[Time Skip: Three Days Later]

[Location: The Deep Dungeons – Below the Arena]

The air down here was cold enough to freeze breath instantly, but the figure walking down the corridor didn't shiver.

Leona walked past the cells. Her injuries were mostly healed thanks to the tribal shamans, though she still walked with a slight stiffness in her ribs.

She wore a simple white tunic and the Void Gauntlet on her left arm.

Walking for a while, she soon stopped in front of the deepest cell.

Inside, chained to the wall by heavy, glowing runic cuffs, was King Scar.

The once-mighty 6th Order Warlord looked pathetic. His mane was matted with dried blood. His black Dragon-Scale armor had been stripped away, leaving him shivering in the dark. His mana was completely sealed by the cuffs.

He looked up as Leona approached. His eyes dull, filled with hate and confusion.

"You..." Scar rasped. "Come to gloat? Or come to finish it?"

"Neither," Leona said calmly.

She signaled the guard to open the door. She walked in and stood over him.

"I came to see if the 'God of Thunder' still had anything to say."

Scar spat at her boots.

"You are nothing but an usurper like me. A puppet, you won because the mob saved you."

"I won," Leona corrected, leaning down, "because you forgot what a King is supposed to be. A King protects his people."

"A king is someone who has honour! Pride! And an unyielding will!"

"Neither of which you possess! That is why you will never compare to my father, neither in life, nor in death"

She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Scar rattled his chains.

"Kill me! Give me a warrior's death! You owe me that much, blood of my blood!"

Leona stopped at the door. She looked back over her shoulder, her golden eyes devoid of sympathy.

"A warrior's death is for warriors, Uncle. You are anything but a warrior."

She slammed the heavy iron door shut, leaving him in the darkness.

.....

[The High Lodge – Throne Room]

An hour later, the massive stone doors of the High Lodge groaned open.

The Throne Room was packed. The Council of Elders, Torrum of the Mammoths, the Tiger Chief, the Wolf Matriarch, lined the hall.

Behind them stood the commanders of the Royal Guard and the representatives of every major tribe.

At the far end sat the White Lion Throne.

It was a savage seat carved from the skull of an Ancient Frost Dragon. For two years, Scar had sat there, looming over them like a dark storm.

Now, Leona ascended the steps.

She turned and sat. She didn't slouch like Scar. She sat with a straight back, her hands resting on the bone armrests.

Elder Torrum stepped forward, holding a cushion. On it rested a simple circlet woven from Iron-Wood and star-metal.

"The Crown of Fangs," Torrum announced, his voice thick with emotion.

"Worn by your father. Hidden away by me when the Usurper took power."

He knelt.

"It belongs to you, Leona. Not because of your blood. But because of your spirit."

Leona took the circlet. She placed it on her head.

It was heavy. The weight of fifty thousand lives.

"I accept," Leona said, her voice amplified by the acoustics of the hall.

"Long live the Queen!" Torrum roared.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" The hall erupted.

Leona raised her hand, silencing them instantly.

"The war for the city is over," Leona declared.

"But the work has just begun. Open my uncles private granaries. Distribute the food to the Lower Districts. No one starves tonight."

The Elders nodded, approval shining in their eyes.

"And," Leona added, her expression hardening.

"Send runners to the Southern Border. Recall the raiding parties. We are no longer bandits."

"My Queen," the Wolf Matriarch stepped forward.

"If we stop raiding... how will we deal with the Human Empire? They will see it as weakness."

Leona smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the smile of someone who knew a secret.

"We do not need to raid the Empire," Leona said.

"Because the Empire is already burning from the inside. We just need to wait for the signal to pour gasoline on the fire."

.....

[Leona's Private Chambers – Night]

The celebrations were loud in the streets below, but Leona's room was quiet.

She stood on the balcony, the cold wind rushing through her mane. She touched the Crown of Fangs on her head, then looked down at the black crystal in her hand.

She took a deep breath. She was a Queen now. A 5th Order Warlord. But holding this crystal, she felt like a regular beast kin again.

She poured mana into it.

Hummmm.

The air shimmered. A holographic projection materialized.

It was audio-only at first, then the image stabilized.

Damien.

He was sitting in a high-backed chair, swirling a glass of wine. He looked relaxed, almost bored, contrasting sharply with the bloody revolution Leona had just finished.

"Leona," his voice came through, smooth as silk. "I see a crown on your head. Does that mean the uncle is dealt with?"

Leona dropped to one knee immediately. Queen or not, she knew who held the leash.

"It is done, Young Lord. King Scar is overthrown. He and Prince Gorn are in chains in the deep dungeon. I have ascended to the 5th Order."

"5th Order," Damien mused, a hint of genuine approval in his tone.

"Faster than I calculated. The Beast Bloodline is potent indeed."

"It was your guidance, Young Lord," Leona said humbly.

Good. Keep the prisoners alive. A 6th Order core is a rare resource; I don't want it going to waste."

Damien took a sip of his wine.

"Now that you have the throne, your priority shifts. Stabilize the North. I don't want civil wars. I want a unified army."

"The tribes are loyal," Leona assured him. "However, there seems to be some hatred with the human empire's."

"Hold them back," Damien ordered sharply. "Not yet. The Human world is a massive beast. If you attack now, they will unite against you. We need them fractured first."

"Is the plan working?" Leona asked. "In the Capital?"

Damien chuckled. It was a dark, amused sound.

"The Capital is a powder keg, Leona. The nobles are paranoid. The slaves are restless. The Emperor is chasing ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"Zero" Damien smiled.

Leona looked at the hologram. Even through the grainy magic transmission, she could feel the chaos radiating from him.

While she had fought a physical war, he had been fighting a psychological one.

"Prepare for the future Leona, for the war to come involves all of us" Damien said, his eyes gleaming.

"Train your people. Arm them. When I give the signal... the North will become one of my greatest fighting forces"

"I await your command," Leona bowed low.

"Long live the Queen," Damien said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

The connection cut.

Leona stood up in the silence of her room. She looked out at the frozen caldera, then South, toward the distant, unseen lands of the humans.

She clenched her fist. The Void Gauntlet hummed, hungry for more.

"Long live Zero," she whispered.

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