The days passed.
The crusade continued advancing, stopping only when absolutely necessary. With the Lithaar guiding the way, incidents across the continent became increasingly rare. The march was no longer a constant struggle, but a calculated progression.
But none of that mattered anymore.
Because the mountain was there.
Far in the distance, visible only when one lifted their gaze high enough, the summit dominated the horizon like a blasphemy nailed into the world. The Evil Incarnate awaited there. The final objective.
Before reaching it, however, there was a problem that could not be ignored.
The continent was not empty.
It was ruled.
And the small tribes they had encountered before were nothing more than the weak outer edges of something far greater.
The true semihuman power was here, in the great savanna.
That was why the table was not round out of courtesy. It was round because no one trusted anyone.
It stood upon a clearing of living stone, where the forest hesitated to advance and the savanna refused to die. There were no banners or thrones. Only roughly carved seats arranged in an imperfect circle.
Herbivores on one side. Carnivores on the other. And between them, the air itself… heavy.
The gray-skinned giants were the first to sit. Massive, calm, as though the weight of the world had long since become part of them. Their large ears hung lazily, trunks brushing the ground as they took their places.
Mukhar the Elder did not sit immediately. He tilted his head, rested both hands upon his spear, and silently studied the circle. He was not searching for enemies. He was searching for the smallest mistake, the tiny detail that could shatter everything. He carried the calm of someone who had already watched too many things go wrong.
Every corner of the circle reminded them how fragile all of this truly was.
The carnivores arrived afterward.
Ravik, leader of the Leontaris, remained standing longer than necessary. He sniffed the air, measured the space without moving much, watching everyone before deciding where to settle.
When he finally sat down, he showed only the faintest glimpse of his fangs. Not as an open threat, but as something simply there.
At that moment, nobody needed explanations anymore.
They remembered it as if it had happened yesterday.
The raids. The losses. The chaos. Entire families erased in ancient times. Herbivore herds that still stared blankly into nothingness, as though reliving the exact moment their loved ones vanished. And the carnivores… they had their own scars as well. Cubs lost in unstoppable stampedes, bodies no one managed to save, silences that never faded.
These were not stories meant to frighten anyone.
They were things that still remained.
Clinging.
And even now, seated within the same circle, the hatred had not disappeared. It was not screaming constantly, but it was there. In the way they looked at each other. In how every movement was carefully measured, as though the slightest gesture could ignite everything once again.
Behind Ravik, his people mirrored his posture. Tense. Far too attentive. Ready to react to any poorly chosen word.
To Ravik, the word Order had always sounded like a cage.
Floating between both sides was the conflict surrounding Kael'Thur, the Mother Tree.
To the Lithaar, it was poison. Something that should not exist. An anomaly twisting the land itself.
To the herbivores, it was the opposite. Something necessary. The foundation of life. The future.
To the carnivores, it was something else entirely: a disaster that had shattered the balance of the savanna, driving prey away and changing everything they once knew.
The Lithaar did not sit.
They did not need to.
They were there regardless. Silent. Motionless. As though time itself could not touch them. Living stone—that was how many saw them.
The herbivores had arrived with Order carved deep into their minds.
Peace. Stability. The end of fear.
But that belief had not been born from pretty ideals. It came from witnessing the alternative.
From parents speaking plainly of the days when herds ran without direction and the world itself seemed to collapse all at once. Of fields where there was no time to understand anything. Of small bodies lost in stampedes no one could stop.
They were not born hating.
But they grew up seeing what happened when there was no control.
On the other side, the carnivores did not have "order."
They had hunger.
Something older than any explanation. It was not a choice or an ideology. It was what kept them alive. Hunting was not a decision. It was continuity. Chasing what fled, bringing down what was necessary, surviving before the world left them behind.
And that had not begun with speeches or treaties.
It had formed naturally.
Generation after generation, each side seeing the other as the living memory of what had destroyed their own people. Some learned to fear chaos. Others learned that stopping meant disappearing.
That was why, even now, sitting face to face in this fragile attempt at coexistence they called peace, nobody truly believed it was stable.
