The city rose like a promise.

  Stone walls ringed it in proud layers, banners snapping in the winter air, torchlight scattering gold across clean streets that looked nothing like Ironmaw’s mud and bone. From the carriage window, Garnok watched people move with purpose—merchants closing shop shutters, soldiers walking their routes in pairs, children running between stalls with warm bread in their hands.

  Everything looked… safe.

  And that was the problem.

  Safety made people soft. Safety made people quick to judge. And safety made them panic the moment something ugly stepped into their light.

  Across from him, Karen sat with her arms folded, posture straight like she was still on patrol. She’d barely spoken since they crossed the gates. Now her eyes flicked to him—sharp, suspicious.

  “Listen,” she said, voice low. “Don’t you dare cause a disturbance in this city while I’m taking you to the palace.”

  Garnok didn’t take his eyes off the window. “What’s the worst I can do?” he asked, letting a smile creep onto his face.

  Karen’s stare sharpened.

  That smile wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t cruel either. It was worse.

  It was a barbarian’s amusement, the kind that said he didn’t understand the rules because he didn’t respect them.

  “Right,” Karen said dryly. “That’s exactly the face I didn’t want to see.”

  Garnok leaned back into the carriage seat. “I’m here as a diplomat. I won’t do anything.”

  Karen let out a short breath like she didn’t believe a word of it. “You’re here because I decided not to kill you on the spot,” she corrected. “Don’t confuse mercy for trust.”

  The carriage rolled over stone, the rhythm steady, the city swallowing them deeper. Garnok’s eyes traced rooftops, narrow alleys, the raised watchtowers at the corners of major roads. He could feel the patrol routes without seeing them—because the city was built like a weapon.

  On his forearm, the serpent-scale mark lay dark.

  Akash’s presence was quiet, coiled.

  But he could feel her watching through him—tasting the air, listening to the city with ancient senses.

  Too many people, her voice muttered inside him.

  Garnok ignored her.

  The carriage eventually slowed at a busier district, not far from a main boulevard that led toward the palace hill. Karen rapped on the roof twice, and the driver stopped.

  “You’re staying in an inn tonight,” Karen said. “I need permission from the king to schedule a meeting. You’ll speak when you’re asked to speak. You’ll sit where you’re told to sit. You’ll touch nothing you aren’t given.”

  Garnok lifted a brow. “And if I don’t?”

  Karen’s hand rested near the hilt of her sword. “Then I remind you that this city has more soldiers than your tribe has teeth.”

  Garnok chuckled. “Fair.”

  Karen didn’t laugh. She hopped down from the carriage, then nodded at the inn. “Inside. Eat. Sleep. Do not roam.”

  Garnok climbed down after her, boots hitting stone. People stared as he passed—some curious, some frightened, some openly disgusted.

  He kept his shoulders loose. A barbarian who looked tense looked guilty.

  Karen paused at the inn door and stared at him one last time.

  “If anything happens,” she said, “I’ll make sure the king hears it from my mouth before yours.”

  Then she turned and walked away, cloak snapping behind her.

  Garnok watched her disappear into the street.

  And for a moment, he almost respected her.

  Almost.

  Time passed the way it always did when nothing was happening: slow, dull, and heavy.

  He ate. He trained. He slept.

  Training meant finding an empty corner of the inn’s courtyard and working his body until his muscles burned, then working it again until the burning felt normal. He couldn’t let himself get soft, not even for a night. Not even in clean stone walls.

  And every time he pushed too hard, the mark warmed—just a little.

  A faint pulse. A brief ember-light under the scales.

  Then it went dark again, like it had never moved.

  Akash watched it happen in silence.

  When he finally laid down, the city’s noise filtered through the window—distant laughter, boots on patrol, a bell tolling somewhere beyond the rooftops.

  Garnok closed his eyes.

  Sleep. Tomorrow you speak to the king. Tomorrow you fix the world.

  He almost drifted.

  Then he heard it.

  A scream.

  High. Sharp. Close.

  His eyes snapped open.

  Another scream followed—desperate, breaking into sobs.

  Garnok was already sitting up when Akash’s voice hissed inside him.

  “No. You can’t go.”

  Garnok blinked. “What?”

  “You’re under the watchful eye of soldiers,” Akash snapped. “And you’re a so-called diplomat in unknown territory. If you move wrong, they won’t care why. They’ll only care what you are.”

