Chapter 7 – Tonight we feast.

  The feast had swallowed the entire summit plateau. Hundreds of Verak packed the carved courtyard shoulder-to-shoulder, firelight dancing across every face, every blade, every eager grin.

  Drums pounded like a second heartbeat.

  Children darted between legs, laughing and stealing scraps of fat from the stone slabs, completely oblivious to anything darker than the next piece of meat.

  A little girl no older than six ran past me waving a boar rib like a sword, shrieking with delight while her mother poured mead for the man who had just claimed her dead husband’s lodge.

  Efran had planted himself like a king at the long slaughter tables, belly glistening with grease, barking orders between massive bites.

  “Crack those thigh bones wider! I want the marrow hot and running! And someone turn that stag slower or I’ll gut you myself!”

  He was in pure bliss, cheeks stuffed, laughing with his mouth full. But every few heartbeats his eyes flicked across the fire to Lira.

  Three men had already closed around her.

  One yanked her braid hard enough to make her spill mead; the others laughed and groped at her waist while she kept her face blank and kept pouring. Efran’s grin died for half a second. His knuckles went white around the rib bone.

  He could do nothing. We all knew it.

  Dagon sat a little apart on a raised bench, two young women already draped over him like cloaks. One fed him strips of stag with her fingers; the other giggled too loudly at nothing. He let them touch him, even pulled one onto his lap for a moment, hand resting lazily on her thigh.

  But his eyes stayed cold. They were like toys to him. Nothing more.

  He caught me staring and jerked his chin. I stepped closer.

  “First real feast after blood,” he said quietly, voice cutting under the drums.

  “I see it on your face. You’re thinking too hard,” he paused “Don’t.”

  He smacked my back once, “Eat. Drink. Fuck. Take what’s offered. The mountain doesn’t give a shit what you feel inside — it only cares what you claim. Embrace it. All of it. Even the parts that twist your gut. That’s how you survive up here.”

  Before I could answer, Vaelor Moon-Touched rose at the center of the firelight, silver rings chiming in his hair. The drums slowed to a low, reverent pulse.

  The entire courtyard — hundreds of Verak packed shoulder-to-shoulder — leaned forward like one living beast. Children still darted between legs, laughing and licking grease from their fingers, utterly blind to what was coming.

  “Children of Verak! The moon has watched our blades drink deep today. She has tasted the blood of our enemies and found it worthy. Look around you — the ancestors smile! Every fire, every song, every drop of mead is an offering to them. Rejoice! The moon remembers those who remember her!”

  That same sentence again.

  The crowd roared with pure, blissful joy, horns raised high. A little boy near me clapped wildly, eyes shining with excitement, as if this were just another game.

  Then the prisoner was dragged into the open circle.

  He was naked now, fresh cuts weeping down his chest and thighs so the blood would flow freely. His eyes still burned. I couldn’t look away. This man — this was Yani’s father. The same blood that had awakened my third eye tonight now stood before me, broken but not yet beaten.

  He spat a mouthful of blood and snarled in our tongue, voice raw but loud enough for the front rows to hear.

  “You call yourselves children of the moon? You are savages! Both tribes walk the same highlands, yet you twist the sacred teachings into blasphemy! Orthodox moon law forbids this filth! You parade the rites like beasts while the true gods turn their faces away! Verak are nothing but animals wearing the moon’s name!”

  A warrior stepped forward and drove a fist into his gut. The prisoner doubled over, coughing blood, but he forced himself upright again, teeth bared.

  “Blasphemers!” he rasped. “The moon will reject your—”

  Another blow cracked across his jaw. Blood sprayed. The crowd laughed like it was the best joke of the night. Still he shouted through split lips.

  “—your filth! Heathens! You are no better than the beasts you claim to honour!”

  Erduin moved.

  The prisoner saw him coming and lunged, hands clawing for Erduin’s throat in one last desperate surge. “I’ll drag you to the void with me, you—”

  Erduin was faster. He grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, slammed a boot between his shoulder blades, and yanked upward with a sickening wet crunch.

  His neck tore apart, the head torn free.

  Spine and all — a long, glistening rope of bone and gristle whipping through the air like a grotesque banner. Hot blood exploded in a fountain, spraying the front rows in thick sheets. Warm droplets hit my cheek, my forehead, my lips.

  I tasted copper and salt before I could even flinch.

  Erduin swung the severed head in wide, whooshing arcs, deliberately splattering the crowd. Men, women, even a few children laughed and opened their mouths to catch it, faces shining with bliss.

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  Elder Tharok rose on his high stone throne above us all, separated from the rest like a living statue.

  He lifted a horn of mead mixed with fresh blood, toasted the empty sky with a bellow that shook the torches, and drank deep. Grease and crimson ran down his scarred chin as he roared over the chaos:

  “Drink, my children! Drink and grow strong! The weak feed the mountain tonight! Verak endures!”

  The crowd answered with pure ecstasy — horns smashing together, children cheering like it was a festival game, women laughing as blood ran down their necks. No horror. No hesitation. Just raw, blissful triumph.

  Erduin lifted the dripping head high, crushing it in his hands and bellowed:

  “We offer this soul to the mountain and its ancestors! Let the peaks drink the blood of our enemies!”

  My third eye ignited like cold fire.

  I felt the pressure then — something ancient and crushing sliding down from the carved peak above.

  Afterwards, I saw them: multiple vague spectral shadows peeling away from the stone warriors, black smoke sliding down the mountain face. They descended on the prisoner’s flickering soul and tore into it.

