As the sun slowly sank behind the distant hills, the workers began to wind down, their tools and voices gradually giving way to the growing anticipation in the courtyard. Men and women drifted from their stations toward the open space, eager to secure a good view of the coming duel. Those among the Blue Heart who had served alongside Broc were especially eager to witness their former champion and commander defend his place against the man chosen to replace him. Broc had once been a source of pride for them, a man whose strength and position had seemed unquestionable. Now they had gathered to see whether he could hold onto either.
Odessa was not known for making poor judgments. That was perhaps what made the spectacle so compelling. If she had chosen Tyrus to carry the Red Dragon, then Tyrus must possess something they had yet to recognize. Whatever Odessa had seen in him, the rest of the Blue Hearts were eager to witness it for themselves.
West had turned the matter over in his head until uncertainty hardened into resolve. He needed to confront Odessa. He needed to confront Tyrus. With the duel approaching, he could no longer sit back and allow what had happened to stand unanswered. He made his way toward the commanders' quarters, certain that both of them would be there.
He knocked once.
Turik opened the door, his expression immediately tightening at the sight of him. “Hey, we’re a little busy.”
West stepped past him before Turik could close the door.
Odessa and Tyrus stood over a table covered by a large map, several unfamiliar totems scattered across its surface. Whatever they had been discussing came to an abrupt halt.
“West.” Odessa's smile widened.
West looked between them. He had spent the entire walk here preparing what he would say, building the words in his mind until they had felt sharp enough to cut through every excuse Odessa might offer.
Now, standing before her, he found nothing. The words simply vanished.
Turik caught West by the sleeve and gave it a firm tug toward the doorway. “Come on… We can talk later.”
Odessa lifted one hand. “Leave him.”
Turik hesitated, then released West's sleeve.
Odessa's attention remained fixed on him. She tapped a finger against the bottle resting on the table. “Can I offer you a drink?”
West did not answer.
“Well.” Odessa moved around the table, slowly closing the distance between them. “It's not like you to be at a loss for words, baby.”
West's gaze flicked toward Tyrus before returning to her. “This…isn't right.”
Odessa's expression barely changed. Her tongue clicked softly against her teeth. “Why? Because he's not dead?”
West's jaw tightened.
“I'm sorry, West, but unlike you, I simply didn't have the heart to condemn Tyrus to death.”
“You tricked me.” West clenched his fist.
“Really? When?” Odessa stopped a few steps away. There was no anger in her face, only the faintest trace of amusement, as though West had accused her of something she could not quite understand.
“If I recall correctly, you led us straight to him. We even had an agreement. I would keep the Red Dragon, and you would do as you pleased with Tyrus. Am I…misremembering?” Odessa’s eyes seemed to shine brighter after the final word slipped past her lips.
West lowered his head.
“Then when we did catch him, I told you I would release him to you, just as we agreed. But…you refused! Even after being asked to reconsider, you still refused.” Odessa stepped closer, her voice remaining calm. “Where you saw a problem, I saw a solution.”
“That’s not…” West shook his head, but the protest weakened before it could become an argument.
“But it is.” Odessa's gaze sharpened. “You can lie to yourself, West, but you cannot lie to me.”
She turned toward Turik. “Am I lying?”
Turik lowered his head. “No.”
Odessa returned her attention to him. “All the same, you’ve already made your decision to leave. So what difference does any of this make to you?” Her hand settled on West's shoulder, almost tenderly. “You can sleep knowing your hands are clean of all this. I was the one who allowed Tyrus to walk free, so whatever consequences arise from that…” She lifted both hands and wiggled her fingers.
West stared at her before looking toward Tyrus. “I’m sorry.”
Tyrus gave him nothing.
No acknowledgment. No anger. Not even a glance that suggested the apology had reached him.
“Are you finished, then?” Odessa asked. “Tyrus needs to prepare for his duel.”
West's attention remained fixed on Tyrus. “You don’t have to do this, Tyrus.”
Tyrus finally moved. He stepped around the table and approached West, his expression cold and unreadable.
“Is this not what Omni wanted? What he saw in me?”
“He was wrong!” West argued.
“And you think you possess better judgment than the great Lord Omni?” Odessa cut in.
West's head snapped toward her. “Dammit, Odessa, I am not talking to you right now!” He stepped toward her.
Tyrus's hand immediately pressed against his chest.
