Konor moved.
Not fast. Not dramatic. Just a step forward, and the crowd peeled back like skin from a blade.
He walked straight for the corner. For Aldrich and Alan.
That calm, curated face of his had twisted slightly, his smile gone. Lines drawn sharper.
He stopped a few feet from them.
"Why are you not wearing your skin suit?" he asked them.
His voice was calm.
His eyes weren't.
Aldrich didn't answer right away. Alan didn't twitch either.
Then another voice broke the tension.
"That would be because they can't summon skin suits," Shaun said, stepping into the moment like he'd been waiting for it. "Well, he can't." He gestured lazily to Aldrich. "The other one's just being a rebel."
He threw a glance at Alan, half amused, half disappointed.
Konor turned his head toward Shaun slowly. His brows lifted.
"What do you mean… he can't summon a skin suit?"
"He's coreless," Shaun said, casual as if he were naming the weather.
The word hit harder than it should have. Aldrich didn't flinch, but inside, something twisted.
His eyes swept the tent. He didn't need to guess what was on their faces. Disdain. Contempt. Highlander pride dripping from their scowls like old wine. Some didn't even try to hide it.
Then his gaze locked on Reno.
She didn't scowl.
But she didn't smile either.
Something unreadable passed through her eyes.
"A Lowlander?" Konor said, voice suddenly colder. Sharper.
"I don't recall approving a Lowlander to attend a command meeting," he said to Shaun. "Tell me I'm mistaken."
"You're not," Shaun said. "He's from Squad Eighty-Four. Stank was supposed to represent them, not him."
Konor's gaze sharpened. "And where is Stank?"
Aldrich spoke before Shaun could.
"He's dead."
A fresh ripple cut through the room, quiet mutters flaring like sparks.
Konor raised a hand, and the murmurs died.
"How?"
"We were on patrol," Aldrich said. "Latip Forest."
He turned slightly to Shaun, who nodded like he was confirming the weather again.
"Sylvarith ambush," Aldrich added.
Konor's brow lifted. "And where were you during this ambush?"
"We'd split up. Stank gave the order. We didn't know the Sylvariths were in the forest already."
Konor stared at him. Hard.
"How many?"
"Seven total," Aldrich replied. "Five of them attacked Stank's position. Two attacked mine."
Shaun folded his arms. "I knew Stank. If he had help, five Sylvariths wouldn't have killed him."
There it was. The doubt. The suspicion. It came from Shaun's mouth like frost.
Aldrich didn't flinch.
"The other two with him were Lowlanders. From what I could tell, they were taken out before they could even raise their blades. Stank fought the five alone and killed them. But it cost him his life."
The silence this time was different.
Thicker.
Because that kind of thing didn't happen. Not often. Not unless you were a legend.
One Sylvarith was enough to be considered an elite.
Two made you a name.
Five?
Five meant something else entirely.
Voices rose. Excited now. Even impressed.
Then…
"Silence."
Konor didn't raise his voice. He pressed it into the room like a brand.
"It's a great feat," he said. "Truly great."
He turned to Shaun. "His family?"
"Hamott," Shaun replied. "Small merchant house. Kuzan City. He was the third son."
Konor exhaled slowly. "A waste. The Church would've loved him. We always welcome talent."
He smiled.
Aldrich hated that smile. It was wax. It was rot.
"But," Konor continued, "the dead are dead. And as much as I understand the… situation, it's still a violation. You weren't permitted to attend this meeting, and you will be punished accordingly."
His gaze fixed on Aldrich now, sharp and surgical.
Aldrich didn't blink.
"Whose rules?" he asked.
Flat voice. Cold eyes.
He saw it, the flicker of surprise in Konor's face. The brief confusion that anyone would dare question him.
"Our rules!" Konor barked. The calm cracked, just for a second.
A few in the tent shifted as tension flared again.
Aldrich didn't back down.
He'd expected this from the moment he walked into the tent.
"I don't know how it works in the lowlands," Konor said, voice rising just enough to command the air. "But up here, we have rules. Hierarchy. It's what keeps things from falling apart. What I…what we…have built here is a society. And every society needs a head."
He tapped his chest once. "I am that head."
Aldrich tilted his head. "And who made you the head?"
It was like he'd fired a gun in a church.
Gasps erupted around the tent. Blades sang from sheaths, half a dozen steel flashes in a blink. Aldrich's hand dropped to his own sword. He didn't draw, not yet. But his eyes moved fast. Measured. Watching everyone. Like a predator in the middle of a den that had just gone still.
Then, Konor raised one hand.
The tension froze.
He smiled. Easy. Controlled.
"Go easy on our guest," he said, chuckling. "He's new to this. Doesn't understand how things work."
Aldrich's gaze burned into him. "Maybe you should teach me, then."
"Oh, I will." Konor's grin grew colder. "See, power makes the rules. And at the top of power are the Ten Great Families. Even a slum rat like you must've heard of them."
He stepped forward, turning to face the rest of the room.
"Members of the Ten are nobility. Their wealth, their reach, their strength, it eclipses anything you've known. You? You're a gnat, Lowlander. A pebble beneath a storm."
He lifted both arms as he turned to the others. "Now tell me, do any of you doubt that I am the most fit to lead this army?"
Heads shook. No one spoke.
Then…
A laugh.
Not loud.
But mocking, deep, rich, and careless.
Aldrich turned. Alan.
He was laughing.
Hand on his belly. Shoulders shaking. It cut through the silence like a blade.
Konor's smile faltered, just a flicker, but returned just as quickly. "Ah. The rebel speaks."
He walked toward Alan, steps smooth and measured.
"Did you think I forgot about you?" he asked.
Alan wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with his wrist. "My face isn't the kind people forget."
He said it like it was nothing. But the air shifted again.
Konor's eyes narrowed.
"You defied an order. That's insubordination. You also will be punished."
"But I don't take orders from you, Konor."
Alan's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
Konor froze mid-step.
Alan clicked his tongue. "If my father found out I was bowing to a Darkous, he'd take my head off himself."
Gasps again. A different kind. Sharper. Tighter.
Konor's smile shattered.
"…Who are you?" he asked, his voice no longer smooth. It was brittle now. Thin and sharp like ice about to crack.
Alan's eyes changed.
Gone was the boyish grin. The rebellious sparkle.
What stared out now was cold. Calculating. Regal.
"I am Alan E. Karssius," he said. "Tenth grandson of the Karssius Family."
Silence.
Real, suffocating silence.
The kind that pressed into your ribs.
Aldrich watched the faces shift. Disbelief. Recognition. Fear.
But the dominant emotion, the one they couldn't hide, was terror.
And then it all clicked.
Alan wasn't just another Highlander.
He was one of them.
One of the Ten.
A Karssius.
The kind of name that made warlords kneel.
And Konor knew it. Because for the first time, his smirk didn't come back.