The stone walls of the corridor were wrapped in the silence that melted into the night. Footsteps touched the ground not with echoes, but with a faint whisper, as if even the sound of walking was swallowed by the suffocating weight of the atmosphere. The flickering light of pale torches stretched the shadows falling on the stones like a fragmented mist, while the red and black motifs on the walls stirred like an illusion meant to deceive the eyes.

  Two shadows moved silently through the corridor. The first was Ilyada, whose steps carried hesitation, trying to conceal the marks of an inner storm. The other was Corvus, his shoulders bearing determination, his stride radiating unshakable certainty.

  Suddenly, Ilyada stopped. Her feet froze as if they had hit an invisible wall. A distance had formed between them, but words would be the bridge.

  “Did you tell him?” she asked. Her voice bounced off the walls like a muffled echo. It carried hurt, but above all, a determined demand for answers. Her eyes locked on Corvus’s back.

  “Did you tell Sanguinar that my brother Khara is the young chief of the Iskats?”

  Corvus slowly turned his head, then turned fully around. His eyes emerged from the shadows and met Ilyada’s. In his pupils burned a silent struggle—a fire that spoke before words did.

  “No!” he said. The word was monosyllabic, but the weight it carried was enough to shatter the silence of the moment. Then, as if bearing the weight of a decision, he took a few steps toward Ilyada. His steps echoed on the stone floor with a tone that was both cautious and defiant.

  “But I was going to,” he said quietly but with a clear tone. Ilyada’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes widened with a jolt. Her breath quickened. Corvus’s words were harder than the stone walls.

  “I was going to—after making sure you’d rise to power. That way, Sanguinar would let me take your father down.”

  Those words struck deep into Ilyada. Her relationship with her father was complicated—yes, loveless, devoid of understanding, and harsh. But still, death… death was a different abyss. The sudden ache in her chest was beyond words. Yet something else was breaking on the edge of her heart.

  With fury welling up in her eyes, she stepped closer to Corvus in a few quick strides. Her breathing was erratic. Her gaze pierced into his.

  “Do you think I’m some kind of tool?! You think you can just get rid of my father, place me in power, like it’s a game of pieces? I’m not a fucking tool for your twisted plans!”

  Corvus’s face didn’t change in the slightest. It was as if he wore a mask hiding all emotion. There was barely any space left between them now. Ilyada could feel his breath—but more than anything, she felt the chaos writhing deep in his eyes. From the outside, his face was made of stone, but Ilyada knew—the storm within him was far from over.

  “Yes! You are a fucking tool!” Corvus exploded, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

  “But you’re not the only one, Ilyada! I’m a tool too! So is Kaelyra, Baldrek, Zarqa—every one of us! We’re all tools, forged to destroy this fucking country and build a new one!”

  His pupils gleamed. There stood a man burning like fire, blinded by belief.

  “You’ll take control of the Iskats and raise cavalry for the Rhazgord army. I’ll become the Sanguinar. I’ll rally Rhazgord behind me and reshape this cursed land from end to end. That’s the duty the gods laid upon us!”

  Ilyada’s eyes began to tremble. The man in front of her was no longer the Corvus she knew. In his eyes now was not a man who followed a dream—but a man who worshiped one. A destroyer, ready to sacrifice everyone and everything for that cause. His coldness came not from passion, but from conviction. The soul-crushing side of blinding ambition…

  “You’ve lost your mind…” said Ilyada, her voice both mocking and broken.

  “You used to call me a war dog, but you—you’ve become the dog of your own ambitions!”

  She turned to leave after saying this. But before she could take a step, Corvus grabbed her arm. His fingers sank beneath the skin of her wrist. His grip was full of rage, like steel inflicting torture.

  “Let go of my arm!” Ilyada’s eyes blazed with fury. She tried to jerk her hand free, but Corvus’s fingers were like a vice. Her free hand instinctively reached for the curved sword at her waist.

  But Corvus tightened his grip even more. His fingers were now starting to cause real pain.

  “Just like this… all of the Iskats are in my grasp, Ilyada.” he whispered, his voice slithering into her ears like a snake.

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  “Your entire tribe… in the palm of my hand.”

  Something shattered inside Ilyada. Her strength seemed to vanish in an instant. Slowly, her hand retreated from the hilt of her sword. Her heart still struggled to resist, but her spirit had begun to crack.

  “And the one who brought this upon you is your father! That snake! The rotten heart of Rhazgord’s decay! He made you a warhound, a warhound who left Kragan for dead!” Corvus wasn’t looking at her eyes anymore—he was staring into the deepest corners of her soul. His words were knives. His crimson-tinged pupils glowed with burning hatred.

  “So choose. Accept what you are, and do your part… or die beside your father—cut down by my sword, along with all the filth of Rhazgord.”

  Silence once again filled the corridor. Corvus released her arm without another word. Then the sound of his footsteps echoed. His steps were angry, resolute. As he walked out the door, he left behind Ilyada—and her crumbling convictions.