  The scream came again. Closer this time.

  Garnok swung his legs off the bed. “Someone’s getting hurt.”

  “And you think that always ends well when you step in?” Akash asked. “You don’t have Karen’s badge. You don’t have a crest. You don’t even have a name they accept.”

  Garnok reached for his coat.

  “You have two weeks to negotiate,” Akash pressed. “Two weeks. That was the deal you gave them. Do you want to ruin it in one night?”

  The scream turned into words now.

  “Get away from me!”

  Garnok’s jaw tightened. “I’ll be quick.”

  Akash’s voice went colder. “Garnok—”

  He didn’t answer.

  He moved to the window, pushed it open, and vaulted out.

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  He hit the ground silently, knees flexing, then sprinted.

  The city narrowed around him as he followed sound—past a shuttered bakery, down a side street where lantern light was weak, into the tight maze of alleys where respectable people didn’t walk at night.

  “Garnok,” Akash said again, lower now. “This is stupidity.”

  Garnok’s mouth twisted. “So what’s the worst that can happen?”

  Akash made a sound that could’ve been laughter.

  Or despair.

  Then the alley opened—and he saw it.

  A girl was on the ground, curled tight, arms raised to protect her head. One man stood over her, punching and kicking her like she was a sack of meat. Another leaned against the wall, watching like this was entertainment.

  “This is what happens when you steal money from us,” the second man said.

  The first man grabbed her by the collar and yanked her up like she weighed nothing.

  “In your next life, kid,” he snarled, “make better choices.”

  He drew his fist back.

  The girl flinched, eyes squeezed shut.

  Garnok didn’t think.

  He moved.

  One step.

  Two.

  A burst of force ran through his legs.

  His foot hit the man’s jaw with a clean kick.

  The sound was a blunt crack.

  The man’s body went limp before it hit the ground.

  The second man’s grin vanished. “Who—”

  Garnok kicked him too.

  Straight to the chest.

  The man slammed into the wall, air exploding out of his lungs. He slid down like a puppet with cut strings.

  The girl fell back to the ground, coughing, confused.

  Her eyes opened wide and locked on Garnok’s face.

  For a second, she looked like she’d found a hero.

  Then lantern light shifted.

  Boots.

  Steel.

  A patrol turned the corner.

  Three guards in kingdom colors froze at the sight: two men down, a girl bleeding, and a barbarian standing over them.

  “Stop!” one guard shouted.

  Garnok turned slightly, hands open. “They were hurting her.”

  The guards didn’t listen.

  They saw the red markings. They saw the barbarian build. They saw the unconscious men.

  To them, the story wrote itself.

  “On your knees!”

  The girl tried to speak, voice weak. “H-He…”

  But her words slurred. Her eyes rolled back. She collapsed sideways, unconscious from her injuries.

  And the only witness who could’ve saved him fell silent.

  The guards rushed him.

  Garnok could’ve run.

  But if he ran, it would look like guilt.

  So he let them take him.

  Iron shackles snapped around his wrists.

  Then his ankles.

  Then—insult added to chains—a collar linked to both.

  Akash’s voice inside him was quiet now. Not triumphant.

  Just tired.

  “This,” she murmured, “is why I said no.”

  The cell was cold stone and damp air.

  Garnok sat with his back to the wall, chains heavy on his limbs, the collar biting his throat whenever he shifted.

  Hours passed.

  Then footsteps.

  Karen appeared in the doorway like a storm given human shape. Torchlight painted hard edges across her face.

  She stared at him for a long moment.

  Then she smiled—angry and sharp. “What did you do.”

  Garnok lifted his head. “I saved an innocent girl.”

  Karen’s smile twitched. “Then why does the report say you gravely injured two men and assaulted a girl?”

  Garnok paused.

  He played the scene back in his head: the kick, the collapse, the patrol arriving at the wrong moment.

  He breathed out slowly. “…I guess it looked like that.”

  Karen stepped closer to the bars, eyes narrowing. “Your only testimony was the girl. She’s unconscious.”

  Garnok leaned forward slightly. “When can I meet the king?”

  Karen didn’t answer.

  She just stared at him like she was trying to decide if he was dangerous because he was a barbarian…

  Or dangerous because he was him.

  Finally, Karen spoke. “I’m going to talk to someone higher than me.”

  “And then?” Garnok asked.

  Karen’s eyes hardened. “Then we’ll see if you’re still a ‘diplomat’… or if you become a prisoner.”

