"Mak'gora!"
The challenge hung in the freezing air, heavier than the glaciers surrounding the Great Den.
Fifty thousand Beast-kin held their breath. In the modern age, Mak'gora was a word rarely spoken, a relic of a bloodier time.
It was the "Duel of Ancestors," a primal law older than the kingdom itself.
Its rules were absolute: No outside interference. No mercy. The winner took the tribe; the loser faced exile or death.
A duel where only those willing to risk their lives were willing to engage.
And Leona, who had found out her father was murdered by her uncle all this while, was willing to do so, as thoughts of revenge clouded her mind.
Even if she was bound to lose, even if she had no hope of winning.
She at least wanted to try to avenge her father!
Leona stood in the center of the ring, the unconscious body of Prince Gorn lying at her feet like a discarded toy.
Her golden mane flowed in the wind, her crimson eyes locked on the High Lodge.
