The tent of the Khulmani sisters was lit up by an Edmund lamp in the middle, while the girls sat around the small table, watching each other silently. The air was thick, almost oppressive, as none of them wanted to actually start the meeting... and just watched the Gauntlets, resting on both sides of the bright lamp, basically taunting them. What they didn't know yet was that their father was no longer alive... Not that it would change anything.

What was problematic, though, was the state of the army. Generals, sergeants, captains, soldiers, no matter who, they were growing restless. Some were already wanting to head back to Khulman, abandoning all previous promises made to Avalon. The Khan's eldest son, who was left behind in case of the worst, which did come to pass, had to be made Khan as soon as possible... While others, especially amongst the younger warriors and those who were injured, were calling to make Jila the new Khan. Which was unheard of.

"..."

Rashira moved first, her clothes rubbing against her body, making a noise as she sat straight-backed, her hair tied into a braid. She looked at Seltana, who sat to her right, leaning slightly forward, watching the Gauntlets. As for Meyli, she sat across from them, her hands folded tightly in her lap, lips pressed thin as though trying to make herself smaller and invisible... Only Tarsine was missing, as she was still in Avalon, maybe at the safest place possible.

"We can't delay any longer." Rashira started, looking at Jila first, "The soldiers are growing more and more restless by the hours we do nothing... If we don't act, the choice will be made for us, and then no matter what we say, it will have no effect on them at all."

"I told you already," Jila answered, sitting forward, being as serious as she ever would be, "I'm not going to be their Khan. I won't wear those things," she pointed at the Gauntlets, "and I won't sit on their throne."

"Our throne," Rashira reminded her, sounding strict, but with some understanding in her tone, "And it isn't about what you want, little sister. The Gauntlets came to you... and if we don't do something, Khulman can spiral into a civil war."

"Chosen me? Hah! It means they have bad taste," Jila shot back, "I'm already engaged! And if the people are stupid enough to go fight each other after this? They deserve it!"

"Um..." Meyli's hands tightened, but she began speaking, despite her nerves, "It doesn't have to mean ruling... No?" The three others looked at her, making her flush, but she pressed on with her idea, "Yes, it was always the ruling Khan who wielded the Gauntlets, but... Weren't there Khans who we never talk about? Because they were that bad at leading?"

"There were a lot." Seltana nodded while Jila blinked her eyes, taken aback by the underlying idea she was beginning to see, "Meyli has a point here. The relic doesn't need to mean leadership... If we can make that change... Hm... We had, as far as I know, seventeen Khans who were disposed of because their leadership was... threateningly bad. So, it doesn't mean that wielding the Gauntlet makes you the perfect leader either... But we still need to decide who rules." Her gaze flicked to Rashira, "Eldest sister, surely that should be you?"

"No." Rashira shook her head at once, making Jila snort, seeing that she was doing the same thing she was scolded for, "If the Gauntlets had chosen me, I would accept." Rashira added, knowing Jila's thought process, "But they didn't. If I say I'm ready to do it, many will point their swords at me, thinking I am trying to take over. No... That won't do... In our laws, tradition is clear... Without a clear sign, my claim would never hold against our brothers or even the other chiefs."

"Brothers..." Jila scoffed, "I never met with any of them. I always just hear their names... bah!"

Even then, in Khulman, there was never any woman who held any power, at least not officially. As for what kind of influence they had on their husbands, that was another question altogether, but making the decisions, voicing them to the other chiefs, and then to the entire Empire? Never. As for this brother, the one who should have been the next in line, they had only heard about him... The eldest son of the Tula-Khan... supposedly, he had been raised for the position since birth. Was it true? They didn't know, and Jila didn't care, not in the slightest.

"So what then?" Jila demanded of her sisters, "We just hand the throne over to one of these brothers we have? Pretend this never happened? Because I can do that. Easy."

"Well..." Seltana's lips curved into a thin smile, "That may be the most practical course."

"Done!" Jila clapped, but Seltana just raised a hand.

"Let me continue, sis... If we do that, it avoids war. Our brothers, or our eldest brother, gain what he has always been prepared for. But..."

"The soldiers..." Seltana frowned, nodding. "Many already believe Jila is the chosen one. If we simply deny it, they may turn against all of our brothers, thinking it's their pressure making us decline it... and then civil war will come anyway."

"Or some may think they would be able to control us while we sit on the throne..." Meyli glanced down at the Gauntlets, her voice hesitant, "I read about it... I mean, about stories like that... Um... So... What if… what if Jila said it herself? Holding a speech here? Soon? There is no way they would think she is being manipulated! That she won't take the throne because of someone else... She could hold a speech and choose to leave it to those trained for it instead of ruining the country. Or... something like that."

