"Everything is risky," Jorghan replied.

"But this gives us a chance. More importantly, it gives our people time. Every Haelve we eliminate is one less hunting us. Every day we delay their operations is another day for the settlements to prepare better defenses."

"Or to evacuate entirely," Vel'sara added thoughtfully.

"If the situation becomes truly untenable, buying time might mean the difference between organized withdrawal and panicked flight."

Eben spoke up again, his voice troubled. "There's something else you should know. The Empire isn't just hunting randomly. They're targeting specific bloodlines—families with documented magical talent, individuals with rare abilities. I gave them lists."

His shame was visible.

"They know who the priority targets are."

"Who?" Sigora demanded.

"Most of the Nuwe'rak elder families. The Nue'roka's remaining warriors with fire affinity. And—" he looked directly at Jorghan, "—anyone connected to the Berserk Lord bloodline. They want you specifically. Not just to eliminate the threat, but to study. To harvest."

"They can try," Jorghan said with dark amusement.

"I'm curious to see how that works out for them."

"This is serious," Eben insisted.

"Caden and Constance were given specific orders regarding you. Capture if possible, kill if necessary, but recover the body either way. Your genetic material is—"

"Worth more than gold to them," Jorghan finished.

"I know. I figured that out when the humans went to such lengths at the Moorne estate. The Empire wants to reverse-engineer the Berserk Lord bloodline."

"They've already started," Eben said quietly.

"Some of the Haelve modifications were based on information I provided about ancient bloodline structures. If they get access to you—to your actual DNA, your living tissue—they could accelerate the program beyond anything currently possible."

The implications settled over the assembly like a shroud.

"Then we ensure they don't get that access," Vel'sara said firmly.

"Jorghan is too valuable to risk in solo operations against unknown—"

She was interrupted by a commotion at the edge of the gathering.

A scout burst through the outer circle, his red hair wild, his breathing ragged from hard running. Blood stained his leather armor, and his face was pale with shock and exhaustion.

"Matriarch! Patriarchs! The Empire—they've attacked!"

Everyone was on their feet instantly.

"Report!" Vel'moth barked, his warrior's instincts taking over.

"The Tal'nora settlement," the scout gasped.

"A sub-branch of the Nue'roka clan, two days east of here. The Empire hit them at dusk. Haelves and human soldiers. They—" his voice broke, "—they slaughtered everyone who resisted. Took the rest as captives. I barely escaped to bring word."

"How many?" Vel'moth's voice was deadly quiet.

"Three Haelves, maybe a dozen human soldiers. The settlement had fifteen warriors. All dead. Sixty civilians captured."

"When?" Korreth demanded.

"Four hours ago. I've been riding hard since then."

The assembly fell into chaos and people started arguing. This had become even more troubling and each day passed, more elves fell.

The siblings weren't directly attacking the three clans, they were taking out the small clans around them, creating a huge uproar in the clans. This made the rest of the elves restless and fear struck.

Someone slammed their staff against the floor.

"They're hunting us!"

"They're thinning us out clan by clan—why? Why bypass the three clans?"

"It's obvious—they want to isolate the three clans and then crush them!"

"No! They want to provoke us into striking first!"

"Coward's fear! We must strike back!"

Vel'moth raised a hand to speak, but another elder's voice drowned him out.

"We cannot wait another day! While we sit here speaking, more of our people die!"

Another group fired back.

"Charging blindly will only lead more clans to slaughter. We need strategy, not rage!"

Fear, anger, despair—every voice carried one of them.

The truth settled like a cold weight:

The siblings weren't attacking the great clans directly.

They were devouring the smaller ones around them, one by one, like wolves circling a giant stag—weakening its legs before going for its throat.

It was a tactic designed to fracture unity, to stir unrest, to make entire clans question the strength of their protectors. And it was working.

The council chamber, once a place of guidance and calm judgment, had turned into a storm. Every second they argued, more elves outside lived in fear, waiting for the next dusk assault.

And the dread that hung in the air was suffocating—

because they all knew, sooner or later, the Empire and the Haelves would stop circling.

They would strike at the heart.

