Valkhara
The chamber was nothing like the arena.
It didn’t bleed. It didn’t echo. It whispered.
A stone table dominated the center of the space, long, dark, carved with old runes that pulsed with soft red light. Seven chairs sat around it. One for each faction. One for each survivor.
Only five of us remained.
And not all of us would leave.
Above us, behind walls of enchanted glass, the Council watched.
I didn’t look up.
I didn’t need to.
Let them stare. Let them whisper.
Let them feel what was coming.
“Lady Valkhara,” one of the guards said flatly, gesturing to a chair near the table. “Take your seat.”
I did not move.
He blinked. “It’s mandatory—”
I took two steps forward, then stood behind the chair. Not sitting. Not bending. Not playing.
Let them notice.
The other contest
