The smell of dust and iron clung to the air, heavy and dry, as Lukas stood before the army that had come to reclaim the slaves he had freed.

At its head stood the Shadow Fox and she was exactly like how Makhulu had made her out to be.

The mask that hid most of her face was carved smooth and sharp in the likeness of a fox's visage, its pale surface catching the faint light of the twin moons. Only the corner of her lips was visible—the curve of a half-smile that seemed to mock Lukas and his audacity. Her hair, a cascade of jet black, moved only when the wind allowed it, strands catching against the edges of the mask. Her robes were woven silk, black and silver, flowing with every measured step she took. She walked without fear, the fabric trailing over the sand like spilled ink. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as though she had already decided how this confrontation would end.

Calm, not because she was merciful, but because she was confident that there were none who could oppose her.

The Shadow Fox studied Lukas for a long moment, her gaze cool and assessing, before giving him a smirk of amusement.

Behind her stood an assembly of killers, spellcasters, and sellswords for hire. Every one of them had been bought by the House of Fortunes, an organization rich in blood and coin. There were many reasons why the Kingdom of Nozar had allowed the House of Fortunes to continue their business unchecked. It was clear that one of those reasons was because even with the strongest military force in all of Hiraeth, an easy victory against the House of Fortunes was not guaranteed.

To face the House of Fortunes was to court death. But death was not a stranger to the King of the Dragons. It was an old friend, one Lukas welcomed with open arms.

"Are you so foolish," she asked, her voice soft and smooth as the silk she wore upon her body, "that you would risk your life for theirs?"

A ripple, faint at first, rolled across the dunes. The warmth fled as though drawn away by unseen hands. The moisture in the air thickened unnaturally, and the wind, once dry and blistering, became cold enough to bite.

The woman frowned beneath her mask, glancing toward her soldiers.

"Hold formation-" she began but her voice faltered in an instant.

Cracks echoed through the silence, sharp and violent, coming one after another.

They had gone still.

All of them, thousands of figures—mercenaries, mages, and warriors alike—encased in translucent prisons that gleamed faintly blue in the moonlight. Water had flooded the space all around them in seconds, swirling around them before hardening into a glassy shell. Faces twisted in shock, mouths frozen mid-breath, eyes wide as if still begging for air that would never come.

The sands around their feet glimmered with frost, a thin layer of impossible ice creeping across the ground in spider-webbing patterns. The heat of the desert had been banished, devoured by the unnatural chill that had been brought on by the Divinity of the Seas.

The Shadow Fox's composure faltered, her smile vanishing as Lukas finally spoke. She had asked him if he was willing to put his life on the line to free these slaves she thought belonged to her. "Are you?" he asked plainly, answering her question with one of his own, his voice steady as the sea he had called forth.

The mask had kept her face concealed but it was not enough to hide the fear that the Shadow Fox felt in that moment. With a breath drawn too quick and a laugh that came out thin and nervous, Lukas knew that she was realizing that it was not his life that hung in the balance. For all her reputation of strength and power, she was not foolish enough to believe that she could possibly stand in the face of one capable of such magical prowess.

Her hands rose slowly, palms outward. "What is it that you want?" she asked, trying to steady her voice into the same smooth silk that once slipped so easily from her tongue. "Name it, and you shall have it."

Lukas did not waste breath on threats. "The Mandate. I hear you have one of the four."

The mask turned toward him with a hint of that old smile returning, some of her confidence returning to her.

The Shadow Fox's nod was almost respectful. "You would have heard right," she told him. "You can have the Mandate. But how do I know you will spare my life after I give it to you?"

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"You have my word," Lukas replied curtly.

But the Shadow clicked her tongue and shook her head. "You strike me as an honest man," she chuckled. "But I'm afraid I'll need more than that."

Lukas raised an eyebrow, as if daring the Shadow Fox to push her luck.

"Swear it on the River Styx. Swear on her name that you will not take my life." She said quickly.

Lukas' eyes narrowed as she made her demand but shouldn't have been surprised.

