The table was not round out of courtesy.
It was round because no one trusted anyone.
It stood on a stretch of living stone, where the forest hesitated to advance and the savanna refused to die.No banners.No thrones.
Only seats carved in haste and tension, forming an imperfect circle.
Herbivores on one side.Carnivores on the other.Between them… air.
The gray-skinned giants sat first.
Mukhar the Elder tilted his head, hands resting on his spear, centuries of war weighing in his bones. His gaze swept the perimeter—not searching for enemies… but for mistakes.
Every corner of the circle remembered how fragile peace could be.
The carnivores arrived after.
Ravik, leader of the Leontaris, remained standing for a moment, scenting the air, measuring invisible distances.When he finally sat, he bared his fangs just slightly.
Not as a threat.
As judgment.
His followers mirrored the tension, ready to react.
To Ravik, the word Order had always smelled like a cage.
Between both factions floated Kael'Thur, the Voice of the Subterranean Balance.
The Lithaar did not sit.
They did not need to.
Their presence imposed itself without touching the ground. Their crystalline bodies fractured the light, multiplying every movement. They scanned the energy of everyone present in silence.
Memory.Calculation.Judgment.
The herbivores had come with Order fixed in their minds:peace, stability, an end to fear.
The carnivores carried something older.
Lusian's name hovered at the center of the circle like a corpse no one wanted to claim.
Then, the light advanced.
Aurelius, the Herald of Dawn, took the center without asking. His armor reflected clarity without arrogance; his presence did not push… it displaced.
Silence reorganized around him.
Mukhar narrowed his eyes.Ravik tensed his shoulders.Kael'Thur expanded his perception, like one measuring pressure before collapse.
Aurelius spoke.
"Semihumans."
He did not raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"The gods have passed judgment."
The light trembled, just slightly. Some of the young stepped back without understanding why.
"You may ignore it."
A pause.
"But you cannot avoid its consequences."
The air grew colder.
"Hand over Lusian."
Silence.
"The anomaly.The breaking point.The seed that distorts the cycle."
Ravik bared his fangs—this time without restraint.
Mukhar did not move.
Kael'Thur observed.
Aurelius continued.
"Do so…and Order will settle."
"The forest will be contained.The war will end."
Silence turned absolute.
"If you do not…"
He did not raise his tone.
"Zarhama will be purified."
Not conquered.
Not corrected.
Erased.
The mana platform lowered by a fraction.
Not a threat.
A confirmation.
The table ceased to be a table.
It became a border.
On one side: Order.On the other: freedom… and war.
And beneath roots that kept growing, Lusian existed.
Not as an argument.
As a pending result.
The chamber was silent when Mukhar reached the summit.
His steps were firm. Measured.
The Tree breathed beneath the stone.
Lusian waited, leaning against the thickest root, arms crossed.
He did not look unsettled.
That was what was unsettling.
"Lusian," Mukhar said. "They've spoken."
No detours.
"The Chosen."
Lusian raised an eyebrow.
"No diplomacy, I assume."
"None," Mukhar replied. "A direct ultimatum."
A pause.
"They demand your surrender."
Another.
"Or purification."
The air grew heavier.
Lusian exhaled, faintly.
"Then it isn't punishment."
Mukhar looked at him.
"No."
Lusian finished the thought.
"It's erasure."
Mukhar nodded.
"All of Zarhama."
"No exceptions."
Silence.
"And the others?" Lusian asked. "Carnivores. Herbivores."
Mukhar did not hesitate.
"They'll survive however they can."
"The Lithaar bargain for time.The Leontaris trust in blood.We… will endure."
His voice lowered.
"But all of them are watching the mountain."
Lusian watched the pulse of the Tree beneath his hand.
"They are not united."
"No," Mukhar confirmed. "They coincide."
A minimal difference.
A decisive one.
Lusian remained silent for a moment longer.
Then he spoke.
"Then this isn't a war."
Mukhar frowned.
"No?"
Lusian shook his head slightly.
"It's a filter."
He lifted his gaze toward the valley.
"And we are the criterion."
The wind moved.
"Let them come," he said.
There was no fury.
Only decision.
"We'll turn this mountain into a place where every step has a cost."
Mukhar rested his staff against the stone.
"Then we choose to resist."
Lusian did not answer immediately.
Then:
"We choose that no one leaves intact."
Mukhar nodded once.
"So be it."
And in that moment, war ceased to be a possibility.
It became inevitable.