Page 128 of She Who Was Severed

She just lets him see.

“Ask a better question,” she murmurs. “Or I start fixing bones that don’t need fixing.”

The table erupts in noise. Chairs screech. Hands twitch toward hilts. And I…

I don’t move.

I wait until the storm almost breaks, then say—quietly, evenly—

“Enough.”

And it stops.

Not because I shouted.

Because I didn’t.

The brute breathes like he’s swallowing knives. His knee’s already swelling. Vale jumps down, casual as ever, shaking her hand out like that somehow hurt her more than him.

“I’m not saying I’m better than you,” I tell them. “But I’ve survived worse.”

That lands. Not deeply. But enough to fracture the posturing.

“You want something from us,” the woman says. “Start talking. Fast.”

“You were right. I want blades,” I say. “I want relic-runners who know how to move without being seen. I want fighters who don’t wear banners and don’t pray before a kill. I want survivors.”

“And what do we get?”

“Not judgment. Not titles. Not chains.”

I let that sit a moment.

“Land.”

That word draws a silence sharp enough to feel.

“You offering us a throne now, Chains?”

Did she really just call me Chains?

I let it slide. I’ve been called worse by better.

“No,” I say, voice steady. “I’m offering you a future. One where you’re still standing when this war ends.”

Vale leans back against the bar. “Could’ve just said not dead in a gutter, but sure. She means well.”

“You think we’re dumb enough to join someone just because she says the right words? Whispers and promises don’t pay bills,” the brute growls.

“I think you’re smart enough not to wait until Kier’s priests drag you out of your skin,” I say. “He’s coming. You know it. I’m offering a chance to stand on the right side of history before it turns to ash.”

The gold-eyed woman studies me for a long moment.

Then, slowly, she leans back.

“What’s the catch?”

“You fight when called,” I say. “You follow my lead. And you protect what we build.”