Sakhaar felt the change in the air as he stepped into Bahoz. The streets vibrated with an energy different from the gloom of Rhazgord he was used to. People walked straighter, a faint glimmer of hope on their faces. Warriors looked around with unusual discipline, patrolling soldiers with their hands on their swords, ready to move at a moment's notice.

  In every corner of the city, scaffolding, walls built by the meticulous hands of stonemasons and freshly dug foundations showed that Bahoz was being rebuilt. As darkness fell, the sounds of hammers and chisels fell silent, but the smell of stone and timber still hung in the air. It was a sight Sakhaar was not used to. The land of Rhazgord was a place of destruction and decay; it was rare to see scenes of rebirth.

  The people of Bahoz knew Corvus well. The entire city had watched Tanar's execution and had seen his death as a badge of Corvus' authority. But it was different for Sakhaar. He had spent his entire life in Sorbaj, leaving the city only for mercenary duties. Even though he had arbitrated between the tribes of Rhazgord several times, he never went anywhere. If someone wanted to meet Sakhaar, they had to come to him.

  Nevertheless, word of Sakhaar's arrival in the city spread by whispered rumour. First a few curious glances, then silent beckoning hands, and suddenly the streets of Bahoz were bustling with activity. People came out in front of their stores, peeped out of their houses, sellers in the marketplace raised their heads from their stalls. The gazes of those who saw him for the first time fluctuated between admiration and fear. Children, hiding behind their parents, tried to understand this frightening man, while the elderly gazed at him for a long time as if to memorise his face.

  Especially the religious community interpreted Sakhaar's arrival as a sacred omen. They murmured among themselves, whispering that he was a blessed man. Some rushed forward to touch him, others knelt in reverence. For these people, who saw the order of the Rhazgord as a reflection of the will of the gods, Sakhaar at its head was a sacred figure. To see him, to be in his presence, was almost an act of worship.

  Sakhaar looked at the crowd around him with an indifferent face. There was no expression of surprise or enthusiasm on his face. Admiring glances, whispered blessings, prayers, outstretched hands... He did not care about any of them. But that did not mean that he considered them unimportant. They were his people. The people he had to protect, guide and, if necessary, fight for. He had grown up for it, lived for it, taken countless lives for it. But he knew that a leader cannot rule by love alone; he must appear to his people as an impenetrable wall. Power breeds respect only when it is inaccessible. Weakness only begins with intimacy. And Sakhaar had been Sanguinar too long to even think of weakness.

  His eyes stared straight ahead. He did not pick out the faces in the crowd, ignored the sighs, the hands reaching out to touch him. When his shadow fell on the few who dared to approach him, they recoiled with instinctive respect. Some bowed as if a stone had touched his path, others remained motionless as if mesmerised. But he walked on without a moment's hesitation. He neither stopped for them nor answered their prayers. He greeted those who blessed him with silence, just like those who cursed him.

  But Corvus... He was different.

  Until a month ago, Corvus thought like Sakhaar, acted like Sakhaar. Cold, inaccessible, unshakable. He had fought for the people of Rhazgord, killed for them. But to be part of them, to feel their pain, to understand their fears... That's what he didn't want. He was a wall, but not an impenetrable wall like Sakhaar, but a wall that expanded like a shield, enclosing his people... And now, Corvus had changed.

  Sakhaar watched Corvus mingle with the people. This man, once like himself, was now close to the people. He held the hands that blessed him and answered the prayers. There was still the determination of a warrior in his eyes, but the compassion of a leader now sparked within him. He didn't just want to be a protective shadow for his people; he wanted to walk with them, to share their feelings, to show them that they deserved to be understood.

  Sakhaar realised this, of course. But he was not surprised that Corvus had changed so quickly. He knew how Corvus' view of the Rhazgord had changed since his mother had died. He sensed that his son, who had once lived only to keep order, no longer wanted to be part of it, wanted to be more than a protector watching from afar. But Sakhaar did not care about that. The only thing that mattered to him was whether Corvus was a threat to order. Nothing else, no emotion, no bond, was of any interest to him. Emotions clouded judgement. And Sakhaar must never see blurred.

  Soon they arrived at Rasur's mansion. As night fell over the city like a shadow against the stone walls, the breaths of a group of people gathered at the entrance to the manor hung in the air like a silent prayer. Rasur and his family were awaiting Sakhaar's arrival. But there was no customary expression of respect or curiosity on Rasur's face - only the intense shadow of tension.