West stopped.
“I am already dead to you.” Tyrus's voice dropped into a low growl. “Do not concern yourself with me anymore”
The words struck deeper than West expected.
“And what about Terrah?” West's eyes stayed on him. “I promised you we would go find her.”
Tyrus's expression did not change.
“What about her? Pearl has already located every sale and transfer receipt for her.” Odessa pointed toward one of the totems scattered across the map.
West's gaze shifted following Odessa’s guidance.
He studied the map, then the totem, trying to make sense of what she was showing him. Then West looked back at Odessa.
“She’s a fucking liar! All she does is manipulate people and—”
His feet left the floor.
Tyrus had seized the front of West's coat and slammed him against the wall with his one good arm. The impact drove the breath from West's lungs.
“I told you to go home, West.” Tyrus leaned closer, his eyes fixed on West's honey-colored gaze. “Get out of here.”
Turik took a cautious step backward, his hand instinctively settling over the hilt at his waist.
Odessa suddenly laughed and began to clap. “Put him down, Tyrus.”
Tyrus released West. West stumbled forward, catching himself before straightening his coat. Tyrus had already turned away.
Odessa approached him with a smile that carried none of the tension hanging in the room. “You’re leaving in nine days, West. I’d rather we don't have to end things this way.” She extended her hand. “We’ve all wronged each other in one way or another. But…what is a family if not forgiving?”
West stared at her offered hand, then looked past it toward the map. “What about Broc? Is he not family”
The warmth vanished from Odessa's expression. “He asked for this.”
“You knew he would.” West held his gaze as he looked into Odessa’s eyes.
Odessa slowly lowered her hand. “Is that what this is about? Broc?” Her gaze narrowed. “Are you here because you fear what will happen to him? Do you doubt that he is capable of beating an already compromised man?”
She paused.
“Because I do. Because of you.”
West turned toward her, confusion tightening his brow.
Odessa simply smiled.
“The wielder of the Red Dragon. The man who killed Dresdi. Championed by Lord Omni. A man consumed by vengeance against the Evok.” Her eyes shifted briefly toward Tyrus. “The more you told me, the harder it became to deny what he was capable of. And after testing his blade. Well, I knew he was inevitable.”
West exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking.
“I tried giving Broc an out when I demoted him. There would have been no need for a challenge if not for his own ego.” Odessa turned toward Tyrus. “Come here.”
Tyrus returned to West's side.
“Shake hands. We’re done with this.”
Tyrus extended his hand, his face completely stone-still. West stared at it. For a moment, he seemed unwilling to accept what the gesture represented. Then, reluctantly, he took Tyrus's hand.
Their grip lasted only a moment. West released him first. Odessa gestured toward the door immediately after. West drew a slow breath and walked toward it without protest, passing Turik without looking at him.
“He can be so annoying,” Odessa remarked, watching West leave, “but…he’ll make a fine Kesh Lord for us one day.”
The door closed behind him.
Odessa's smile faded. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Tyrus responded dryly.
Odessa moved around the table and stopped in front of Tyrus. She placed both hands against his face, her thumbs brushing along his cheeks.
“Let it go. You’re beyond his understanding.” Her voice softened. “It was not personal.” She gave Tyrus a small, reassuring smile before turning back toward Turik. “Where were we?” She asked.
Turik kept his head lowered. “Broc. If he can get you on the floor, he struggles to wrestle on the ground. It’s…”
Tyrus stepped forward. “I’ve heard enough.”
Turik stopped.
Tyrus's gaze settled toward the courtyard beyond the room. “I’m ready.”
Odessa looked back toward Turik.
Turik gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose so…”
Odessa stepped past him. “Get over it, Turik. Broc wants this, so this is what he gets.”
The three of them left the commanders' quarters and made their way into the streets of Minht. As they walked, more people joined the procession until the quiet roads became a river of bodies moving toward the courtyard. The excitement was impossible to contain. Makeshift drums thundered through the streets while crude horns blared against the walls, their echoes following the crowd toward the coming spectacle.
Beyond the walls of Minht, Broc heard the celebration.
He finished wrapping the fabric around his body, securing his left arm against his back. Once the knot was tight, he stepped forward and began his march toward the courtyard. The noise grew louder with every step.
Several Blue Hearts waited for him near the entrance. They fell into step behind their former commander, following him not as soldiers obeying an order, but as men offering their respect and support.