  Ilyada stood motionless for a while. It was as if her feet had forgotten how to take a step; her chest tightened, her breath caught in her throat. The dim light falling on the stone floor cast her silhouette long, highlighting her solitude. Despair had slowly seeped into her entire body; it was working its way into her very bones.

  Her father had abandoned her. Not just as a daughter, but as an heir. He had banished her to the darkest corners of the territory he ruled, erased her name from the future of the Iskats. And now, her fiancé was threatening her entire tribe with death. Every word he spoke had become a link in the chain weighing down her shoulders, trapping Ilyada in an invisible cage.

  After the events in Bahoz, she had begun to feel a quiet sympathy toward Corvus’s ideals. There had been moments when she agreed with him—even defying her father had stemmed from that very feeling. But… Corvus was no longer the man from Bahoz. The Corvus who trembled with grief after Kragan’s death, whose eyes welled with tears, who looked at Ilyada not just as a warrior but as a human—was gone. In his place stood a cold, sharp-eyed monster ready to sacrifice anyone for his ideals.

  Suddenly, a light touch on her shoulder startled her. Every muscle tensed; her right hand reflexively slid to the hilt of her sword. But when she turned her head, she was met with a familiar face—Kaelyra, her expression as always wearing a smile, her eyes sparkling with cheerful curiosity.

  “You two lovebirds were echoing through the whole mansion!” said a cheerful voice. She stood in the corridor with her broad shoulders, her head slightly tilted, smiling with a touch of sarcasm. She had followed the voices echoing off the quiet stone walls of the Red Mansion. Of course, she had figured out who it was; she had assumed Corvus and Ilyada were, as usual, arguing heatedly. But when she saw Ilyada’s pale face and glassy, trembling eyes, she stopped. Her smile slowly faded.

  “Did that bastard do something to you?” she asked, frowning. Her voice was still soft, but beneath it was a rising fury.

  “If he did, just say the word. Your big sister will knock some sense into him.”

  Kaelyra and Ilyada were among Rhazgord’s foremost female warriors. But there was no rivalry between them—only deep camaraderie. Their harsh temperaments had made them friends, not enemies. Over time, this friendship had turned into a sincere sisterly bond.

  Ilyada took a deep breath. The crack in her voice betrayed how hard she was struggling to keep herself together.

  “Do you have a moment, Kaelyra?”

  Kaelyra nodded without hesitation. “I’ll send word to Cortas to take care of the warriors in my stead today”, she said. Then she quickly disappeared into the dim corridor. Not long after, she returned and gently reached for Ilyada’s arm.

  “Come on. A little fresh air will do you good.”

  The two left the Red Mansion. They crossed the layered slopes of Mount Rhaz, heading for a secluded spot near the summit. The Tiamat Guardians at the entrance didn’t even attempt to stop them—they knew exactly where Kaelyra was going and how much she hated being stopped.

  The slope they reached was Kaelyra’s place of retreat. As they sat at the cliff’s edge, their legs dangling over the void, they looked out at the city of Sorbaj bathed in the crimson hues of the setting sun. Tiny houses, smoke curling from chimneys, the gleaming square in the distance, and the military towers gave the city a painting-like appearance.

  Ilyada didn’t beat around the bush. First, she told Kaelyra what had happened in the throne room, then about the striking conversation in the corridor with Corvus. Her voice trembled, but she trusted Kaelyra. Every word that fell from her lips vanished like a secret into the rocks around them.

  “Corvus isn’t himself, Kaelyra. He’s changing—turning into someone else… something else. I can see it in his eyes. There’s a war raging inside him… and the Corvus we knew is losing.”

  Kaelyra’s gaze slowly turned back to the city. She exhaled softly, as if forcing a truth stuck in her throat to come out.

  “I know.”, she finally said. “The closer he gets to his goal… the stronger he becomes, it’s like a monster awakens inside him.” She pointed toward the large square in the distance.

  “That night… when he defeated twelve Wandering Warriors… He wasn’t human. He had turned into a creature. There was death in his eyes—cold, sharp, the kind of death that tears apart its opponent.”

  Ilyada lowered her head. The howling wind in her ears reminded her of the stories told about that night.

  “I heard how he fought. People say he’s the chosen one of Rhazkar. That he’ll bring the end times…”

  Kaelyra’s gaze darkened. Her next words came as a whisper, sharp and sure:

  “You heard it… but you didn’t see it, Ilyada. That night he fought Zrakor… He was an animal. He wasn’t just someone trying to win. He wanted to annihilate. He fought not with his mind, but with his instincts. There’s no longer only a man inside him.”

  She paused. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. But behind that smile was a deep sorrow.

  “And that state of his… that beastly form, it fired us up. You should’ve seen the Tiamats that night. We were… like his pack. We tried to fight like him, roar like him. And we tore things apart like him. Maybe… this form, this monstrous side, is what we are meant to be. Terrifying, but necessary.”

  Ilyada remained silent. She turned her head to look at Kaelyra. On the woman’s face, there was more than just sorrow. In her eyes gleamed a quiet acceptance. She had accepted Corvus as he was now. It was as if she was willing to burn with him, to transform alongside him.