It was something else.
A forced pause laid over a history far too long to erase.
Lusian's name floated at the center of the circle like something no one wished to touch.
Then the light advanced.
Aurelius, the Herald of Dawn, stepped into the center without asking permission. His armor reflected the surroundings, but there was no theatricality in his movements. Only presence.
And that presence grew heavier.
It was not a gesture or a word. It spread through the air itself. A pressure that tightened around the gathering, as though the space surrounding the table had suddenly become smaller.
Mukhar raised one hand slightly. A mana barrier spread over his people, firm and effortless. At the same time, the rest of the circle tensed.
Ravik did not relax either.
Aurelius spoke.
—Semihumans. The gods have already decided.
His gaze moved from one to another.
—You may ignore it if you wish. But it will not change what is going to happen.
Pause.
—Hand over Lusian.
The name fell heavily.
—He is the cause of the imbalance on this continent. As long as he remains here, nothing will stabilize.
Ravik showed his fangs again, this time making no effort to hide them.
Mukhar did not move.
Aurelius remained unchanged.
—If you surrender him, the advance continues. The conflict ends before reaching the mountain.
Another pause.
—If you refuse… then you will stand on the other side when all of this ends.
He did not say it like a direct threat.
He did not need to.
The silence became uncomfortable.
Ravik released a fraction of his power, mana flowing through his body as energy hardened his claws. The air around him grew denser, as though it could cut through anything if he wished it to.
—What was that, insignificant human? —he growled, fangs barely visible.—Do you truly believe we would submit to humans?
He tilted his head slightly, as though the idea itself were absurd.
—Since when does food make demands?
Aurelius felt the shift in the atmosphere.
And before the circle could fully react, eighteen humans stepped forward.
No words.
Only presence.
Their mana erupted at the same time, colliding against Ravik's and flooding the entire gathering. The pressure exploded outward. Some of those present buckled and fell to their knees, overwhelmed less by force of will than by the sheer weight of power.
The air became unbearable.
And at that point, there was nothing left to discuss.
The meeting ended.
But no one truly walked away with a clear answer.
Lusian waited beside one of the roots, arms crossed.
Mukhar arrived shortly afterward. His heavy footsteps made the ground tremble slightly, as though the earth responded before he did.
—Seems they came looking for you.
Lusian barely opened his eyes, not moving much. He scratched the back of his head tiredly.
—Annoying problems… —he muttered.—And here I thought I'd gone as far away as possible.
He glanced sideways at him.
—So? What will you do?
Mukhar did not answer immediately. Instead, he observed the surroundings.
—The herbivores are hesitating —he said at last.
His trunk moved naturally as he tore a branch from the Tree and brought it to his mouth. The gesture was almost automatic. Even though consuming anything in the upper mountain was forbidden, the mana flowing through those branches was too tempting to ignore.
—Hesitating? —Lusian repeated.
Mukhar nodded.
—The Chosen gave them an ultimatum. Either they align themselves with them… or with you.
That finally made Lusian react.
He let out a brief laugh devoid of humor.
—Just like that.
—Just that simple for them —Mukhar replied.
Silence settled between them.
Lusian turned his gaze toward the forest.
—Then you'll become my enemy.
Mukhar looked at him without changing expression.
—If you convince me, I won't.
Pause.
—Give me food. Territory. Protection.
Lusian cut him off immediately.
—You're greedy.
His voice hardened slightly.
—You and your people are too many. In the end, you'd consume everything… and the forest has only just begun to grow.
Pause.
—But we can negotiate.
Mukhar did not take offense.
—Not all clans are the same.
Lusian clenched his jaw.
—And the other tribes?
Mukhar took a moment before answering.
—I do not command them. Each will choose its own side.
Another pause.
—But you have an advantage. You can win their favor.
The silence grew heavier.
Lusian lowered his gaze toward the roots of the Tree.
—So I'll have to negotiate…
Mukhar nodded.
—I'll help you arrange a meeting.
Lusian exhaled slowly.
Mukhar turned around without another word and disappeared among the trees.