"Huh..." Jila gave her a sideways look. "You want me to stand in front of everyone and say I'm not good enough?"

"That's not what she means," Seltana said calmly, but Jila just rolled her eyes.

"But it's true," she added, shrugging. "Not that I care what they think."

"It wouldn't be weakness anyway." Seltana continued, smiling at her sister, "And... It would be a fine choice... Meyli is right! If you reject the throne publicly, and she speaks with you, the soldiers will accept it. They trust her, too. Believe it or not, the thing you did," she turned to her youngest sibling, "Made it so that your vocie carries more weight than you think!"

"Hauh..." Meyli flushed but didn't deny it; instead, she was trying to hide behind her hair, which she pulled into her face.

"I like the idea," Jila leaned back, folding her arms tighter, "So I tell them to take one of our brothers instead. The eldest... And tell them he will get things done. Easy. Quick... Okay! Let's do it!"

"Yes," Rashira spoke before Jila could stand up and head out to scream it to the wind, "But not without a promise."

"What... promise?" Jila asked, her face darkening.

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"We can't ignore the Gauntlets." She continued while all eyes turned to her. "What happened, happened... It shows that you can summon them... Therefore, you will need to make a declaration to please both sides. Like... If Khulman is ever in danger, if our people face ruin, you will return. That... You will fight. You will prove what the Gauntlets truly chose... We can add that this suggests these relics chose not a ruler, but a warrior. God Toobu is the God of War after all and not the God of Politics."

"You would have made a good politician... Or Khan..." Seltana murmured, glancing at her eldest sister, "Too bad..."

"Is it though?" She whispered back, shaking her head, watching as Jila was thinking it through.

"Ugh... Okay..." Finally, she grunted in answer, "I can agree to that... Fighting's all I'm good at anyway."

"No..." Meyli reached over and touched her hand, taking it, "That's not true!"

"It is enough for now, though," Seltana exhaled, moving and rubbing her shoulders, "Then it's decided. We will present a united front! Jila will reject the throne, and Meyli will stand by her side, lending her support and reinforcing her decision. We must acknowledge one of our brothers as Khan, and in return, Jila becomes the champion of Khulman, bound to defend it from outside enemies, but free of the crown. As for the Gauntlets, we can send them back to the next Khan... Jila had already demonstrated that if she needs them, she can simply... call on them."

"Can I?" She moaned, pursing her lips, "I never realized it so... it may have been just in the heat of the moment. So... Don't make me demonstrate it."

"That doesn't matter," Rashira chuckled, "We don't need to prove it, and we just need to... make this work. If we get over it, I doubt there will be any wars in the immediate future."

"Yeah... That would be the best." Jila shrugged, watching the Gauntlets, grimacing, wanting nothing more than to get this over with and head back to Lancelot's tent... He was for sure walking and moving around instead of lying and resting.

... .... ......

The oak tree that was the final resting place of Tula-Khan Rhanak was now surrounded by Avalonians and the few Khulmani troops as they lowered the swinging body to the ground once again.

Arthur stood a pace back, watching as Bakhi and the Pion handled the corpse, while his eyes tracked the details on the body... The bare feet were torn and blistered, showing that he had lost his boots days ago... somewhere. Then there were the broken and cracked fingernails, caked with blood, along with the deep gouges clawed into the Khan's own flesh on his arms... They weren't made by a branch but by scratching himself...

When he was down, Bakhi knelt beside the body. He had seen corpses before, countless, in fact, but none of them made his hands tremble quite like this one. He was both angry and... disappointed. Maybe even a bit... sympathetic.

"He ditched the horse at an early moment..." He shifted the legs of his once-ruler, then lifted his torn clothes, showing claw marks along his ribs. "These wounds look self-inflicted, too... He fought no monsters out here..." He added, matching the Khan's fingers to the line of scratches, fitting to it perfectly.

"They also look fresh," Galahad noted, watching it and crouching at the other side. Even if he was the youngest among them, his eyes were the sharpest, and with his memory, he could match things together without having to keep looking at the corpse. "Look at the bruising and the blood. These marks are not days old... He was still alive this morning..."

Listening to his younger brother, Arthur crouched as well, his stomach tightening at the thought. There was something more terrible in the image of the Khan right now, reduced to this shivering husk.

"Coward..." Bakhi repeated the word he had been saying for the past few days, "He chose this..." His hand moved to the thick vine twisted into a noose, taking it off his neck, "I can't believe he went this far... God Toobu will refuse to accept his soul into the afterlife. He shamed himself and his bloodline..."

