Chapter 13 - The Trial of the Old Gods
The great courtyard of Iron Hall was bathed in the eerie, pulsating blue glow of southern magical lanterns by the time Valen and Sera arrived.
Kaelen stood in the center of the yard, surrounded by six southern battle-mages holding crackling staves. Several senior Greyfall councilors stood near the perimeter, watching with anxious, hushed whispers.
"What is the meaning of this magical display within the sovereign borders of Greyfall?" Valen’s voice cut through the cold night air like a razor blade as he stepped out from the arched entryway.
Kaelen turned, a smooth, theatrical smile plastered across his face. He held a glowing scroll in his hand—the very document Jorah had been trying to steal.
"Ah, cousin! Just the man I wanted to see," Kaelen called out cheerfully. "It seems your charming little translator missed a crucial clause in the First Accord. According to this recovered addendum, the eastern timberlands and the northern pass do not belong to Greyfall at all. They revert automatically to the southern crown if the reigning Alpha fails to secure them with undisputed, uncorrupted lineage."
Sera stepped up beside Valen, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied the glowing scroll in Kaelen's hand from across the courtyard. "That addendum is a forgery."
"Is it?" Kaelen challenged, his violet eyes locking onto hers with mocking amusement. "Prove it, Mistress Voss. Let’s hold a Trial of the Old Gods right here, right now. You and I, translating the ancient foundational runes in real-time before the council and the pack. If my translation holds, the south reclaims its lands. If yours holds... well, I’ll pack my bags and leave the north forever."
It was a trap, brilliantly and maliciously laid. Kaelen knew that even if Sera was a genius, translating high-tier foundational runes under magical duress and intense scrutiny was an immense risk.
Valen stepped forward, his body radiating a terrifying, suffocating aura of pure alpha rage. "I accept no trials from a snake who sneaks into my fortress—"
"I accept," Sera’s voice cut across the courtyard with crystal-clear authority.
May you like
Valen stopped, turning to look at her in stunned disbelief. "Sera, no. You don't have to—"
"I do," she interrupted softly, looking up into his grey eyes with complete, unshakeable confidence. "He’s using fake grammar, Valen. And no one insults my translations."
