"How do you feel?" Ninali asked, quickly pulling her hands back. A faint blush colored her cheeks.

"I feel… strong," Avenor said absentmindedly, sitting upright and rolling his shoulders before flexing his hands.

"Verde, is this your doing?" His voice reached me as he clenched and released his fists several times, studying the motion like it belonged to someone else. "I feel stronger, but aside from that, I don't think I've changed much."

I felt a sting of disappointment. I'd hoped he'd gain an interesting skill or two, but it seemed he didn't. And without access to his status window because of Hollow Core, I had no way of verifying it.

"How long was I out?" Avenor asked once the initial daze lifted.

"Long enough to numb Ninali's legs," Mirion said with a laugh. The woman tried to stand, wincing as she stretched the stiffness from her knees.

"What?" Avenor blinked, still piecing together what had happened. His gaze settled on Ninali, who leaned against the tree for balance. "Thank you. Seems I've made a habit of collapsing mid-battle."

"At least this time you faced the strongest foe you could," she replied, chuckling softly. The fatigue dulled her tone, but genuine warmth lingered in her eyes.

"By High Father's will," Avenor said, tracing my symbol across his chest before stumbling to the side. He didn't see Huanir coming until the beast barreled into him, knocking him flat onto the ground.

The haruun snorted happily and rubbed his massive head against Avenor's shoulder, desperate for praise after saving lives and protecting Vaelari during the fight.

"I'm glad you made it too," Avenor laughed, scratching the creature's neck. His fingers tangled in its fur, slick with green blood and grime. Only then did he notice the state he was in - caked in dirt, sweat, and whatever else had painted the battlefield.

"We're both going to need a proper bath after this," he muttered and pushed Huanir back as the beast's odor began to burn his nose.

"Vael Mirion," Othrien said at last, turning everyone's attention away from Avenor and the tharuun. "The Green Tribe will pledge itself to the God of Velmoryn. But before we agree to merge with the Crimson Tribe, there are matters we must discuss."

Mirion nodded with a smirk, satisfaction clear in his expression as the pale markings across Othrien's face began to shift, slowly bleeding into crimson.

"What? You can't!" Shelya rasped, staggering forward a step.

If she'd had the strength, she would've attacked Othrien. But her energy was gone, spent entirely, as was my patience.

If this had been before the nest extermination, I might have watched in silence, content to let them resolve things their way. But that version of me had died with the spiders. I no longer saw reason to spare a woman who spat at me and my believers with every breath.

I stirred my divine power, focusing on the five Vaels gathered before me. Then I chose the memory - Akrion and Shelya abandoning their allies to seize the Mother for themselves, driven by pride and spite.

I guided the image toward them like a slow current, letting it seep into their minds. But when I reached Lyle and Shelya, I felt the strain. The minds of nonbelievers resisted instinctively, and forcing the memory through consumed more divinity than I expected. Still, it was worth the cost. They needed to see it.

Their gazes unfocused and bodies relaxed as the vision reached them. I could feel their thoughts colliding with mine, processing the fragment I had shared. While they relived that betrayal, I shaped another image - the one of Akrion conspiring with the Inquisitor of the Night God, his escape through the portal, and the danger he represented.

One year. That's all I have to unite the Velmoryn tribes, raise a civilization, and prepare for whatever comes after the barrier falls. Once it's gone, I may have to face a war right away.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I needed to convince the Vaels into action. So the second memory I reserved only for four of them. Shelya would not see it; she was not part of the future I had planned for the Velmoryn.

[Warning: Forcefully using incomplete Authority consumed 23 Divinity Points!]

When the trance faded, Lyle's lips curled in disgust, her pupils narrowing as clarity returned. The air seemed to thicken as the weight of the visions settled in.

"Explain yourself," Othrien demanded, his voice cutting through the silence as he watched Lyle step toward Shelya. He remembered how decisively she had attacked Akrion, and it wasn't difficult to guess what she intended now.

Shelya paled. Her eyes darted around in search of allies but found none. The few Silver mages who had survived had collapsed after receiving a healing, too drained to even stand.

"I was doing what I thought was best for the Velmoryn!" she said finally, her tone breaking under pressure. The words came hollow, doing nothing to ease the tension.

"No," Dariel said, furrowing brows. "You did what you thought was best for the Goddess you still worship. The one who's been silent for centuries."

"I care not which God the Velmoryn serve," Lyle said, stepping forward and pushing Othrien aside. The old mage resisted for a moment before sighing and yielding. "I care only for the lives entrusted to me. On the battlefield, allies trust one another with their backs. When we agreed to cleanse this nest together, we accepted that responsibility. Every Velmoryn who fell today will weigh on me until my last breath. I'll keep asking myself whether I fought hard enough, whether my choices were right. That is the burden of a warrior, and even more so, of a Vael."

She stopped a few steps from Shelya. Lyle's face was composed and her voice carried the authority I had not seen in any Velmoryn before.

"You fought bravely, Vael Shelya," she said. "I shall not deny you that. But in the end, you chose your own desires over the lives of your kin, over the ones who trusted you to protect their backs."

Shelya stood frozen, lips parted but voiceless. And I, watching through the Window, finally understood what true leadership looked like in this world.

"Whenever a tribesman betrays their kin, the Vael passes judgment," Lyle said, unsheathing both blades. "Among us five, three worship the God of Velmoryn. The one with the highest authority here is Him."

She planted the blades in the cavern floor and knelt.

"Lord, pass your judgment and we shall accept Your will."

I didn't hesitate. The decision about Shelya had been made before Lyle even spoke, but I shifted the shape of the punishment in my mind. I had planned spectacle - let the basilisk finish her, or let the crimson tree claim her flesh so the tribe would remember how my wrath looked like. But Lyle offered something better.

The blades shivered as crimson energy crawled over their edges. Pebbles rattled where the steel had pierced the floor. Lyle instinctively let go of the twin swords, her eyes widening in surprise.

She hesitated at first; then she reached out and nodded as her hands tightened around the hilts of the blades.

"You have no right! I am the Vael of the Silver Tribe. You dare wage war against us?" Shelya screamed, glaring at Lyle.

"I am merely an executioner, passing the God of Velmoryn's will," Lyle said flatly and raised the blades. "Speak your final words."

Shelya searched for allies in the faces around her - Othrien, Mirion, Dariel… she found none.

"Curse you all," she spat. "I pray the Goddess…"

The blade met throat with a clean, merciless arc. Her last syllable drowned in wet rasping. Her head toppled free and rolled a short distance across the stone, painting a thin line of red. The body sagged and folded where it fell. The scent of iron filled the air as blood pooled beneath her body.

"You threw away your last words… same as your life," Othrien whispered, sighing.

He stepped forward, dipped two fingers into the warm blood, and traced the half-moon symbol across Shelya's forehead. "May the Goddess you worshipped claim your soul," he added.

His words blurred as a golden notification flashed before me.

The entire realm trembled. The mist around me began to churn as though responding to the shimmering yellow screen in front of me. The stars tethered to the Crimson Guardian also trembled, and even Orrvyn's manifestation creaked.

But what drew my attention most was the Angel.

It didn't move. Its pale shell remained still, yet I could feel the change inside of it. A faint shift, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably real. Something within had changed. The Angel had taken another step toward awakening.

Only then did I lower my gaze to the notification itself.

[Congratulations, Verde!]

The conditions to appoint your first Inquisitor have been fulfilled. A mortal under your Authority has willingly accepted your judgment and possesses the required willpower and sense of justice.

If you choose to appoint them, they must first swear their soul to you.

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