The thick humidity dragged at the bodies standing in the moss when the final sound of submission rang from the Anai Paired champions.
Darius practically tore himself away from the hovering blades of his captors. The Anai guards let him pass, their eyes darting to the elder for confirmation. Zekena'nor gave a single, almost imperceptible nod, and the ring of steel dissolved.
Darius dropped to the green moss beside his wives. He grabbed Mia first, wrapping his arms around her in a suffocating embrace. He pulled back just far enough to grab Ny'all by the leather of her armor, pulling the Oath Blade into a bruising kiss.
When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his eyes wide with exhaustion and fear. "The Void—" he started, his voice cracking. "Ny'all, I saw the—"
"We know," Mia cut him off gently, placing a blood-stained hand flat against his chestplate to ground him. "We know, Darius."
In the brief quiet following the thrill of combat, the encroaching world was held at bay, leaving the three of them alone in the trampled moss. Darius unhooked a battered waterskin from his belt, popping the cork with his teeth. He gently took Mia's hands, tilting the spout. The water splashed cool and clear over her skin before turning a murky pink, washing away the sticky, drying blood that clung to her fingers. He worked in silence, his thumbs methodically rubbing the grime from her knuckles.
Beside them, Ny'all remained heavily grounded in her gear, letting the combat adrenaline slowly bleed out of her system. She sat inspecting the chipped metal of her gauntlet, running a calloused thumb along the ruined surface to memorize the new imperfections. Finding no quick fix, she abandoned the metal and turned her attention to the leather just above her ribs. She tugged at the strained, twisted straps, adjusting the leather with sharp, practiced yanks until the armor sat securely against her ribs once more.
A few paces away, Yaffa'nor and Zalla'nor staggered to their feet. The Paired Champions stared at the broken half of Zalla'nor's tachi lying in the bruised moss of the circle, then slowly retreated to stand beside their grandmother.
Zekena'nor leaned heavily on her walking stick, her piercing blue eyes shifting from the shattered steel of her granddaughters to the bruised, bleeding Sister-Wives, and finally settling on the Prince.
"We will hear this Autonomy Clause," Zekena'nor declared.
The procession from the clearing was tense. The six of them made their way through the winding paths to the center of the small, veiled village. Behind them, the vanguard of ten Dragon-Oath were released from the Anai blades, though they remained under heavy guard.
They gathered inside an open-air central structure woven from thick, pale ironwood branches. Darius stood before the elder, the panic of the husband fading as the rigid mantle of the Mountain Prince settled over his shoulders.
"We come to unite our lands for the coming battle," Darius spoke, his voice echoing off the canyon walls. "The darkness is gathering."
Zekena'nor sat upon a woven mat, her expression carrying an unsettling calm that she never seemed to lose. "Your wives have explained the broad strokes of your proposal. But this clause gives us little. We are to surrender one of our elite champions to be a part of your Dragon-Oath vanguard in exchange for what? Protection?"
"Not protection," Mia interjected smoothly, stepping to stand at Darius's right side. "A pairing."
"You will gain a pairing not only in your warriors, but in our people," Ny'all continued, stepping to his left. She picked up Mia's thought effortlessly, the two of them finishing the tactical maneuver of the conversation just as they had fought in the ring. "Our borders will open. Along with our culture, our trade, and our knowledge."
Zalla'nor and Yaffa'nor exchanged a sharp glance. Zalla'nor, her pride still stinging from the shattered blade, stepped forward. "And what if we reject your ways?"
"Then you reject them," Darius answered firmly, his gaze locking with the young champion. "But you must learn them first."
Zekena'nor paused, her old fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the wood of her walking stick. She was weighing the political implications of a treaty that would undo centuries of isolation.
"Prince and Princesses," Zekena'nor said slowly. "Do you represent the King of your lands in this endeavor? Will the Dragon Line truly honor a vow made here?"
Mia opened her mouth to explain the political nuance of their mission, but Darius raised a hand, stopping her.