  For the first time that night, Sakhaar was genuinely surprised. He had not expected Rasur to be here. For a moment his eyes studied the dull expression on the man's face. Rasur intended to come forward with heavy steps, preparing to greet Sakhaar. But then his eyes met Sakhaar's - and the world stopped for him in that second.

  Her whole body convulsed as if held captive by invisible chains. His instincts screamed at him to run, to escape, to survive, but he could not take a step. His muscles were petrified, his breath caught in his throat. He was struggling with his own body, but he felt he was losing. He had never tasted such a deep fear until that moment. A primal whisper echoed inside him, screaming: Run!

  Sakhaar's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife. But there was no threat in it - he was so calm that he spoke as if he did not even realise the darkness that had fallen over Rasur:

  "Isn't that Tanar's son?"

  When Corvus heard the coolness in his father's voice, he felt a knife that wasn't there, running along the back of his neck. Without saying a word, Sakhaar was running the cold fingers of death down Rasur's spine. Corvus knew what that felt like. How many times had he watched his father make his enemies feel the shadow of death, how he stalked them like a predator, freezing them in terror?

  Sakhaar's aura hung over Rasur like a heavy mist. This was the tactic he knew best. First silence. Then the instinctual instilment of fear. Then death.

  Corvus knew he would make a mistake if he rushed. He took a deep breath and spoke, trying to match his father's composure:

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  "Yes, he is, but--"

  Sakhaar had no intention of hearing more. When the hand on his back grasped his massive sword, even the stone floor creaked as if it felt the weight of the movement. Slowly he raised his sword into the air. The blade was engraved with blood-red runes that glowed in the moonlight - but it was different from Corvus' elegant twin swords. His was made to cut; Sakhaar's blade was made to slice. Its sharp surface was full of indentations and ridges, a killing machine that would tear through flesh and bone with a single blow, destroying everything it swung at.

  A wave of panic rose in Corvus' heart. If he took one step, all his plans would be ruined. But if he stopped, Rasur and his family would be wiped from this world. And that would be a major blow to his plans. As he was wondering what to do, Sakhaar took his first step.

  And in that moment, the world turned into hell for Rasur and his family.

  Even the stone floor beneath Sakhaar's feet crackled slightly as if yielding to his weight, while Rasur and his family collapsed to the ground. Against their will, they fell to their knees with an invisible weight on their throats. They felt as if all their bones were being crushed under a mountain, unable to move under a pressure that penetrated to their bones. Their breathing stopped, their pupils dilated. Every muscle was being crushed under the invisible force.

  This was the gift Sakhaar's blood and the Lightstone had bestowed upon him. It was the legacy of the Tiamates.

  Not a cry or a plea was heard. Fear descended upon the entrance to the mansion, not like thunder, but like a heavy silence. Sakhaar ran his eyes over the poor wretches on the ground. Without the slightest tremor in his voice, he spoke in a deep, steady tone:

  "I am Sakhaar Tiamat."

  It was as if these two words had made the air heavier.

  "Tanar Laraz has betrayed the Rhazgord. By Rhazgord law, the entire Laraz family is to be executed."

  His eyes locked on Rasur's fearfully dilated pupils.

  "I am Sakhaar Tiamat. I will execute this punishment now."

  And his sword rose into the air. But it didn't come down. It was neither a hand nor a shield that stopped Sakhaar's blade. It was a voice that broke the silence and blended its power with defiance. Corvus' voice was as loud as a war horn and as sharp as a sword stroke.

  "You have no right to judge them! I have judged them in the shadow of the Black Banner!"

  The name of the Black Banner, the most sacred relic, the most absolute authority of the Rhazgord, had a heavier impact than the sword raised in the air. As those kneeling there held their breath at the impact of those two words, even more frightening than the shadow of the sword, Sakhaar made a momentary assessment behind his expressionless face. The Black Banner. The symbol of absolute authority to which all laws bow, to which even orders and noble names are overshadowed. The moment it was unfurled, the order of the Rhazgord, laws and customs became secondary, and the power of judgement rested solely with its bearer. Its judgement was more valid than laws carved in stone, for the Black Banner was only unfurled when the very existence of Rhazgord was threatened. Every judgement made under its shadow was a timeless command, an unquestionable destiny.

