Now he stood with Sigora, Sarhita, and the other clan leaders as the Ma'ulankr delegation entered the meeting area.

The female warrior at their head stopped precisely at the boundary of respectful distance, then inclined her head in a gesture that managed to convey courtesy without suggesting any form of submission.

"I am Thel'endra of the Ma'ulankr," she said, her voice carrying clearly despite not being particularly loud. It had a musical quality, like wind through crystal chimes, but underneath was steel.

"We come seeking the heir of Sol'vur. We would see for ourselves the one who claims the Berserk Lord's bloodline."

Vel'sara stepped forward. "The Ma'ulankr were believed lost. We heard reports of your strongholds being overrun, your people scattered or captured."

"You heard what the Empire wanted you to hear," Thel'endra replied.

"The Ma'ulankr do not fall easily. We withdrew from our traditional territories and let the Empire believe they had won while we consolidated our strength elsewhere."

"You let the other clans believe you were dead," Vel'moth said, anger clear in his voice.

"While we've been fighting and dying, you've been hiding."

Thel'endra's mercury eyes fixed on him with the intensity of a targeting system.

"We've been preparing. There is a difference.

What if we did? Why is that our problem when you can't fight for yourselves?"

The Empire hunts the clans systematically because the clans fight separately and predictably. The Ma'ulankr chose a different path."

All of them were taken aback by what she said.

But Jorghan saw the truth behind her words. She seemed cold and detached from all these clan rules.

"We are part of the twelve clans; you can't talk like we don't belong with them," said one of the elders.

Thel'endra tilted her head, looking at the elder who just spoke, "Is there something wrong with your head? Didn't you hear what I said? Everyone has their own shit to deal with. Let me tell you, the news spread by the empire, the clans' massacre. Yes, they did, but not entirely. Do you consider so little of the twelve clans?

Did you really believe that a puny little army of humans could slaughter the mighty elf clans?"

The truth hit them hard, and believing what the empire spread, the three clans' elders stared at the ash elf with a complex mix of emotions.

Thel'endra sighed, waving her hand, "I don't need to tell you all this. I am here for the boy. Where is he?"

She seemed to consider these three clans to be lesser elves, not worth her time. In terms of power, the two elf clans were at the bottom of the hierarchy, and Nor'vack was in the middle of it. The power structure had been this way for centuries. The top clans never paid attention to what these low-level clans have been doing or what they faced.

"Where are the rest of your people?" Katisana asked, ignoring her question.

"Thirty warriors is not the full strength of the First Clan."

"The rest are secure," Thel'endra said, offering no additional details.

"We are here for a specific purpose—to assess the Sol'vur heir."

Her aura flared up; a simple wave of energy swept the crowd, making everyone move a step back.

"Where is he?" Her voice boomed.

All of them looked at the young man standing in the midst.

Her gaze found Jorghan, and for a long moment she simply stared at him. Her expression was difficult to read, but there was something in it that suggested disappointment, or perhaps skepticism.

"This is the Berserk Lord?" she asked, not bothering to hide her doubt.

"He's... small."

Jorghan, who'd been silently observing until now, raised an eyebrow.

"And you're tall. We've both noticed physical characteristics. Want to compare anything else, or should we skip to the part where you tell us why you're really here?"

Several Ma'ulankr warriors tensed at his tone, but Thel'endra's expression didn't change.

"We heard reports of the Whisperingtris. Thousands of humans dead, their base completely destroyed. Impressive, if true."

"It's true," Sarhita said.

"I witnessed it personally."

"Witnessed what, exactly?" Thel'endra pressed.

"A massacre of unprepared humans? That proves power, not skill. Any sufficiently strong individual could slaughter those unprepared for their abilities."

"Those humans had advanced technology," Jorghan said mildly.

"Including a twelve-foot war suit that nearly killed me. So 'unprepared' might be overstating things."

"Nearly killed you," Thel'endra repeated.

"So you struggled against a single opponent in a mechanical suit?"

"I won," Jorghan replied.

"The struggling part just made it interesting."

Thel'endra's lip curled slightly. "The Berserk Lords of legend didn't 'struggle.' They didn't 'nearly' lose. They were absolute—overwhelming force made manifest. If you are truly of their bloodline, you should be more than what I'm seeing."

