Fewer than before.
Elara steps forward once the officiator signals the ritual complete. She does not touch me immediately, but her eyes flick to the blood spreading visibly along my side.
“You tore the binding,” she says quietly.
“I did,” I reply.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Possibly.”
Rethan signals the medics forward, but I lift a hand slightly.
“Later,” I say.
Across the tactical display projected above the arena, Alliance fleet formations shift subtly.
“They’ve halted full mobilization,” Rethan says, reading the data. “Council directive confirmed. Defensive posture only.”
“They cannot justify escalation while internal review continues,” Elara says.
“But they have not signed treaty,” Rethan adds.
“No,” I reply.
War does not end with a broadcast.
It pauses.
The red dwarf’s light intensifies briefly as the drifting dreadnought rotates, casting long shadows across the platform.
I feel the blood soaking through my armor now, heavier and warmer.
“You should sit,” Elara says under her breath.
“I will stand,” I reply.
“For how long?”
“For as long as they are watching.”
She studies me for a long moment before nodding once.
The officiator raises his staff again.
“Leadership retained over loyal territories,” he announces. “Clan unity remains voluntary.”
Voluntary.
It is a thinner crown than before.
Rethan steps beside me.
“You lost three territories,” he says quietly.
“I kept five,” I reply.
“You bleed for them.”
