The chamber doors shut behind us with a quiet thud, but it felt louder than a gunshot.
Zena and Muhammad stood posted just outside—no words, no nods. Just presence. That kind of presence you only earn when you're strong enough to silence rooms without opening your mouth. Between the two of them, there wasn't a soul dumb enough to interrupt what was about to go down.
I was here as witness nothing more nothing less.
Inside, the Breaker Clan elders had already gathered, positioned in a semicircle around a long stone table engraved with the clan's oath. No one sat. Not yet. Not with the air this thick.
Ronan Break took his place at the head of the table. His eyes scanned the room once, sharp and patient. The torchlight flickered off his face, but nothing about him wavered.
"You all saw him," he began. "You heard his claim. So let's speak plainly."
The room remained silent for a moment, then Elder Harun stepped forward. Gray hair, posture like tempered steel. "He was one of us. A breaker Elder. Presumed dead—but never confirmed."
"His power hasn't waned," added Elder Reika. "And neither has his conviction. But his ideology… that's what concerns me."
"It's the old way," another elder muttered. "Ruthless unity. Strength above all."
I stayed quiet near the back of the room, flanked by Zach . The vibe wasn't like the battlefield. This wasn't about domains or swords or flame rings. This was politics at its sharpest—cloaked in tradition, masked in civility.
"But we cannot pretend his return doesn't hold weight," Harun continued. "His followers are all registered Breakers. And those clans backing him—some of them are legacy partners. If we reject him entirely, we fracture the alliance network."
"We fracture either way," Reika snapped. "You saw how the crowd shifted. His presence alone is enough to stir dissent. Giving him a platform could legitimize him."
Ronan raised a hand. Calm, but decisive.
"We will recognize his reentry into the clan," he said.
A few elders looked shocked. Even Zach shifted next to me.
"He once bore the title of Elder. Until proven guilty of betrayal or subversion, he remains a part of us. That is law," Ronan continued. "However, we will not humor his theatrics with a formal battle. This ceremony has a purpose. We will not let one ghost rewrite it."
That's when Zach stepped forward.
Not rushed. Not disrespectful. Just… Breaker.
"If I may," he said.
Ronan nodded once. "Speak."
Zach's voice was steady, low. "I appreciate the recognition. And I respect every tradition we stand on. But if this challenge goes unanswered… it'll spread. Not just among the guests. Among our own."
Silence.
He turned slightly to face the table. "I'm not afraid to bleed for the future of this clan. Not to defend it, and not to define it. If he wants proof we haven't gone soft—then he can get it."
One of the elders exhaled through his nose. "Zachary…"
"We'll do it," Zach cut in, his voice rising just slightly, "the Breaker way."
I felt it before I saw it: the shift in energy. Not tension—certainty.
Ronan didn't move. But his gaze hardened.
"You're certain?"
"I am."
Elder Reika looked around. "Two battles, then? One on one? And one team?"
Zach nodded. "Let his people show their strength. We'll show ours."
Ronan took a breath. "So be it."
He turned toward the exit.
"Prepare for a Day Four," he said.
And just like that, the ceremony changed.
Not for ceremony's sake. Not for politics.
This was a matter of pride.
Of legacy.
Of the Breaker way.