Bren hesitated, the document still raised above his head.
"Read it," Elder Mira said again, stepping closer. "If it is authentic, you have nothing to fear from the truth."
The crowd pressed in, murmurs rising into something close to a demand. Bren's men shifted uneasily around him, sensing the tide of the moment turning against their master's confidence.
"Fine," Bren said finally, unfolding the paper with practiced calm. "Let the truth speak for itself."
He began to read. The formal language of succession law filled the night air, naming Bren as heir under the old customs, citing his birth order, his training, his years of service before exile. The crowd listened in tense silence.
Then he reached the final line and stopped.
"Continue," I said.
"That is the entirety of the document,"