The tension ratcheted up several notches.

Jorghan's eyes narrowed, and Sigora recognized the signs of his temper beginning to rise.

"Thel'endra," Kal'tun said carefully, "you come to our settlements, question our ally, and dismiss his accomplishments—for what purpose? If you came merely to insult, you could have stayed hidden wherever the Ma'ulankr are hiding."

"What did you say?" Her voice was filled with power when she spoke, and she squinted her eyes at him and added, "And it's Lady Thel'endra to you, or you can call me Madam."

"We came to determine if the rumors justified changing our strategy," Thel'endra replied.

"If the Sol'vur heir is as powerful as stories suggest, perhaps the scattered clans are worth supporting. If he's merely competent—" her mercury eyes fixed on Jorghan again, "—then supporting you would be wasting resources better spent elsewhere."

"You want proof?" Jorghan asked quietly.

"I want to know if you're worth the Ma'ulankr risking exposure," Thel'endra said bluntly.

"We've survived by being smart, by not engaging in battles we can't win. Attaching ourselves to a doomed cause because of impressive but ultimately insufficient power would be foolish."

Jorghan smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Want to spar? I could demonstrate exactly how 'insufficient' my power is."

"Jorghan," Sigora warned.

"No, let him," Thel'endra said.

"A demonstration would be informative. Though I doubt—"

She was cut off by a scout bursting into the meeting area, his face pale with urgency.

"Matriarchs! Patriarchs! Imperial forces—massive deployment—northern ridge!"

Everyone froze.

"How many?" Vel'sara demanded.

"Thousands," the scout gasped.

"Infantry, cavalry, and mechanical units. And Haelves—dozens of them. They're establishing a position on the ridge overlooking the settlements. They've brought siege equipment and supply trains—this isn't a raid. This is an army."

-

The Northern Ridge - Imperial Deployment

Caden stood at the forward observation post, watching through enhanced vision as the elf settlements below scrambled into defensive positions.

Behind him, the Imperial force was deploying with mechanical precision—a thousand human soldiers, forty Haelves, twenty mobile artillery pieces, and enough supplies for an extended siege.

The count Haelves, which was not what the elves had predicted.

His sister Constance stood beside him, her own enhanced vision tracking movement patterns below.

"They're panicking. Good. Panic creates mistakes."

"They have warriors," Caden observed.

"Perhaps three hundred combat-capable elves between the three settlements. Not enough to mount an effective defense, but enough to make a direct assault costly."

"Then we don't assault directly," Constance replied.

"We close in on them, moving in from all sides. Just as we cut off their escape routes."

One of their lieutenants approached, saluting crisply. "Commanders, the siege line is established. Artillery is ranged and ready. Haelve units are positioned at all potential exit points. No elf leaves this valley without our permission."

"Good," Caden said.

"Begin reconnaissance in force. I want detailed intelligence on their defensive capabilities, leadership locations, and—" he paused, "—any sign of the supposed Berserk Lord."

"You think he's here?" the lieutenant asked.

"He destroyed our team at Tal'nora last night," Constance said coldly.

"Killed three Haelves and freed the captives. He's here. And this time, we're ready for him."

Below them, visible even from this distance, they could see elves gathering at the central meeting ground. More interesting were the figures that didn't match standard elf profiles—one in particular who stood shorter than the others, his posture radiating confidence despite being outnumbered thousands to one.

"There," Caden said, highlighting the figure on his tactical display.

"That's him."

"Small target," Constance noted.

"Almost disappointingly so."

"Size is irrelevant. The reports from the Whisperingtris were clear—he operates at dangerous levels. We treat him accordingly."

Caden activated his command interface, broadcasting to all unit commanders. "All forces, this is Command. We have eyes on the primary objective. Rules of engagement are as follows: the Berserk Lord is the priority target, but lethal force is authorized only if capture becomes impossible. All other hostilities are secondary. We want him alive if possible, dead if necessary, but either way, we want the body."

Forty Haelves acknowledged the order simultaneously, their enhanced physiology allowing perfect coordination.

The human soldiers followed suit, their training overcoming any nervousness about facing supernatural threats.

"Begin the operation," Caden ordered.

"Let's show these elves what happens when they resist the Empire."

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