The victory in the party was not a culmination, but a calibration. It didn't put Elian in a state of arrogance and self-satisfaction; instead, it soaked into his marrow as a low, unbreakable reality, like the roots of a mountain. He had stood in the belly of the world that despised him and hadn't been vanquished. He had spoken, and his words had made space for truth in a home built on deceptions. The +3 Charisma was not a charm facade, but an exterior manifestation of the solidity inside him. They did not hear him now, they sensed the presence of his gravity before he said a word.
He returned to his one-room hut, the compound noises a familiar, mundane music after the forced coolness of the events center. He perched on the edge of his mattress, the adrenaline of the fight draining away, l
