After the Serpent's corpse was cleared, I was escorted into the Colosseum by a group of Wildling guards, and then led to a waiting room filled to the brim with all manner of foods. I was informed by an attendant in the room that this was merely a precursor to the true Feast of Victory later tonight, to be held back in their city.

Let's just say...I didn't hold back.

The food was far more sumptuous than I expected. Beast Meats were plenty, most sitting at Tremor-Class, the rest, below. But that didn't bother me in the slightest. I ate, and ate, and the only thing that prevented me from clearing everything on show, was a timely summons from the Chieftain himself.

I followed one of the guards through a sloping corridor carved directly into the colosseum's underground, fashioned from chiseled, black stone, veins of some strange red ore glimmering faintly under the oil lamps. The air smelled of smoke, metal, and old sweat, yet it grew cooler the deeper we went.

The cub clung to my shoulder. Its breathing had steadied since the fight. Its tail twitched whenever a lamp guttered too close.

We stopped before a wooden door banded with iron and bone. The guard rapped once and stepped aside.

"Enter," came the voice from within---calm, low, and commanding.

I stepped in.

The chamber was square, but large, built from the same black stone the hallways were. A giant map of what I presumed were the Western Plains hung on one wall, a rack of weapons on the opposite, and on the backwall, a mural I didn't process. The center of the room was dominated by long table, it's surface etched with a variety of runes I couldn't read. The Chief sat behind it, a cloak draped loosely over his massive shoulders, stark white hair framing his pale face, his sharp silver eyes locking onto me as I entered.

He studied me in silence.

I waited a few seconds, then spoke. "If this is about the Trial---"

He gestured toward the opposite chair. "Sit first."

I did, reluctantly, managing to calm down just a little.

"Why have you called me here?"

He didn't speak immediately. His gaze drifted toward the cub on my shoulder. "It seems the beast has chosen you."

My head turned to the cub.

"It's… following me," I said. "I'm not sure why."

"It is a bond," he said simply. "Perhaps not complete yet, but it will be soon."

I frowned. "You said that earlier as well. A Bond. What is it?"

The Chief leaned back, hands clasped loosely. "When a beast recognizes strength not just of body, but of will, it may submit voluntarily. To call it taming would be an insult---it is an accord. Such a thing is rare in the Wildlands. Many try to force submission through pain, and fail. A bond shows character---dominance balanced with restraint."

He tilted his head slightly, silver eyes tracing the beast on my shoulders. "That cub will grow. As will you. If the bond holds through enough ascensions, you will have something most men can only envy. Beasts evolve faster than humans, and stronger. And when the gulf between you widens enough, the bond amplifies both. An equalizer, of sorts. It is a great honor amongst the Wilds, to be bonded."

The cub made a small sound and pressed closer to my neck. The Chief's mouth curved slightly. "Even now, it senses your intent. Keep it alive at all cost. It will serve you well..."

His hand stroked the long, rune-carved table, almost melancholic, "Mine did."

I looked at the man for a moment, sympathizing. Whatever this table was, it was somehow linked to something he cared about. Something that was gone. But, I didn't let the conversation drift too far.

"Chieftain. Why have you called me here? Did you only wish to talk of bonds?"

"No," he said, silver eyes focusing again, "I wish to talk about you."

Silence stretched. The torches hissed.

I met his eyes. "Then let's start with why your people nearly killed me for saving one of your own. I don't understand how that made sense."

The Chief's brows lifted faintly. "Because you interfered with a Trial."

I sighed.

"I gathered that much. What I don't understand is why there are no safeguards. Why hold these trials in open ground where anyone can walk in? Why not post guards, or any number of precautions? Your Clan clearly isn't lacking for manpower."

He smiled at that---slow and deliberate, like a teacher pleased by a naive question. "Because the laws of Dhrokari were written to allow such interruptions."

I gathered that 'Dhrokari' was likely the term they used to refer to themselves, since 'Wildling' was, after all, an Easternized, derogatory word. But still, I frowned. "You want interference?"

"That is how our kind began." He lifted his chin toward the mural, and I finally looked at it for what it was. 10 shaded figures, walking across a vast desert, side-by-side.

He continued, "Long before the Divide, the first Dhrokari were wanderers. Outcasts. Criminals. Scholars. Refugees from the East. Those who were dissatisfied. Those who sought challenge. Those who did not wish to kneel before foreign crowns...they found survival only by adaptation---and by contest. Every law we built honors that. No rule forbids interruption, objection or challenge. A trial is never private, because truth and strength must always face the world. If one can interrupt and live, then perhaps the trial deserved to be interrupted."

His voice turned low, pupils focusing, "And if one was interrupted...and failed...then they never deserved to succeed."

Their culture is...unique, to say the least. But it truly is based on Strength alone.

"The First ones created them as laws, but over the years, their children made a creed of it: Any who prove themselves stronger are Dhrokari. Blood is a weak thing. Strength alone binds."

He turned back to me, eyes steady. "It has been that way for centuries. When someone challenges the Trial, the law itself accepts them. You were not the first...but you were the first in a long time."

He inclined his head. "Since the Divide, few cross the plains. Outsiders are indeed rarer now. But the laws do not care for rarity. Only for strength. Had you been weak, the crowd would have torn you apart, and I'd have let them. But you survived. That made you one of us."

I exhaled quietly. "Then why the hostility? If strength decides everything, I've already proved myself, have I not?"

The Chief gave a short laugh. "Because humans are not laws, boy. They are pride. The gap between you is too wide."

My brows raised slightly.

He continued, "Show them a wall they can climb, and they will try. Show them a sky they can never reach, and they will curse the one flying."

He moved to a low table, poured himself a cup of something dark and steaming. "The Trials are more than contests. They mark standing. Ranks. Prospects. You robbed many of their chances at a higher standing among us."

He sat back down, cup in hand, "Resentment is easier than admiration."

I stayed silent.

"It will fade," he said. "Dhrokari remember defeat only until they can test it again. Every one of them you outperformed will seek a rematch---be it a duel, a hunt, even a simple test of endurance. That is our way. That is how we grow."

"And if I win?"

"They will still challenge. Until they stop losing."

"Even against you?"

His smile sharpened. "Especially against me. Anyone may challenge the Chief, but the cost of failure is death. Many have tried...

His arms spread wide, showcasing the multitudes of scars all over his arms and chest.

"...None...have succeeded."

The air seemed heavier then. The lamps flickered under a draft I couldn't feel.

He set the cup down, gaze narrowing as he leaned forward, forearms coming to rest on the table, "Now tell me, outsider. Why did you truly come here? No one crosses the Divide for nothing."

The depth in his voice was deliberate. A net cast to pull me in.

"I could ask the same of you," I said. "You went out of your way to recruit me. Why?"

His lips twitched. "A fair deflection."

"I don't play games."

"Then you will not mind an honest answer."

"I saw you strike down that Tremor-class," he said. "Two blows. No Silver I've ever met could ever do such a thing. Not even myself, gifted as I was."

"So you saw potential."

"Aye, potential," he repeated softly, "Potential that could do much for this Clan. I wanted you bound to us by debt."

The frankness surprised me. "That's it?"

"What, you expected politics?" he chuckled, "I have none to spare. The East grows restless. Clans fracture. The Divide shifts with every year that passes. The Wilds won't remain so quiet for long. The Dhrokari need a blade that can cut through what comes.

"...And I see you becoming that blade."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.