  But the powers conferred by the Black Banner were not gratuitous. When the banner was flying, the decisions made under it were considered absolute, but when the flag was lowered and the danger disappeared, the judgements made could be held to account. Because the Black Banner did not only make people live or die; it also sealed the fate of those who carried it. Every decision made in the shadow of the banner had a price, and that price would be paid sooner or later.

  Sensing the determination in Corvus' voice, Sakhaar turned his eyes to his son. As a former bearer of the Black Banner, he knew the weight of this burden best. He did not question his son's reasoning behind executing only Tanar Laraz and freeing the others, for only one thing mattered to him: Did this decision pose a threat to the order of the Rhazgord? If it did, the fact that it had been taken under the Black Banner made no difference.

  Nevertheless, Sakhaar did not lower the sword in his hand as he made his judgement in the moment. Impatient to descend upon the enemy, the massive weapon, adorned with runes and having shattered countless bodies over the centuries, hovered in the air, ready to spill blood at a single command. Sakhaar's eyes scanned the Laraz family kneeling before him. Their eyes were filled with nothing but fear, and no matter how hard they tried to hide, they could not hide their despair, their helplessness and the emptiness that came with accepting the inevitable.

  Sakhaar knew the thoughts going through the minds of these people. He knew that the weight of the invisible mountain that loomed over them made them feel that escape was impossible, that their bones would betray them if they even attempted to flee, that their instincts would fail them. But still he weighed Corvus with his eyes. He tried to realise that his son had truly forgiven these people, had truly freed them, and that he would stand by his decision. Because the Black Banner did not only decide who would live and who would die; it also tested whether the person who made that decision could carry the burden.

  "Can you bear the weight of this decision?"

  Sakhaar's voice was hard and sharp, like the scrape of a steel blade on stone. As the words hung in the air, echoing in Corvus' ears, an invisible pressure fell on his chest. He took a deep breath, but it was like a cold dagger filling his lungs. As his eyes disappeared into his father's dark gaze, his lips moved without thinking.

  "Yes!"

  The determination in his voice was not enough to hide the uneasiness inside. His palms were slightly sweaty and his fingertips began to tremble imperceptibly. At that moment, he caught the change in Sakhaar's face. Vaguely, like a shadow, but it was there. It was difficult to distinguish whether he was standing as a father or as a judge. But Sakhaar did not let him think.

  "One. Two. Three... Twenty-three."

  As the numbers echoed in the air, a deathly silence fell over the streets of Bahoz. There was only Sakhaar's voice. Each number was heavy like a judgement, each word like an execution. Corvus scanned his father's counting with his eyes and saw: the Larazes, huddled on the ground, unable to shake the crushing weight. Twenty-three people. Rasur's brothers, uncles, uncles, uncles, children. They all formed the core of this tightly knit community of family ties.

  Sakhaar took a step. Those on the ground struggled to breathe, as if even the air around them had become heavier. Some were completely still, their eyes wide with fear, their lips trembling. Some wanted to run away, but their legs would not listen to them. It was as if they were nailed to the ground with invisible chains.

  "Twenty-three blows for twenty-three lives. Agreed?"

  Sakhaar's voice fell on Bahoz like a rock breaking from the summit of a huge mountain. It was a judgement from which there was no escape.

  Corvus' teeth clenched tightly. He looked at his father without blinking his eyes for a moment. At that moment, everything froze. The whole city, the whole world seemed to fall silent. There were only the two of them. Two men. One as unshakable as a wall, the other a storm trying to break this wall.

  "Agreed."

  The word fell from his lips like a heavy seal. At that moment, the pressure on the Laraz was suddenly lifted. Some of the survivors jumped up and ran away without a second thought, while others fell to the ground and breathed deeply. A few were sobbing and shaking, as if still teetering on the brink of death. Some were trying to hide their tears, while others felt the shame of fleeing, even leaving their own families behind.

  But Corvus' eyes were still on Sakhaar.

  Sakhaar slowly replaced the huge sword on his back and then clenched his fists. His muscles twitched slightly, like a mountain moving. An invisible pressure built up in the air. Even the movement of his muscles vibrated the air around him. The power radiating from his body was like a weight that was not impossible to recognise.

  This was not a test. This was an execution.

  A shudder ran through Corvus. No one knew the power of Sakhaar's bare hands. No armour or shield was enough against a man who could shatter rock walls with a single blow. To meet those blows was to dance with death.

  Sakhaar's eyes locked on Corvus. And the movement began.