty good idea on how he could prove himself. I think—"
"Don't just blurt out whatever pops into your head," Lyra snapped, turning sharply toward him.
But before the tension could spike again, Claymond raised a hand.
"I think," he said evenly, "Varen may be right."
Lyra's head snapped back toward him. "Claymond! You too?"
"We're an alliance," Claymond replied calmly. "Every opinion deserves consideration."
(And giving him an impossible task would settle this cleanly.)
"Yeah! Let the man prove himself!" Varen roared.
A faint smile tugged at Claymond's lips—subtle, controlled.
He turned fully toward Kairo.
"So," Claymond said, "you want command."
He locked eyes with him, blue meeting gray, the weight of leadership pressing between them.
"Then this is your task."
He paused deliberately, letting the room lean in.
"You will choose one hero from among us," Claymond continued. "With that hero, you are to investigate the incoming beast tide."
Kairo stiffened slightly.
"You will determine their numbers," Claymond said. "The types of beasts forming the tide. Their tiers. And most importantly—identify the entity leading them."
A dangerous mission. A necessary one.
"Then you will return," Claymond finished, "and report everything to this council."
Kairo's surprise flickered openly now.
(That's… doable.)
With Onyx's scouting ability. With the ghouls' stealth—
"And," Claymond added smoothly, cutting off Kairo's thoughts, "aside from the one hero you choose…"
He smiled.
"You are only permitted to use ratmen as your primary forces."
The room went still.
Kairo's eyes widened.
(The ratmen? Only them?)
Claymond's smile deepened just a fraction.
(Got you.)
The ratmen in the distance shifted uneasily, unaware that their fate had just been woven into something far larger.
Claymond folded his hands once more. "So," he asked calmly, "do you accept?"
To be continued.....