The two women looked at each other for several seconds, a moment of silent communication that felt weighted with history Jorghan didn't understand.

Not hostility exactly, but certainly not friendship.

Professional respect between leaders who didn't particularly like each other but recognized they were necessary to each other's existence.

Finally, Madayanti broke the silence, her voice carrying authority that turned the words from suggestion into command.

"It seems like we have all the members present.

Please, be seated."

The standing clan heads returned to their thrones with synchronized movement.

Madayanti took her own seat with fluid grace that belied her armored weight. Indriyani moved to the last empty throne—the one to Jorghan's right—and settled into it with the same unhurried precision she'd shown entering.

Thirteen thrones, thirteen clan heads, the circle complete for the first time in decades.

The Council of Thirteen Clans was officially convened.

Madayanti's eyes held Jorghan's gaze for a moment longer, then she leaned back in her throne, her expression shifting to something more diplomatic.

"Before we address concerns," she said, her voice carrying measured warmth, "let us first acknowledge what brings us here.

Jorghan Sol'vur, you have demonstrated strength that echoes the legends of your bloodline. Your defense of the desert settlements and your stand against an Imperial deployment that should have overwhelmed any individual warrior, these actions have reminded us all why the Berserk Lords were once counted among our greatest protectors."

She gestured broadly, including the entire Council in her words.

"It is the decision of this Council that the Sol'vur clan be officially recognized and restored to our number. Your name will be returned to our records, your seat made permanent, and your voice given equal weight in our deliberations."

The other clan heads nodded, some with genuine warmth, others with careful neutrality, and a few with expressions that suggested they were going along with consensus rather than personal conviction.

Jorghan's face remained impassive.

He didn't smile, didn't show gratitude, didn't perform the expected gratitude of someone being granted a great honor. His eyes moved across the assembled leaders with the same observing detachment he'd shown since entering, cataloging their reactions, reading the politics beneath the ceremony.

Behind Jorghan, Sigora's face wrinkled; she was too worried with the way Jorghan was reacting.

Sigora stood from her position in the secondary ring, placing a hand over her heart in the traditional gesture of thanks.

"I speak for the Sol'vur in expressing gratitude for this recognition. We understand the significance of restoring a name that was removed in difficult circumstances, and we appreciate the Council's wisdom in looking forward rather than dwelling in past grievances."

Several clan heads visibly relaxed at her words—clearly they'd been worried about how this would be received, whether old wounds would be reopened.

Kal'tun stood as well, his booming voice filling the chamber.

"The Nuwe'rak witnessed Jorghan Sol'vur's battle firsthand. What he did—destroying those malicious breeds, defeating Imperial commanders, obliterating an army of thousands—was beyond anything I've seen in three hundred years of life. The desert settlements stand because of his intervention. That deserves not just recognition but our profound respect."

Korreth rose more slowly, his arrogance completely absent.

"The Nor'vack adds its voice to this. I questioned Jorghan Sol'vur's worthiness before witnessing his capabilities.

I was wrong.

He has proven himself beyond any standard we might apply."

Madayanti nodded, accepting the testimonials, then continued.

"The past holds lessons we must acknowledge without being consumed by them. What happened between the Council and Ser'gu Sol'vur was tragic, born of betrayal, yes, but also of fear and misunderstanding. The clans that colluded with humans had paid the ultimate price for that treachery. Ser'gu's response was understandable given what was done to his family, even if the scale of his vengeance troubled many of us."

She paused, her expression becoming softer, almost sympathetic.

"Ser'gu was a good friend before the betrayal. I knew him and considered him a close friend of mine. The loss of his family broke something in him, and in his pain, he became something we feared. When he sought to return, to reclaim his place among us, we—" she hesitated, choosing words carefully, "—we were not ready. We had seen what his rage could accomplish, and we made the mistake of assuming that rage would never truly fade. We removed the Sol'vur name not out of continued hostility, but out of fear for our own survival."

Her eyes met Jorghan's again. "That was wrong of us. We should have found a way to welcome him back, to help him heal rather than casting him out. It was ill fate and poor judgment on our part, and the Council bears responsibility for that failure."

Jorghan's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—acknowledgment perhaps, or maybe just recognition that she was playing this cleverly.

Giving respect to both him and his father, framing the past as a mutual tragedy rather than a one-sided betrayal, and creating a narrative that allowed everyone to move forward without assigning blame.

It was politically astute.

It was also transparently manipulative.

"The point," Madayanti concluded, "is that we should not dwell too much in the past. What matters is the future we build together, the strength we can achieve through unity rather than division."

Several clan heads murmured agreement, clearly ready to move past the uncomfortable discussion and into more practical matters.

That's when Tadrukein spoke.

The scaled patriarch's voice was sibilant, carrying undertones that weren't quite hisses but suggested his true form lurking beneath the humanoid exterior.

"Beautiful words, Madayanti," he said, his tone making it unclear whether he was being sincere or sarcastic.

"But they dance around the actual concern without addressing it directly."

He shifted in his throne, his scaled skin catching the light, his vertical pupils fixed on Jorghan with predatory focus.

"What if he's just like his father? What if we welcome him into our Council, give him legitimacy and authority, and then he decides—on a whim, in a moment of anger, for reasons that make sense only to him—to kill us all?"

The chamber went silent, the comfortable momentum Madayanti had been building shattered by Tadrukein's blunt challenge.

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