The Shadow Fox was, after all, the Mistress of the House of Fortunes—a schemer at her very core. She had not rose to the level Lukas had torn her down from through sheer fighting ability. She had done so through her cunning and wit. And it was not an unreasonable thing to ask of Lukas. Once he had gotten his hands on the Mandate, Lukas had planned to put an end to life right here and now. She was the very woman who had ordered the capture and sale of his people, who had turned the children of Linemall into property to be paraded and sold. Her wealth had been built on their suffering and Lukas knew for a gorydamn fact she had never once wept for it.

How could he allow such a creature to live?

At the same time, Lukas needed that Mandate.

Without it, Lukas would never be able to enter the Tournament of Khaitish and he would never be granted an audience with Pythia of Delphi, the one being in this world who knew what he was put on Hiraeth to do.

His jaw tightened.

The words came out flat and cold. "Very well," forcing the words out. "I swear it on the River Styx that, if you give me the Mandate, then I shall spare your life."

The Shadow Fox inclined her head slightly, like a priestess presiding over her own salvation. "Then may Styx herself oversee this oath," she whispered, her voice nearly trembling with what Lukas could only assume was relief, "and punish those who break it."

It began as a faint shudder through the sand, a vibration born of the mystic arts.

Then came the whisper of the shadows themselves, rippling like liquid night. The darkness rose around them like a tide without end, swallowing the skies until all that remained was the faint glimmer of the mask upon her face. Lukas watched in silence as the Shadow Fox stepped closer, extending her arm into that darkness as though reaching into a vast and endless void. The black swallowed her up to the shoulder.

When her hand emerged again, it clutched something that shone like a captured star.

A silver tablet, about the size of a man's palm, etched with ancient runes that pulsed softly with a unique magical signature that belonged only to the Four Mandates that would grant entry to those worthy enough to possess it; giving them a chance to become the Champion of the Coliseum.

She held it out, her tone suddenly softer, lighter, as if the entire ordeal had simply been another transaction.

"The Mandate is yours," the Shadow Fox declared "And my life…is mine. I would have to say it is more than a fair trade."

Lukas took a step forward, his right hand—the one of marble white and golden veins—reaching to claim what he had bargained for.

The shadows rippled faintly around them, the desert air suspended in a stillness so perfect that it felt unnatural. But then the darkness behind her shifted again stronger than it had before as though something within it had come alive.

Lukas felt it before he saw it, a pulse of killing intent, sharp and foreign, slicing through the void like a dagger through silk.

The Shadow Fox must have felt it too, for her words faltered into a breath, confusing flashing in the sliver of her face that the mask revealed.

A blur of motion burst from the darkness and Lukas' eyes widened.

The intruder struck cleanly, the blade sliding through silk and flesh in one unbroken motion.

The Shadow Fox gasped.

The sound was soft but utterly profound. Blood, black in the moonlight and as black as the shadows she had conjured, poured down her front as she looked down at the sword jutting from her chest.

The Mandate slipped from her hand before being by the one who had delivered the killing blow.

Her body crumpled forward.

Sand embraced the Shadow Fox as she fell, her mask cracking as it hit the ground, splintering the porcelain face that had ruled an empire of gold built on enslaving the helpless.

The assassin stood tall amidst the settling shadows, the silver tablet gleaming faintly in her hand. With a flick of her wrist, she cleaned the blade, crimson droplets scattering like embers across the sand.

His thoughts stilled, his breath forgotten.

Lukas did not move.

Because he recognized her.

He knew that face well and yet it seemed impossible that he would find her here, especially like this.

Before him stood the woman who commanded warships that flew under the banner of the strongest military force in all of Hiraeth, and whose loyalty, Lukas had once believed, belonged to the Kingdom of Nozar alone.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

The corpse of the Shadow Fox lay between them, blood soaking into the sand like spilled ink.

Because standing before him now, clutching the Mandate that had once belonged to the Shadow Fox, was the former Vice Admiral Anriette Vale herself.

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