  The soul screamed — a sound only I seemed to hear.

  Just before the shadows swallowed him completely, I felt a dying gaze locked onto mine across the fire. A familiar resentment suddenly shifted, sharpening into something personal, something hateful.

  A sound, barely a whisper carried on the wind only my awakened eye could catch:

  “…my son… Yani… you... you.. heathen…”

  Then the shadows ripped him apart. The soul shattered into pieces and was devoured while the blood in the stone channels sank deeper into the mountain itself. The ancestors were feeding.

  Vaelor Moon-Touched stepped forward again, arms spread wide, voice ringing with holy certainty.

  “See how the mountain drinks! See how the ancestors feast! The moon is pleased. The weak have fed the strong. Verak endures — stronger, purer, eternal!”

  The crowd exploded into wild, blissful cheers. Children clapped and danced around the fire where the headless body now roasted. Drums crashed back to life. People went right back to laughing, eating, claiming what was now theirs.

  Efran was already yelling for more meat, blood shining on his face.

  Dagon caught my eye again across the flickering coals and jerked his chin once more. I stepped closer, boots crunching on scattered bone fragments.

  “Sit,” he said, voice low but carrying over the noise. “Normal,” he said quietly, nodding at the blood still cooling on my cheek.

  “They always come when the blood flows right,” he pointed upwards.

  “Just another night on the mountain.”

  I dropped onto the edge of the bench. The woman at his feet glanced up at me with lazy curiosity, then went back to licking fat from her fingers.

  Dagon studied me for a second, then — without warning — grabbed the woman on his lap by the waist and shoved her sideways onto me.

  She landed half in my lap with a surprised yelp that turned into a throaty laugh. Her bare shoulder pressed warm against my chest, hair smelling of smoke and sweet herbs. I froze, hands hovering awkwardly, not sure whether to push her off or hold on.

  Dagon leaned back, smirking just enough to show teeth.

  “There. Something soft to balance the steel in your head tonight. Stop thinking so hard. She won’t bite unless you ask nicely.”

  The woman giggled and draped an arm around my neck, pressing closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “She’s warm. You’re cold. Fix it.”

  Dagon muttered again, quieter this time.

  I snorted, finally letting one arm settle around her waist. She hummed approval and pressed her mouth to the side of my neck—soft, teasing, no teeth yet.

  My pulse kicked up, but it wasn’t just her — it was the weight of everything: the blood still drying on my cheek, the ancestors feeding in the dark above us, the way the whole mountain seemed to hum with approval.

  Efran appeared then, weaving through the crowd with a fresh horn of mead sloshing in one hand and a half-eaten boar rib in the other. Grease shone on his chin. His eyes flicked to the woman in my lap, then to Dagon, and something sour flashed across his face.

  He stopped short.

  “What about me?” he said, voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the drums. “You toss the rookie a jade and leave me standing here like some beggar?”

  Dagon didn’t even look at him. He took a slow pull from his horn and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “What happened to claiming a jade of your own?” he said mildly. “You were drooling over Lira all night. Go take her. Or are Kargath’s boys still in the way?”

  Efran’s grin twisted into something tighter, angrier. He didn’t shout — he wasn’t that stupid — but his knuckles whitened around the rib bone.

  “You really know where it hurts most, don’t you?” he muttered, low and bitter. “Bastard.”

  Dagon just shrugged, completely unbothered.

  Efran exhaled hard through his nose, then forced the grin back on like a mask. He swung his attention to me instead, nodding at the woman still draped over my lap.

  “Oi, brother,” he said, voice lighter but edged. “You gonna share? She looks like she’d enjoy two at once. I could show you how it’s done.”

  The woman laughed again, pressing closer to me like she was in on the joke.

  Dagon’s hand snapped out and caught Efran’s wrist mid-gesture — not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to stop him cold.

  “Leave the rookie alone,” he said, voice flat and final. “He’s had enough new things shoved in his face tonight. Stop trying to corrupt him before he’s even finished his first horn.”

  Efran stared at him for a beat, then barked a laugh — loud, forced, but real enough to break the tension.

  “Joke, joke,” he said, raising both hands. “Just a joke… unless…” He waggled his eyebrows at me, then at the woman. “What d’you say, love? Three’s a crowd or a party?”

  She giggled and buried her face in my neck again. I felt my face heat despite myself.

  I cleared my throat, trying to sound steadier than I felt.

  “If you’re looking for a party, Efran, go find one that doesn’t involve me getting crushed under your belly.”

  Efran barked another laugh, genuine this time. “See? The rookie’s got teeth after all.”

  Dagon released Efran’s wrist and leaned back, taking another slow sip of mead.

  “Go find your own meat, Efran,” he said. “The night’s young. Plenty of widows still unclaimed.”

  Efran snorted, but the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tore off another chunk of boar rib, chewed viciously, and wandered back toward the slaughter tables, muttering something under his breath about “sword fanatics and their blue balls.”

  The woman in my lap shifted, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. Dagon watched her do it for a second, then met my eyes again.

  “See?” he said quietly. “Embrace it. Or don’t. Either way, the mountain keeps turning.”

  He lifted his horn in a small, private toast — not to me, not to her, but to the fire, the blood, the night itself.

  I took a breath, tasted the smoke and copper on my tongue, and — for the first time since the head came off — let myself lean into the warmth of the woman against me.

  Just a little.

  The feast rolled on around us, loud and alive and merciless.