“It’sgoingto be worth it,” I corrected.
But the question still loomed above us like a guillotine.
“How is this choosing thing going to work?” I asked, watching the other squads across the grounds.
Tae pointed subtly.
We watched as Iron Fang stepped forward, their formation distinct and proud—straight to Theron’s banner without hesitation.
Stormforge followed moments later, but they turned the opposite direction—falling in behind Dorian’s banner with equal unity.
Warborn approached next. They hesitated—only briefly—then stood behind Theron as well.
I scanned the line of Crownwatch, already bracing.
Most of them, Zander’s people, moved toward Dorian.
But a few peeled off and stood beneath Theron’s sigil, backs stiff with tension.
And then… all eyes shifted to us.
Thrall Squad.
The misfits. The exiled. The newly reforged.
We didn’t hesitate.
With Teren and his people at our side, we marched in unison and took our place behind Dorian’s banner, Kaelith’s violet one still flying proudly behind us.
We had chosen.
Not out of strategy.
Not out of fear.
But out ofloyalty—to what was right.
Even if it meant more enemies tomorrow than we had today.
Major Ledor stood tall at the center of the Ascension Grounds, his red-trimmed cloak rippling in the wind as he looked out over the gathered riders.
His eyes swept across the lines—Theron’s banner to one side, Dorian’s to the other, and Thrall Squad solid at the back, our ranks now doubled with the Lowborn Squad at our side.
“You are evenly split,” Ledor announced, voice booming over the field. “A guild leader cannot be declared until one banner receivesseventy percentassent. Until then, the command structure remains fractured.”
Before we could process the weight of that, another horn blared from the castle.
All heads turned as Theron strode down the stone steps with deliberate poise, his crimson cloak gleaming like fire beneath the morning light. He looked directly at the riders assembled beneathhisbanner, a smile curving his lips.
But when his gaze landed onus, on those gathered behind Dorian’s sigil, his expression twisted into something far colder.
“I understand loyalty,” Theron called, projecting his voice with theatrical ease. “I do. But tell me—where is mybrotherwhen we need him most?”
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
“Our borders are bleeding,” Theron continued. “Varnari move in shadows. The Crimson Sigil poisons our strongholds. And I have askedagain and againfor Dorian to step forward. To claim the throne. But he refuses.”
The accusation hung heavy.
