Publicly Broken Claim
The arena roar hit Kyranth full force the second she stepped onto the sand.
Thousands of werewolves packed the tiers. Their scent rolled over her in waves: hot fur, dried blood, sharp excitement. Every pack in the Shadowfang Empire had come to watch.
She walked to the center of the fighting circle. Boots sank into the dark, crusted sand. No armor. Just black leather tunic and pants. The silver chain with her mother's pendant rested against her collarbone. The only thing Morvath had never taken from her.
She stopped. Raised her chin.
"Emperor Morvath." Her voice cut clean through the noise. "I stand for the alpha trial. I've met every requirement. I demand my right to prove I'm heir."
Murmurs spread. Some packs leaned forward. Others barked low laughs.
Morvath sat on the black basalt throne. Cloak of midnight pelts over massive shoulders. Eyes flat. No pride. No warmth.
He rose. The throne groaned. He descended the steps slowly. Each footfall echoed. When he reached the platform edge he stopped. Looked down at her.
"You demand?" His voice was low and rough. "You think raids and kills make you fit to rule?"
"I've led border strikes. Taken heads in duels. Spilled blood for this empire." Kyranth held his gaze. "What more do you want?"
He stared another long second. Then laughed. Short. Harsh.
"You're strong, girl. I'll give you that." He lifted one thick hand. "But a b***h's strength belongs in one place only."
The words struck hard. Heat flooded Kyranth's face.
The crowd exploded.
Jeers. Whistles. Crude shouts.
"Breeding stock!"
"Fragile pup!"
Laughter rolled like thunder.
Morvath raised his palm. Silence snapped back instantly.
"I won't hand the empire to weak hands," he declared. "You'll serve the bloodline on your back. In the dens. Where females belong."
Kyranth's vision tunneled. Rage burned white-hot in her chest.
Guards moved. Four elite. Hands clamped her arms. She twisted. Kicked. Snarled. Boot connected with ribs. The guard grunted. Grip tightened.
Morvath drew the blood-oath dagger. Black steel. Runes etched deep. He sliced his palm. Blood welled fast.
Kyranth thrashed. "You can't!"
He stepped close. Iron scent on his breath.
"I already have."
He pressed the bleeding palm to her forehead. Hot blood slid into her eyes. Burned down her cheeks. Runes flared red. Pain ripped through her skull. Electric. Tearing.
She screamed. Raw. Animal.
The brand seared across her left collarbone. Skin blistered. Flesh blackened at the edges. Outcast. Traitor. No pack. No name. No claim.
Guards dropped her. She hit the sand on hands and knees. Chest heaving. Vision red.
Morvath turned to the packs. Arms wide.
"Witnessed. Kyranth Zylthar is stripped of title, rank, blood-right. Banished. Any who shelter her shares her fate."
Howls answered. Triumph. Mockery. Hunger.
Kyranth pushed up. Legs shook. Brand throbbed. She wiped blood from her eyes. Looked straight at him.
"You'll regret this."
Morvath smiled. Small. Cold. Certain.
"Take her out."
Guards grabbed her again. Dragged her toward the western gate. Crowd surged. Spat. Threw dirt and bone. Insults rained down.
Halfway there a hand brushed hers in the chaos. Quick. Deliberate. Slim dagger pressed into her palm. No hilt. Just blade.
She closed her fingers around it.
Guards reached the gate. Loosened grip to shove her through.
She spun.
Drove the blade up under one guard's jaw. Steel punched through. He choked. Eyes wide. She twisted. Pulled free. Blood sprayed hot across her face.
Second guard lunged. She dropped low. Slashed behind his knee. Tendons parted. He dropped howling.
Kyranth bolted through the gate. Into the wild borderlands.
Shouts erupted behind her. Horns blared. Trackers bayed.
She ran.
Not fleeing.
Building.
The first howls rose close.
Too close.
Night fell fast.
Who would catch her first?
The imperial hunters?
Or the one fool who might follow her trail alone?
