The broken plateau announced itself long before Kael reached it.
The land rose in uneven tiers of cracked stone and jagged shale, climbing toward a wide shelf that cut across the horizon like a scar. Wind howled through the fractures, carrying with it the smell of iron and old smoke. The ground here had been broken deliberately, not by time, but by repeated violence.
Kael slowed his pace as he climbed.
Every step upward made the presence inside him stir more sharply. Not hungry. Not eager.
Alert.
This authority was different again.
Fear.
Not the chaotic terror of bandits or the structured dread of city rule. This was cultivated fear. Repeated. Reinforced. Taught.
Kael crested the final rise and stopped.
The plateau spread wide before him, flattened by centuries of boots and blood. Barricades of stone and scrap metal ringed its edges. Watchfires burned at regular intervals. Spiked poles marked the perimeter, some empty, others bearing the remains of what had once been people.
A fortress without walls.
At the center stood a crude hall built from scavenged stone blocks and timber blackened by fire. Banners hung from its sides, each bearing the same symbol.
A clenched fist crushing a skull.
Kael exhaled slowly.
So this was the warlord.
He did not move forward immediately.
Instead, he watched.
Men and women patrolled the plateau in loose formations. Armed. Armored poorly, but confident. They laughed loudly. Too loudly. The sound carried the edge of people who needed to remind themselves they were powerful.
Fear maintained through performance.
Kael felt the lines clearly now. Thick cords of authority radiated outward from the hall, anchoring themselves in every guard, every shout, every brutal display. This was not subtle power.
It was loud by necessity.
Kael stepped onto the plateau.
A horn sounded almost immediately.
Shouts followed.
"Someone's here."
"Alone."
"Bring him in."
Kael kept walking.
He did not draw his knife.
He did not hide his presence.
Let them see him.
Guards converged, weapons raised. Spears. Axes. Crude swords nicked and stained. They formed a loose ring around him, just outside striking distance.
One stepped forward, a woman with a scarred cheek and hard eyes.
"You're either brave or stupid," she said.
Kael met her gaze. "I'm here to see your master."
Laughter rippled through the group.
"Our master doesn't see anyone who walks in uninvited," she replied. "He sees what's left."
Kael felt the presence coil.
"Then tell him this," Kael said calmly. "The weight he carries is shallow. And I've come to test it."
The laughter died.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You've got a death wish."
"No," Kael replied. "I've got experience."
The ground seemed to press inward slightly as the authority of the plateau reacted to the challenge. Kael felt it like a hand at his throat, testing, measuring.
Then the hall door opened.
The warlord stepped out.
He was massive, broad even by frontier standards, his body wrapped in layered armor scavenged from a dozen defeated foes. His head was shaved, his beard braided with bits of bone and metal. A massive hammer rested on his shoulder, its head stained dark with old blood.
When he spoke, the plateau went quiet.
"Who dares speak of my weight," he said.
Kael stepped forward, past the ring of guards.
"I do."
The warlord's eyes fixed on him, and Kael felt it.
The full pressure.
Fear slammed into him like a physical force. His knees buckled slightly before he caught himself. Images flooded his mind. Screams. Executions. Bodies broken publicly to teach lessons.
This man ruled because people believed resisting him was worse than death.
Kael straightened.
"You're smaller than I expected," the warlord said.
Kael wiped blood from the corner of his mouth where his teeth had cut his lip. "You're louder than you need to be."
The warlord laughed, deep and booming. "That's how fear works, boy."
Kael shook his head. "That's how insecurity works."
The guards tensed.
The warlord's smile faded.
"You came here to die," he said.
Kael nodded. "Possibly. But not quietly."
The warlord stepped forward, hammer dropping into both hands. The ground trembled under his weight.
"Kill him," the warlord said casually.
The guards surged.
Kael moved.
He did not rush forward. He stepped sideways as the first spear thrust came in, catching the shaft with his hand and twisting hard. The guard screamed as the wood snapped and Kael drove his knee into the man's chest.
Another guard swung an axe. Kael ducked, rolled, came up behind him, and drove his knife into the base of the skull.
Blood sprayed hot across his arm.
Kael did not slow.
Fear rippled outward as bodies fell. The presence surged, not to consume yet, but to disrupt. The lines wavered as guards hesitated, shocked that someone had stepped into the plateau and begun killing.
The warlord roared. "Hold formation."
Kael leapt onto a fallen barricade, gaining height. He slammed his foot down, cracking stone, and felt the authority here respond.
He reached outward.
Not to devour.
To pull.
The fear the warlord had cultivated strained toward him, confused, seeking the stronger gravity.
Kael dropped back into the fray.
A sword glanced off his ribs. Pain flared. Kael snarled and rammed his knife into the attacker's throat. Another spear pierced his shoulder, driving him to one knee.
The warlord laughed.
"Yes," the warlord said. "Bleed for me."
Kael grabbed the spear shaft and wrenched it free, screaming as pain tore through him. He staggered, then forced himself upright.
Fear pressed harder.
This authority was fighting back.
Good.
Kael locked eyes with the warlord.
"This fear," Kael said hoarsely, "belongs to whoever proves stronger."
The warlord snarled and charged.
The hammer came down like a falling tower.
Kael barely twisted aside as the impact shattered stone, sending cracks racing across the plateau. The shockwave hurled Kael backward. He rolled, came up coughing blood, and raised his knife.
The warlord advanced, each step deliberate, crushing.
"You can't take this," the warlord said. "It was earned."
Kael spat blood. "So was mine."
They collided.
Kael darted in, slashing low, cutting through muscle. The warlord grunted and backhanded him with the hammer shaft, sending Kael skidding across the stone.
Kael lay still for a heartbeat.
Then he pushed himself up.
The presence screamed inside him.
This was too much to pull slowly.
Kael planted his feet and reached inward with everything he had.
The Devouring Throne answered.
Cold surged through him, brutal and absolute. The fear saturating the plateau wrenched violently, tearing away from its anchor. Guards cried out as the pressure shifted, some collapsing, others fleeing.
The warlord staggered.
"What are you doing," he bellowed.
Kael stepped forward, bloodied, shaking, unstoppable.
"I'm proving," Kael said, "that fear doesn't belong to you."
He slammed his palm into the warlord's chest.
The connection snapped.
Fear ripped free.
Not cleanly.
It came in screaming shards.
Kael screamed too as it poured into him, searing his nerves, flooding his mind with every execution, every broken body, every lesson taught through cruelty.
He almost fell.
Almost.
The warlord dropped to his knees, eyes wide and empty.
His hammer fell from numb fingers.
Kael staggered forward and drove his knife into the warlord's heart.
The body collapsed.
Silence swept the plateau.
Guards stared at Kael in horror.
He stood there, shaking, blood dripping from his hands, the presence inside him roaring and unstable.
"You're free," Kael said hoarsely. "Or you can die like him."
No one argued.
They ran.
Kael fell to one knee as the fear authority settled, rough and violent. This was not clean power. It clawed at him, threatening to overwhelm his control.
He forced himself to breathe.
Slow.
Measured.
The plateau felt lighter already.
Not safe.
But no longer suffocating.
Kael dragged himself toward the edge and collapsed against a stone outcrop, staring at the sky.
This was the cost.
This was the line.
Devouring fear was possible.
But it demanded restraint, or it would turn him into the very thing he killed.
As consciousness threatened to slip away, Kael thought of Darin's words.
Some authority should not be consumed.
Kael clenched his fist.
Then he blacked out.