Chapter 19: The Exile Decree

The sun blazed mercilessly over Sundial Mesa, its light bouncing off the sea of warriors and tribespeople gathered for the coronation. The air shimmered with heat, thick with tension and expectation as the tribes stood shoulder to shoulder in solemn silence. At the heart of the crowd, the sacred platform had been transformed into a stage fit for a king. Banners of gold and crimson hung heavy with sunburst symbols, their edges rippling faintly in the desert breeze.

Kael lingered near the edge of the gathering, his stomach churning. His fingers twitched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he watched the platform. The elders of every tribe stood at attention in ceremonial attire, their faces unreadable masks of composure. And at the center of it all, Marek waited.

An elder stepped forward, a tall, wiry man whose silver hair caught the sunlight like strands of fire. This was Elder Vaylen, a figure revered across the tribes as a speaker for the gods. His voice, when it rose, carried with it a weight that silenced even the faintest murmurs.

"People of the tribes," Elder Vaylen began, his arms raised high, "today we gather not only to mourn but to honor the will of the gods and the needs of our people. In the wake of Talar's passing, the sacred mantle of the king chief must be passed to one who will unite us, guide us, and lead us with strength into the uncertain days ahead."

Kael felt his heart twist at the mention of his father. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his composure as Elder Vaylen continued.

"The gods have spoken," Vaylen declared, his voice ringing clear. "They have chosen Marek, brother of Talar, to ascend as our new king chief. May his reign bring unity, strength, and light to the tribes."

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Vaylen turned to Marek, gesturing for him to kneel. Marek bowed his head gracefully, his golden cloak pooling around him like liquid fire. The elder lifted the ornate crown—a masterpiece of gold and precious stones shaped into the blazing sunburst symbol of the king chief.

"With this crown," Vaylen intoned, "you carry the weight of the tribes, the honor of the gods, and the legacy of the Sun Tribe. Rise, King Chief Marek."

He placed the crown on Marek's head. The elders of all the tribes bowed deeply, their movements synchronized in solemn reverence. The cheers grew deafening as Marek stood, the firelight catching the crown and igniting it in a brilliant blaze of gold.

Kael's chest ached as he watched the elders—leaders he'd known his entire life—bow to Marek. The man who now wore the crown wasn't his father, wasn't the leader Kael had always imagined taking that place.

Marek raised his hands, silencing the crowd with an ease that sent a chill down Kael's spine.

"My people," Marek began, his voice a commanding blend of authority and charm, "today marks the beginning of a new era. An era of strength, of unity, of hope. The tribes have endured hardship, loss, and the looming shadow of the Kavaran Empire. But together, we will stand tall. Together, we will ensure that no enemy, no empire, can divide us."

Cheers erupted again, and Marek let them ring out for a moment before raising a hand to quiet them.

"And yet," he continued, his tone growing heavier, "unity requires trust. It requires accountability. And as my first act as king chief, I must make a decision I do not take lightly."

Kael froze, his breath catching as Marek turned slightly to where Ryn stood beside him. The Ember warrior wore a faint smirk, his arms crossed, and his presence felt like a blade hovering above Kael's neck.

"New information has come to light," Marek said, turning back to the crowd. "Information that compels me to act in the interest of the tribes. Kael, son of Talar, step forward."

A hush fell over the gathering. Kael's legs felt leaden as he forced himself to move. Every step toward the platform felt heavier than the last. When he reached the foot of the platform, he looked up at Marek, who gazed down at him with an expression Kael couldn't read.

"It is with great sorrow," Marek began, his voice slow and deliberate, "that I must hold you accountable for the recklessness that led to Talar's death."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"No," Tayo's voice rang out, fierce and defiant. He pushed through the throng, his face flushed with fury. "That's a lie! Kael didn't kill Talar!"

Frenna was beside him in an instant, her hammer slung over her shoulder. "This is nothing but politics, Marek! You're twisting the truth to suit yourself!"

Marek raised a hand, and the guards moved instantly, restraining both Tayo and Frenna before they could reach the platform.

"Enough!" Marek barked, his tone icy. "This is not a debate. Kael's recklessness endangered the tribes, and now we face the consequences of that recklessness."

Kael's heart pounded as Marek fixed him with a piercing gaze.

"You have two choices," Marek said, his voice carrying across the crowd. "Accept exile and leave the tribes peacefully, or face execution for your actions."

The crowd erupted into stunned whispers. Kael's mouth went dry, his mind racing. He glanced at Tayo and Frenna, who struggled against the guards holding them.

"Kael, don't do this!" Tayo shouted. "It's not your fault!"

Frenna spat at the guard restraining her. "You don't have to accept this, Kael! Fight back!"

Kael's voice trembled as he turned to Marek. "This isn't justice. My father wouldn't have wanted this."

Marek's lips curved into a cold smile. "Your father isn't here, Kael. This is my decree."

When Kael hesitated, Marek nodded to the guards. "Teach them their place."

The guards struck. Tayo let out a cry of pain as a spear butt slammed into his stomach, and Frenna grunted as she was shoved to the ground.

"No!" Kael shouted, panic surging through him.

Lirien burst forward from the crowd, her silver braids gleaming as she tried to shield Frenna. A guard struck her across the face, and she stumbled back, blood trickling from her lip.

"Stop!" Kael screamed, his voice raw. "I'll do it! I'll accept the exile!"

The beating stopped instantly. Marek raised a hand, his expression calm and satisfied.

"A wise choice," he said smoothly. "But due to the disobedience of Frenna, Tayo, and Lirien, they will join you in exile."

Kael's heart sank as he looked at his friends, their faces battered but defiant. Marek turned to the guards.

"Release them," Marek commanded, his tone cold and unyielding. "You have until dawn to gather your belongings and prepare to leave. At sunrise, my guards will escort you out of the tribal lands."

Kael's breath came in shallow gasps as the guards stepped back. Marek's gaze lingered on him for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Do not waste this opportunity," Marek said, his tone cold.

Kael didn't respond. He couldn't. The weight of his failure pressed down on him as he turned away, his friends close behind him. The murmurs of the crowd followed them as they left, but Kael's mind was a whirlwind of shame, anger, and despair.

Till sunrise. That was all the time they had left before everything they had ever known was taken from them.