If you thought Fien was gonna back down, turn her red horse and mighty bear battalions around, and take the mudslide death-trap of Gliansa? Nah. Joke's on you.
This wasn't the time for compromise. This wasn't the time to take Shæz's soft politics and talk peace like they were in some flower council. Fien was done. Mela stood in her way, and she didn't build a damn army to get told "go around."
She wanted Dalab. She wanted the throne of Senedro. And if she couldn't punch through a bunch of over-muscled half-horse boys, then what was the point? Hell no. Mesa wanted a test? She was about to be his final exam.
Shæz tried one more time. She was standing outside the queen's tent, brows tight with concern. "There are still people in Mela who don't side with Mesa. We could use them. This war—it'll bleed us. Weaken the army."
Fien didn't even look up. She was lacing up her boots, eye wild with heat. "Or it'll harden them. We don't need everyone. We need warriors. These men—they're hungry. They've been training since they were kids, and you think they trained to tuck tail when some punk with a horse butt says no?"
Shæz folded her arms. "You rule with your breasts."
Fien stood. Smirked. "Wrong. I rule with fire. Watch and learn."
She walked out into the warcamp like thunder cracking open the sky. The soldiers, restless and keyed-up, turned at once when they saw her. The red horse behind her neighed, stamping at the dust like it knew something wicked was coming.
Fien raised her voice. No fancy speeches. Just raw truth.
"Steza! Zela! My beasts of Senedro!" Her voice cracked through the valley like lightning. "You've trained with scars, you've bled in silence. You carry the bite of bears and the fire of your fathers! And now—Mela locks us out. Calls us children. Weak. Soft. Dismisses us like flies."
The camp erupted in grumbles and war growls. Spears clanged against shields. Someone yelled, "We ain't soft!"
Fien grinned. She was just getting started.
"They refused me as queen. They refused us as warriors. They forget who we are. So I ask you—do we walk away?"
"NOOO!" they howled.
"Do we crawl through Gliansa like worms?" "HELL NO!"
Fien raised her sword, pointing it straight at Mela's tall gates in the distance.
"Then let's break them. If you stand in our way—you're not ours. We burn it. We take it. And Mesa? Mesa will learn what happens when you block a goddess with a crown."
Roars. Bear roars. Battle chants. The energy cracked the air like a spell. From afar, Shæz just watched, heart both proud and heavy. Fien had a power in her, that chaotic pull that made people believe. Maybe too much.
She whispered to herself, "We could've had Mela… not as ashes, but allies."
But it didn't matter now. The die was cast. Mela was about to learn what happens when you play chess with a wildfire.
Mesa heard the roar. That guttural, thunder-drunk war cry from Fien's army. It rippled through Mela like a curse—sent chills down centaur spines and rattled armor. But Mesa? He smiled. War was coming, and that's exactly what he wanted.
"Find a way to stop this," his old uncle said, dragging his creaky legs into the war tent. "You don't know Fien. You don't know war."
Mesa turned, jaw tight. "And what do you want me to do? Beg? Beg for mercy from a woman?"
"Yes," the old centaur said flatly. "And if you won't—I will."
Silence cracked the air. Mesa froze. The men in the tent shifted awkwardly, glancing at each other. This wasn't just advice. This was shame, bleeding out in front of his commanders. The kind of shame you couldn't shake off in battle.
And Mesa—he was too young, too proud, too damn angry to take it. Without a word, he pulled his sword and slashed. Clean. His uncle's head dropped like a sack of grain. Thud. The tent went still. Even the torchlight seemed to hold its breath.
Blood oozed into the dirt. Mesa's eyes burned. "Anyone else want to negotiate with a porn queen?" he snarled. No one spoke. No one moved.
The rule had been unspoken for centuries—Centaurs don't kill Centaurs. And Mesa had just shattered it with one swing.
Outside the tent, whispers spread like wildfire. "He killed his own blood." "This isn't the Mela we knew."
But Mesa stood tall. Crown on his head. Blade still wet. Mela had a new law now: follow me—or die. And back in the shadows of the city, young warriors whispered a different name for Fien.
"The Porn Queen," they snickered. "She rules with tits and tantrums."
But none of them laughed too loud. Because soon, they'd have to find out what it meant to bleed for that joke. And jokes… they die real fast when the war drums start pounding.