The hall of the Virak'tai clans was lit with emerald flame, its carved blackwood beams arching like spider limbs toward a vaulted ceiling of polished obsidian.
It was the morning after Altan had saved the Queen Mother's daughter.
Altan stood beside Nyzekh, Stormwake, Ghoran Skarnulf, and Bruga. Before them sat the Queen Mother and the assembled clan elders.
The Queen Mother rose. "Altan of the Gale. You saved what even we could not. My daughter lives because of you. How can we repay a debt like this?"
Altan bowed slightly. "I ask for no debt, only consideration. A path forward."
She nodded slowly. "Speak it."
"An alliance," Altan said. "Between your people and the Gale Nation's thirteen tribes. The Free Cities, what remains of the old Zhong Empire, and the newest member, the Sturmwulf Clans."
Murmurs rippled through the elders.
"Why now?" asked one. "Why us?"
Altan looked to the Queen Mother. "Because the Dazhum Empire will pass through your lands. Not as travelers but as conquerors."
The Queen Mother's gaze sharpened. "And what are your plans, should we agree?"
Altan's expression darkened. "Before I answer... there is a spy among us."
Gasps broke out.
Nyzekh moved before the silence could settle. In a blur, he seized a dark elf elder by the throat and slammed him to the stone.
Another figure turned to flee but Bruga's massive arm hooked him mid-run, lifting him off the ground.
Shock seized the chamber. Elders rose. Some drew weapons. Others froze.
Altan raised a hand. "Permission to extract the truth. Now."
The Queen Mother stared at the traitors, face pale. Then she nodded. "Do it."
Altan turned to Stormwake.
Stormwake gave no verbal reply. His fingers flicked a glyph in the air, a simple deathmark.
A scout arrived, robed in swamp flesh, stitched with insect chitin, his eyes glazed with black ichor. The Whispershell Tribe had sent one of their elite. A Brain-Eater, bonded to corpse beetles bred for thought digestion.
The tribe, ever hungry for mind residue, had long offered their dead-fed bonds in exchange for battlefield offerings. Today, they would feast well. Each corpse was a library of secrets, each death a ritual meal.
In response to the glyph, beetles began to crawl from beneath the scout's armor. Dozens of them, clicking and hissing, swarmed the traitors. They burrowed into flesh, into skulls. There was no elegance, no mercy. The traitors' memories would be devoured, processed, and returned.
Within minutes, the swarm excreted a milky sludge, pungent with psychic residue. The bond-leader beetle drank deep, bloated with stolen thought. It released a single pearl-like gland, veined and pulsing.
The scout swallowed it.
Moments later, glyphs spilled from his hands across a stretched scroll of living hide. Names. Locations. Orders. Hidden accounts. The scroll bled as it wrote.
Stormwake took it.
Altan turned and handed the scroll to the Queen Mother. "This is everything. It should be best to act now."
Without hesitation, the Queen Mother passed the scroll to her elite guard. "Sweep the halls. Find every name. Let none escape."
The dark elf guards moved swiftly, vanishing into tunnels and stairways with lethal purpose.
The Queen looked to Stormwake, her expression tight. "I didn't know the Qorjin-Ke walks with you. They serve no banner."
Stormwake's voice was low. "Altan of the Gale gave us a purpose our bonded beasts craved. We chose his banner."
The Queen turned back to Altan. "Then speak, Altan of the Gale. What is your plan?"
Altan's gaze swept the hall, firm and resolute. He stepped forward, voice calm but iron-strong. "Then listen well. Here is the path I offer."
Form a combined army of Stormguards, Sturmwulf Clans, and the Virak'tai legions to stop the Dazhum forces before they reach deeper lands. Build a fortress on the narrow land bridge that connects the continent to the east, where the Dazhum will march first. That land shall become our shield. Open trade between Gale and the Dark Elves. Your scholars and smiths shall study in the Gale City academies without prejudice. In return, your darksteel will be valued in coin and kind. The Gale Citadel Forges will produce armor and weapons to fully equip the Virak'tai armies. Not as subjects. As allies.
She turned to Ghoran Skarnulf. "And what of your clans, Skarnulf? Did the Sturmwulf agree to this alliance?"
Ghoran's voice rumbled like rolling thunder. "Altan bled the goblins and orc riders before we ever reached your gates, he and the Stormguards cut through their warbands, while we joined the slaughter." He laughed. "We want to fight, it is in our blood. But this pact gives us more. Peace. Trade. Let the clans and dark elves be good neighbors and fight a common foe."
The Queen Mother said nothing for a long moment. Then she stepped forward.
"So be it. Let the pact be sealed not by words alone, but by fire, steel, and shared blood."
Altan nodded once. "Stormwake. Proceed to Phase One."
Stormwake stepped back and summoned a Vahir messenger hawk with a flick of runes.
The great bird spiraled down from the obsidian rafters. Its feathers shimmered like silver smoke.
Stormwake pressed a coded scroll to its leg, seals of Gale, of the Free Cities, of the Stormguard Hospitaliers burned into the vellum.
"Fly to the capital," Stormwake whispered. "To the stronghold. The storm must gather."
The hawk shrieked once, then launched into the sky, vanishing into the morning above.