"Maybe he saw no other way," Galahad muttered, "The beast was circling the tree, maybe he did this because he saw the monster and it looked back at him..."

"It is a hard choice," Polo muttered with his arms crossed, his expression unflinching, "Either end up as a beast's dinner or finish it yourself. Not a choice one can make easily."

Bakhi stiffened, listening to his words and to the possible idea... Imagining it, his hand curling into a fist, but he said nothing as he was not angry at Pion... but at the Khan. What he didn't notice was that Arthur's expression shifted as he felt the tension in the air.

It was... stronger than usual, and as he reached out, just as usual, there was new thrum in his bones. He had felt this before, just not this clearly. The way he usually talked with his sister, since they were babies... How they were using it to 'read' the thoughts and emotions of their parents... It was always something he had access to, but somehow, this time, it began to amplify the more he focused.

By now, Arthur's gaze was fixed on the Khan's face. The eyes were half-open, glazed over, but as he watched, in them he felt a pull. A... residue of some kind, and as he let it happen, suddenly he was no longer in the clearing.

He was standing in the chaos of battle, back again, facing the bone-made abominations. He sensed and felt as the Khan's gauntleted hands blazed with light... and then they were gone. In just a heartbeat, they were there... but not really... Gone. His hands were bare... In that moment, the Khan and everything around him froze. The noise of the battlefield? Silenced as if it wasn't even happening. There was only one loud voice in the Khan's mind:

Your God has abandoned you. The Gods had abandoned this world.

Hearing it, Arthur now felt as if he were the Khan, gasping and staggering to stay standing. Around him, soldiers pressed forward, monsters were still coming and attacking... but none of it mattered. Why fight...? When the world has been abandoned right before his eyes? This was the end... The end of it all...

The Gauntlets are gone... The Gods' judgment has come. The dead walk again, to turn everyone into their kind... The world is condemned... Everyone is to die. Death is coming... It's here. All will burn. Khulman... Avalon... doesn't matter... The Gods left them... Humanity is forsaken. Extinction is decreed.

So... He ran. Where to? He didn't know... or did he not care? Why does he run? He also didn't know... it was his body. It was running, his mind... his mind no longer cared. Arthur felt as he clawed at his arms, his chest, as though he could rip his soul free from his flesh... To escape the world and go where the Gods live and ask them why... But... There was no victory now, only their decree of death...

Arthur jolted back to reality, his breath stuck in his throat as the vision snapped apart, leaving him trembling. Swaying, he staggered back a step, his hand gripping the air for balance, which was not the best idea, causing him to fall backward.

"Arthur?!" Galahad's voice was sharp with concern, rushing over to help him up. "What is it?"

"I..." Arthur swallowed, his eyes flicked to the Khan's body again, and he could still feel the echoes coming off his corpse, "He…" he tried to collect himself, his voice shaking, "I sensed it... He broke. The moment the Gauntlets left him, he believed the Gods had condemned us all. I think... I think I sensed his last moments... He believed that everyone was dying... He thought humanity was meant to burn, that the monsters would win because the Gods wished it so."

"The Gods?" Bakhi rose slowly, his hands flexing, his one eye a bit wet, "Hmph," he snorted, "Gods... I was never a praying type, even when seeing the Gauntlets in action. It is a powerful artifact, but why would a God need it? I thought of it as just a tool... I thought he did so, too. Bastard... Why put so much faith into it, to the level of breaking when it fails? Madness..."

"You would be a good Avalonian," Pion answered, looking at him, "Madness or not, he abandoned his people. What do you want to do with his corpse?"

"..." Bakhi's head snapped toward him, his lips trembling a little, "He was my Khan and my commander for decades. He deserves burial. Whatever else he was in its final moment... he deserves at least... that."

"I think we can... Do something, my Father calls... Politics." Galahad muttered, making everyone look at him, and although Bakhi had a bad feeling about this, he was willing to listen. "We need to counter the rumors that he escaped. Bring his body back... Then we can set it up as if... he was found while cleaning up the battlefield. Give him a heroic death."

"Even if it's fake?" Bakhi asked, looking at the young boy.

"Yes." Galahad nodded resolutely, "You can not do that, of course. Let Khulamn's people be angry and dissatisfied with the bloodline. Let it fester and grow into a future civil war... or worse. Or... Lie. Give them a lie they can believe in to make sure millions won't end up in a bloody warfare right away... It's your choice. I'm just giving you a tip." He shrugged, supporting Arthur, who was getting himself back together, feeling only a slight headache in the end, "As Avalonians, we will keep our mouths shut. This is Khulman's issue... It's up to you."

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