By the time Broc entered the Governor's courtyard, it was once again filled with Blue Hearts and Minhtians. The crowd pressed against every available space, voices rising as the two warriors took their positions at opposite ends of the square.
Tyrus studied Broc's bound arm. “You didn't need to tie your arm. It makes no difference to me.”
“My victory must be undisputable.” Broc drew his blade with his free hand.
Tyrus glanced toward Odessa. “This man is a fool.”
“Do not underestimate him. He was trained by me, after all.” Odessa watched Broc carefully. “Broc is an excellent swordsman.”
“Perhaps.” Tyrus raised his sword. “But he's also a desperate man,”
Broc stepped toward the center of the square and settled into position. Tyrus followed. Then he stopped halfway. He drove his sword into the stone beneath his feet. The blade stood erect before him, its hilt rising within easy reach.
Tyrus wrapped his hand around it. With one sharp motion, he planted his foot against the steel and snapped the sword in half.
The crack rang through the courtyard.
Tyrus released the broken hilt, leaving the jagged half of the blade jutting from the stone. “Terrible craftsmanship.” He turned toward Odessa again.
“What are you doing!?” Broc demanded. “Grab another sword, you fool!”
“I don't think I'll need it.” Tyrus walked back toward Odessa.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Tyrus caught her and pulled her into a kiss.
The crowd erupted.
After a brief moment, Tyrus released her and turned back toward the square.
Broc's face tightened. He threw his sword aside and growled, “Your dirty tricks do not intimidate me.”
Odessa watched the broken blade settle into the stone. Broc raised his free hand, settling into his stance with his shoulders squared toward Tyrus.
She looked back at Tyrus. A wide smile spread across her face. Tyrus answered with a wink before turning toward his opponent.
Odessa faced the crowd and raised the Red Dragon high above her head. “A challenge for the Red Dragon!”
The courtyard erupted again.
The roar rolled through Minht as Blue Hearts and townspeople surged against one another, desperate for a better view of the duel. Odessa held the relic overhead for another moment, letting the noise swell before lowering it.
“Begin!”
Broc's feet shifted instantly as he yelled, “You brought this upon yourself!”
Tyrus launched forward.
Broc barely had time to react before Tyrus drove a kick toward his chest. He brought his forearm across his body and absorbed the impact, but Tyrus was already turning. His elbow snapped into Broc's shoulder before another kick flashed past the side of his head.
Broc stumbled backward, then caught Tyrus's wrist as the next strike came. Tyrus twisted, trying to wrench himself free, but Broc planted his feet and used his weight to drag him closer.
With only one free arm each, the fight became a brutal contest of leverage.
Broc shoved forward. Tyrus gave ground. Then both men surged back into the center. Broc threw the first punch.
His fist slammed into Tyrus's already swollen face. Tyrus's head snapped sideways, but he absorbed the blow and immediately answered with one of his own. His fist struck Broc across the cheek.
Broc staggered. Tyrus stepped in. Broc answered.
The exchange became a rapid succession of blows, each man giving as much as he received. Fists crashed against ribs, shoulders, and faces. Broc's breathing grew heavier, but his confidence remained. He could hurt Tyrus. The man was bleeding. He could still win.
Broc drove another punch into Tyrus's jaw. Tyrus's knee buckled. A grin almost broke across Broc's face as he noticed.
Then Tyrus moved faster.
As Broc rushed forward to capitalize, Tyrus shifted one step to the side and hooked his foot behind Broc's ankle.
Broc's momentum carried him forward.
His heel slipped.
He stumbled directly toward the jagged half of the sword jutting from the stone. At the last instant, Broc twisted his body. The broken blade tore through his shirt instead of his flesh.
Tyrus was already on him. He drove Broc into the ground and brought his elbow down.
Once. Twice. Again.
Broc raised his arm to shield his head, but the blows kept coming. Tyrus shifted his weight and hammered the elbow down from another angle, each strike finding whatever opening remained.
Broc's vision blurred. The courtyard became a smear of noise and movement. He tried to push Tyrus away. Another strike crashed into his temple.
His arm dropped, but Tyrus continued.
Blood sprayed across the stone with every impact. Broc's thoughts flickered in and out, his body no longer responding quickly enough to defend itself.
His arm finally fell limp beside him. He stopped fighting back.
