A few days later, in the fortress of the White Blades, an event was about to occur.
The circular stone hall was plunged into a trembling gloom, lit only by a few torches fixed to the walls. Their flames drew dancing shadows across the bas-reliefs carved into the rock, as if the ancestors themselves were watching what was about to unfold.
Seated on a basalt seat, the chieftess of the White Blades tribe remained motionless.
Her slender silhouette cut through the heaviness of the air. Her fair skin, smooth in places, was streaked with fine scars that seemed like trophies of past battles.
Her firm chest was half-exposed, held only by a half-opened armor, and a slit skirt revealed the dry strength of her muscular thigh. Each time she crossed her legs, a flash of flesh was revealed, calculated, almost cruel.
The door suddenly opened.