Jorghan was already moving toward the edge of the circle. "Four hours. They're still moving the captives. Still vulnerable."

"You can't be serious," Korreth said. "You want to pursue them now? Alone?"

"Not alone," Sarhita said, falling in beside Jorghan. "I'm coming."

"As am I," Kal'tun added.

"And I," Morden said, ignoring his father's sharp look.

Jorghan shook his head. "No. I appreciate it, but this is exactly what I was talking about. You come with me against three Haelves, you die. I go alone; I have a chance."

"The captives—" Vel'moth began.

"I'll free them if I can," Jorghan promised. "But my priority is killing the Haelves. If I succeed, the human soldiers will run. If I fail—" he shrugged, "—then at least we'll know what we're up against."

"This is insane," Korreth said, but there was resignation in his voice. He'd already lost this argument.

Sigora moved to Jorghan, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Come back, child. Whatever happens, come back alive."

"I will, Mother," Jorghan said softly. Then his expression hardened, and when he spoke again, his voice carried across the entire assembly. "The Empire thinks we're prey. They're about to learn differently."

He turned and began running—not jogging, not hurrying, but moving with supernatural speed that left the elves staring in shock. Within seconds he'd covered hundreds of yards, disappearing into the darkness of the desert.

Behind him, the council erupted into chaos again, but the nature of the debate had changed. This wasn't theoretical anymore. The Empire was actively hunting, actively killing. And the Berserk Lord's descendant had gone to show them what it meant to hunt something that could hunt back.

-

Nuwe'rak Settlement - Dawn

The sentries saw them first—figures emerging from the heat shimmer of the eastern desert, moving with a grace that marked them as elven but with a presence that commanded immediate attention.

There were perhaps thirty of them, arranged in a disciplined formation that spoke of military precision rather than the looser clan structures typical of the desert elves.

As they drew closer, details became visible that made the red elf warriors murmur in shock and disbelief.

Their skin was like white ash—pale grey with an almost luminescent quality that seemed to absorb and reflect light simultaneously. They stood uniformly at eight feet, neither as massive as the brown elves nor as lean as the red elves, but with a build that suggested perfect optimization of strength, speed, and endurance. Their hair ranged from pure white to silver-grey, worn in elaborate braids that incorporated what looked like metal threads woven directly into the strands.

And their eyes—their eyes were the color of mercury, silver and fluid, seeming to shift and flow as they tracked movement with predatory precision.

The Ma'ulankr.

The First Clan.

The strongest of the Twelve.

The clan everyone believed had been destroyed six months ago when the Empire's forces had swept through their mountain strongholds.

Yet here they stood, very much alive, their armor unmarked by recent battle, their bearing that of warriors who had not spent months fleeing and hiding but rather preparing and planning.

At their head walked a female who commanded attention despite being surrounded by impressive warriors. She stood exactly eight feet tall, her build lean but powerful, her white-ash skin marked with intricate tattoos that seemed to shift and move across her body—a form of living art unique to the Ma'ulankr's master enchanters. Her hair was pure white, braided in a complex pattern that incorporated silver wire and what looked like small crystals that caught the morning light.

Her face was sharp-featured and beautiful in the way that predators were beautiful—nothing soft or welcoming about it, just cold perfection and absolute confidence. Her mercury eyes swept across the gathered desert elves with an assessment that was part tactical evaluation, part dismissive judgment.

She wore armor that combined traditional elven craftsmanship with innovations the desert clans had never seen—plates of metal so thin they seemed like fabric, yet clearly providing substantial protection. At her hip hung a sword that hummed with contained power, the blade itself seeming to exist in multiple places at once, as if reality couldn't quite fix its position.

Word spread through the settlements with the speed of wildfire.

Within minutes, leadership from all three clans was assembling at the central meeting ground, where the Ma'ulankr delegation had stopped and was waiting with the patience of those who never doubted they would be received.

Jorghan had returned just before dawn, blood-spattered and exhausted but victorious. Three Haelves dead, sixty-three captives freed, and Imperial forces in disarray—it had been a good night's work. He'd been in the process of cleaning up when word reached him about the visitors.

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