  She turned and left.

  Her footsteps faded.

  Silence returned.

  Garnok exhaled.

  The mark on his forearm stayed dark.

  Akash spoke from inside him. “Don’t.”

  Garnok stared at the chains. “Don’t what.”

  “Don’t do whatever idiotic thought you’re having.”

  Garnok flexed his wrists.

  The metal groaned.

  Akash’s tone sharpened. “Garnok.”

  He pulled.

  The chain snapped with a loud crack.

  Akash went still.

  Garnok stared at the broken link for half a second, surprised by how easy it was.

  Then he broke the rest.

  One after another. Collar included.

  He stood.

  Akash’s voice came low, urgent. “What are you doing.”

  “Wondering how to escape,” Garnok said.

  “You think escaping prison makes your situation better?” Akash demanded. “You’ll prove every fear they have about you!”

  Garnok rolled his shoulders, feeling blood return to his hands. “Not if I can meet the king like planned.”

  Akash sounded almost offended. “What? Garnok, your thinking is flawed.”

  He placed his palm against the wall.

  The furnace inside him answered.

  Heat surged into his arm. The mark lit faintly—brief, ember-bright—then dulled.

  Stone cracked.

  Garnok shoved once.

  The wall burst outward.

  Cold air rushed in.

  He stepped through rubble and ran.

  Akash’s voice was sharp with panic now. “I think this can be seen as an act against the crown!”

  Garnok didn’t slow. “So what.”

  He sprinted toward the palace hill.

  City guards shouted behind him. Bells started ringing. People screamed and scattered. Windows opened, faces peering out.

  Garnok ignored it all.

  Two soldiers cut him off at the base of the palace stairs.

  “Stop!” one shouted, sword drawn.

  Garnok didn’t stop.

  The soldier swung.

  Garnok leaned aside, the blade slicing air where his head had been. He grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted, and kicked him away hard enough to send him rolling.

  The second guard lunged.

  Garnok jumped—force exploding under his feet—and landed past him, boots hitting stone.

  The mark flashed faintly again.

  Then went dark.

  Inside him, Akash sounded like she was clawing at the inside of his skin. “This is madness.”

  Garnok’s eyes locked on the palace windows ahead.

  “I’m not here to fight,” he said. “I’m here to talk.”

  Inside the palace, warmth and polish filled the corridors.

  The King of Keliemos walked with his royal advisor at his side, both dressed in heavy winter layers trimmed in gold. Guards followed at a respectful distance.

  The advisor’s voice was careful. “The barbarian tribes have grown more aggressive. If Ironmaw continues to raid—”

  “We crush them,” the king said simply.

  “And if crushing them becomes costly?” the advisor asked. “If the other tribes join them?”

  The king’s gaze hardened. “Then we ask for outside sources.”

  The advisor hesitated. “Hasten?”

  “Perhaps,” the king said. “Ask Hasten to send one of their paladin orders.”

  The advisor made a face. “Sharing spoils will only make them stronger. They are a rival kingdom.”

  “Then Belicos,” the king said, shifting without hesitation. “Their drake riders.”

  The advisor nodded slowly. “Their drake riders and their captain could handle barbarians easily. And they likely won’t ask for spoils—only relics, beasts, treasures.”

  “Two or three royal treasures,” the king mused, “should be enough payment.”

  The advisor opened his mouth to agree—

  And then the world shattered.

  A shadow crossed the corridor window beside them, moving too fast to be a bird.

  Then glass exploded inward.

  The royal advisor screamed as shards sprayed the hall.

  The king stumbled back—

  And a boy came through the window like a thrown spear, landing on the polished stone with a heavy skid.

  Dust rose.

  Glass tinkled.

  For a breath, everyone froze.

  The advisor fell backward, scrambling away.

  The king stared, hand half-raised as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  A young barbarian stood in the middle of the corridor.

  Red markings ran up one arm like scaled scars.

  His eyes were bright with heat and trouble.

  He looked around—then smiled.

  A smile that didn’t belong in a palace.

  “Where is the king?” the boy asked, voice calm but sharp enough to cut.

  The king’s mouth tightened.

  The advisor pointed with a shaking hand. “Y-Your Majesty—!”

  The barbarian’s gaze snapped to the king.

  The smile widened into something almost terrifying.

  “Good,” he said softly. “We need to talk.”