"My father's absolute duty is to guard the world against the dark," Darius stated. His voice dropped an octave, carrying an air of authority that Mia rarely got to see. In that moment, he perfectly resembled King Va'lerius—his words striking the air like law. "The Anai are our ancient allies against this darkness. His duty is absolute, and he will support this union of our people. And I will build upon it during my reign as King."
Zekena'nor studied his face for a long, quiet moment. Then, she looked back at her flanking granddaughters. The Paired Champions, their veils still lowered, gave sharp, synchronized nods of approval.
"We accept these terms, nephew," Zekena'nor said, looking directly into Darius's eyes.
The word lingered in the air. Nephew. Darius blinked, his royal authority shattering. He looked completely blindsided, his mind reeling as the realization of their bloodline—the 'Nor lineage connecting them to Dak'nor and O'nor—finally clicked into place. He looked wildly at his wives.
Mia and Ny'all only offered him small, knowing smiles.
Zekena'nor's serene expression suddenly dissolved, her weathered face taking on a grim look.
"Have the Shadow Sworn taken a Dragon-Oath yet?" the elder asked.
The atmosphere in the ironwood structure instantly turned cold.
Darius, Mia, and Ny'all exchanged wide, horrified glances.
"Wait," Ny'all breathed, the blood draining from her face. "These shadows... they can take control of us?"
"We have heard the tapping," Mia added, her voice a hushed, horrified whisper. "And the whispers... while deep in the Void."
Zekena'nor murmured to herself, her eyes closing. "Then his seal still holds."
"The seal between the place you call the Void and our realm is weakening," Zekena'nor warned, her voice gaining volume to command the room. "When that seal is fully broken, some of the Dragon-Oath will be consumed by the Shadow Sworn. You will become the very darkness you seek to stop."
Darius felt the blood roaring in his ears. His mind snapped back to the cryptic warning of the Last Shadow. Only my return provides this world a chance to live.
"How do we stop it?" Darius asked aloud, the desperation bleeding back into his voice.
Zekena'nor gripped her walking stick with both hands, her knuckles audibly cracking under the effort.
"I cannot tell you how to stop what is coming, Prince of the Mountain," Zekena'nor said quietly. "I can only tell you how our ancestors stopped it before."
Zekena'nor began, her voice a low, rhythmic cadence that commanded the open air of the ironwood structure. "The First Dragon of the Mountain and our Champions of the Valleys found themselves fighting a war that could not be won with steel alone."
She looked out toward the canyon, her blue eyes distant as she recited the sacred histories. "They could not permanently kill the shadows. A lethal strike only severed the connection for a breath, forcing the darkness to pause and stitch the dead flesh back together. And with every mortal comrade that fell, the horde grew. The dead rose as mindless husks, flooding the canyons and choking the realm."
Darius clenched his teeth, the tactical nightmare forming perfectly in his mind. "My men," he realized aloud. "The Dragon-Oath were the only ones who could fight them?"
"Yes," Zekena'nor agreed with a slow nod. "No mortal soldier could fight on par with a Shadow Sworn. Only the men of the Mountain possessed the power to harm them in battle. But that strength was their greatest vulnerability."
Mia stepped forward, her mind cutting through the dread to find the tactical objective. "Then how do we fix the seal?" she asked, her voice steady. "Or how do we forge a new one?"
Zekena'nor offered a small, humorless smile. "You give me too much credit, child. I am a keeper of histories, not a weaver of magic." The elder leaned forward, resting her weight heavily on her walking stick. "I only know that the Dragon-Oath and the Anai fought together, bleeding side-by-side across the sands to reach your capital city. It was there, at the heart of Beh-REET, where your First Dragon died... and the Shadow Sworn became mortal once again."
Ny'all frowned, crossing her arms over her breastplate as she processed the lore. "But we still have access to the Void today. My sisters and I pull from it. So, whatever the First Dragon did, he didn't completely cut it off. He didn't close the door entirely."
"I suspect the Void is essential to the world," Zekena'nor murmured, her tone turning reverent. "Just as night is essential to the day, and winter is to spring. The world cannot breathe without the dark to balance the light." She shook her head slowly. "I cannot, however, explain how he managed to bind it. Only that his sacrifice bought this world centuries of light."