“This is barbaric, End it already!” Odessa's voice cut through the courtyard. She tossed a small dagger onto the stone beside them.
Tyrus climbed off Broc and reached down for it. Before he could take another step, someone burst through the crowd. West ran into the courtyard and threw himself between them.
He stood over Broc, facing Tyrus. “Come on, Tyrus. He's done!” West's eyes remained fixed on the dagger in Tyrus's hand.
“You really are annoying,” Tyrus wiped the sweat and blood from his face. “Get out of the way West. You only dishonor this man by doing this,”
West hesitated. “It doesn't have to be this way.”
Tyrus stepped closer. “But it is this way, West. I can no longer deny my destiny.”
“I’m not going to let you,” West stated firmly.
Tyrus stopped, almost amused by his response. “And…whatwill you do about it?”
West swallowed hard. He backed toward Broc, planting himself between the two men. Then he extended one leg and lowered his stance.
Tyrus studied him. A smile slowly spread across his face. “I’m going to snap your leg right here.” He gestured toward West's extended leg.
West managed a faint smile. “I’m too fast. You won’t be able to.” He began pulling his leg back, straightening himself.
“Aha…I forgot how funny you could be.” Tyrus closed the distance and drove his fist into West's injured ribs.
West folded instantly, collapsing onto the stone. Tyrus turned back toward Broc. He crouched beside the fallen warrior and seized a thick handful of Broc's long black hair. The dagger flashed once. The blade sliced cleanly through the hair. Tyrus rose, holding the severed lock above his head.
“Mercy,” he said.
The courtyard erupted yet again.
“For the rest of you there will be none,” Tyrus lowered his arm. “If there are any more challengers, now is the time to speak!” Tyrus slowly turned, “While I am injured. Because if you allow me to recover, none of you will stand a chance.”
Silence held for a moment.
No one stepped forward.
“Champion!” A singular voice cried from the crowd.
Then the courtyard exploded into cheers for their new champion. Men who had once followed Broc now raised their voices for Tyrus, the old order disappearing beneath the noise.
Tyrus lowered the severed hair and walked back toward Odessa. “We will need every man for this war.”
Odessa stared at him.
Her eyes widened, and something changed in her expression. The champion she had chosen was no longer simply a weapon she could point toward her enemies. He understood what she needed. He understood the men, the war, the spectacle, and the power that came from standing before all of them as something greater than a fighter.
“So…then it is settled!” Odessa stepped forward. “We have our champion! We have our mandate! And we have a way forward!”
She extended the Red Dragon toward him. Tyrus took the relic and raised it high above his head.
The crowd roared.
Odessa turned toward Turik and gave him a single nod.
Turik glanced back toward West and the unconscious form of Broc.
“Come on, Turik,” Odessa called.
Turik hesitated for only a moment before turning away. The three of them disappeared from the courtyard beneath the roar of the crowd. The procession followed after them, spilling into the streets behind the raised Red Dragon.
For a moment, West remained where he was.
Loredo emerged from the crowd and reached down, helping West back to his feet.
“What just happened?” West asked, his eyes still fixed on the departing procession.
Loredo looked toward the street. “Too much, too fast.”
West turned back toward Broc.
The courtyard had already begun to empty. Even the men who had followed Broc inside were gone now, swept into the celebration surrounding their new champion. Broc lay alone on the stone where he had fallen, his face swollen, his hair hacked away, the noise of the crowd growing more distant with every passing second.
“Help me get Broc out of here.” West bent down and took hold of Broc's shoulders.
Loredo nodded and lifted his legs.
Together, they carried him from the courtyard and into the streets of Minht. The procession moved ahead of them, filling the road with cheers for Tyrus. The Red Dragon remained raised above the crowd, catching what little light remained in the evening.
Behind it came West and Loredo, carrying Broc through the streets in silence.
After a while, Loredo glanced down at the man between them. “You know, when he wakes up, he's going to be mad about what you did.”
West kept walking.
Loredo adjusted his grip beneath Broc's legs. “I'm just saying. When Broc gets mad at someone, he tends to stay mad at them.”
“I don't care,” West said.
The weight between them shifted with every step.
He tightened his grip around Broc's shoulders and kept moving, following the procession only long enough to let it disappear farther ahead.
The cheers faded, and the drums grew quieter, but West never looked back.