The hall swirled with chaos, every corner flickering in the firelight.
A victory feast roared deep in the stone heart of the Havilah mountains. The Giyome stronghold, carved into a cliffside, was half-fortress, half-relic,its walls blackened from dragonfire and rune-scarred from old wars. Ancient banners hung like ghost stories. Braziers hissed. Overhead, chains swayed and clattered, while the air pressed close with smoke, sweat, and the smell of meat on the fire.
Long tables filled the hall, crammed shoulder to shoulder with warriors in battered silver armor. Plates clanged, and tankards hit the tables with heavy thuds. One group gambled on dagger throws, aiming at a spinning wooden wheel bolted to the wall. Another pounded out a drumbeat on the tables, chanting as two shirtless soldiers wrestled in the middle, grinning through the fight.
A woman drove a man twice her size down into a puddle of ale, and the crowd roared.
At the war map, old captains shouted over which of them had landed the killing blow at the east tower. In the shadows by the armory door, two young soldiers stumbled through awkward flirting, trading glances they pretended not to notice.
This wasn't just a celebration. This was clan. This was Havilah.
At the center of the noise,
Ryusei Giyome,
He sat on a long obsidian banquet table scattered with roasted meat, steel goblets, and loose piles of gold. His armor was black and sleek, marked with blue dragon sigils, the pauldrons shaped like folded wings.
Two women stood beside him, one absently running her fingers along the hilt of his dagger, the other pouring wine into his mouth.
He drank and grinned.
Then, he stood. On the table. Raised a hand.
'Oi!'
The noise didn't stop, but it broke. Heads turned. Tankards paused halfway to mouths.
'I'm only saying this once, you bastards, so pull your ears out of your mugs.'
He drank, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,and tossed the goblet over his shoulder.
"I'm Ryusei. Your general. The man who killed a wyvern with a spoon beat a minotaur with its own horn and slept with more of your sisters than I could count."
Laughter broke out. A boo. Someone yelled, "She liked you better drunk!"
Ryusei jerked a thumb toward the east wing. "We won today. We bled. We burned. But we're still standing and that means we drink until our livers scream, then wake up tomorrow still better than every other clan from here to the edge of the gods' piss-stream."
The hall roared. Boots slammed the floor. Someone set their beard on fire and cheered while others scrambled to put it out.
Then Ryusei's voice dropped. One hand lifted, and the noise faded.
"But none of this none of this fire, none of this steel, none of this victory happens without him."
He turned. Pointed.
"To the man who carries the Damascus dagger, steel born from the frozen heart of Fimbelwinter. The slayer of the Damascus dragon. The shield of Havilah. Our clan's iron flame."
A pause.
Then, from the shadows behind the back wall, mist began to creep in.
Soft.
Cold.
Alive.
Out stepped Kin.
His armor stood apart, black and silver with edges trimmed in icy blue, the crest of Havilah burning bright on his chest. His aura was quiet, yet it pressed against the room like a storm on the horizon. Mist coiled at his feet, and the braziers he passed shuddered, some sputtering out entirely.
He stepped up onto the table.
Faced the hall.
Ryusei bowed his head slightly. "Kin Kizuki."
Kin didn't speak. He reached down. Unsheathed the dagger.
It gleamed, a deep Damascus blue, carved with runes that murmured in tongues lost for centuries. The hilt formed a dragon's open maw, silver teeth catching the light.
The moment he unsheathed it, a chill swept the room. A gust of wind stirred, the chandelier dimmed, and breath turned to mist.
Kin whispered to the blade, too faint to hear.
Then he let it fly.
It spun once. Twice. Then he drove his boot into it midair.
The blade tore through the air and slammed into a tall tree at the far end of the hall.
The tree froze on contact. Ice spread over the bark, twisting into the shape of a sleeping dragon.
Kin's voice cut through the stillness.
"For Havilah."
The hall erupted , gold coins spilling across the floor, warriors shouting until their voices cracked.
Then Kin raised a hand, and the noise died.
"Tonight," he said, "we celebrate more than the end of a war. We celebrate the start of something greater."
A hooded woman emerged from the shadows, a child in her arms. She walked with care toward the table. Kin stepped down to meet her.
"This is my firstborn," he said, lifting the baby so all could see.
The hall fell silent.
"My daughter. Born of ice and flame. She will carry this clan's legacy with the pride of ten generations."
He looked at her, his voice softening.
"I name her Kanao Kizuki."
He unclasped the dragonbone necklace from around his neck, its pale blue glow catching in the firelight, and placed it gently around hers.
No cheers came.
Only a bow from every warrior in the room.