“Surrender, or I will put you down myself.”
Elene’s voice was flat, devoid of the familiar cadence Zviad had known for years. Her rifle, a finely balanced long-gun with a blackened iron scope, remained steady. Zviad felt the sharp edge of the blade in his hand, its weight familiar, but he did not raise it. He watched Elene’s knuckles, white around the stock, then her eyes. They were cold, reflecting the harsh light. He knew that look. It was the face of a soldier who had already made her choice.
Ketevan stood a step behind him, the salvaged iron strut clutched in both hands, her gaze flicking between Elene and Zviad, a silent question in her eyes. Zviad gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“No,” Zviad said, his voice calm despite the tremor of adrenaline. “Not yet, Elene.”
“The Dadiani are a plague. You allied with her. You used our codes to get her out of Gori. That’s treason, Zviad. We found your contact’s log. We know.” Her eyes flickered to Ketevan, then back to him, suspicion hardening her features.
“I didn’t betray the Guard,” Zviad stated, his eyes locked on hers. “I exposed a parasite that burrowed into its heart.” He shifted his stance, not threateningly, but to reach into the breast pocket of his tunic. Elene’s rifle barely twitched, tracking his movement with unnerving precision. “The corruption you’re hunting? The stolen ordnance, the unaccounted for armaments from the Ghvamtasi armory?”
He slowly, deliberately, extracted a rolled bundle of aged parchment and leather. “It’s all connected. To him.” He tossed the bound sheaf forward. It skittered across the loose stone, stopping a few feet from Elene’s boots. “Read it. It implicates Iago Shervashidze. Not just in weapon shipments, but in the specific explosives used in the Volkhonsky Plaza bombing.”
Elene’s gaze dropped to the parchment, then darted back to Zviad, doubt softening her rigid posture. The Ghvamtasi armory was highland guard territory, deep in the mountains. The bombing… that was Anya. Her eyes, for a split second, softened with the ghost of a shared memory, before snapping back to suspicion. “A trick. A Dadiani diversion.”
“You think I’d use Anya’s death as a shield?” Zviad’s voice was low, edged with controlled fury. “He killed her, Elene. And he used the Dadiani name as a convenient scapegoat, just as he plans to use Ketevan.” He nodded toward the bound leaves. “The specific batch numbers from those shipments match the residue we found at Volkhonsky. Internal affairs buried it. Because someone high up was paid off. Someone who answered to Iago.”
Before Elene could respond, a new sound cut through the silence. Not the solitary crunch of a boot, but the rhythmic, measured tread of multiple soldiers. The air grew still, heavy with a fresh layer of dread. Ketevan’s hand tightened on the iron strut, her knuckles white. Zviad cursed under his breath, his eyes scanning the archway. He had hoped for more time, for Elene to at least *consider* the evidence.
Then, the figures appeared. Not just one, but four, in the dark, heavy armor of the Makharadze Enclave’s elite guard, their faces obscured by grim, visored helmets. And in front of them, silhouetted against the harsh afternoon sun, stood Iago Shervashidze. He wore a deceptively casual tunic, but his stance was coiled, predatory, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.
“How touching,” Iago’s voice carried, smooth and unctuous, echoing slightly in the antechamber. He stepped fully into view, his eyes sweeping over Zviad, Ketevan, and finally, Elene. “A reunion of old comrades, perhaps even a nascent alliance? How quaint. And how utterly predictable, Zviad.”
Elene’s rifle remained pointed at Zviad, but her body had subtly shifted, now encompassing Iago in her periphery. The ledger lay forgotten on the stone. She understood. Her face, grim before, now held a dawning horror.
“So, the Khevsur Guard’s finest has finally caught up with her errant agent,” Iago continued, his smile widening, revealing too many teeth. He ignored Elene, his gaze fixed on Zviad. “And you, Zviad Khasav. Still clinging to that pathetic fantasy of revenge, I see. Still believing the Dadiani were your enemy.” He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “How disappointingly… simple-minded for a Khevsur.”
Zviad felt a tremor of pure, unadulterated hatred. “You killed Anya.” The words were not a question, but a flat statement of fact.
Iago inclined his head slightly in mocking acknowledgment. “Indeed. A regrettable necessity. Your partner was… observant. Far too close to uncovering my little network within the Guard. The Ghvamtasi armory, the diversions, the mountain officers in my pocket.” He spread his hands in theatrical triumph. “Anya was a loose end. And a useful one, at that. Her death, pinned on the Dadiani, made an excellent smokescreen. It drew you out, Zviad. Gave you a target, a convenient obsession. And you, in your grief-addled idiocy, brought Ketevan right to me.”
Ketevan gasped, a choked sound of utter disbelief. The iron strut trembled in her hands. Elene’s face was a mask of furious realization, her rifle still steady, but now wavering between targets.
“All to power your little machine?” Zviad snarled, the last remnants of his composure fraying. “To become another tyrant in a land already choked by them?”
“A new order, Zviad, not tyranny,” Iago corrected, his voice losing its mocking edge, becoming cold, authoritative. “And yes, for the Chronos Engine. For Unity. With Ketevan’s power, I will reshape the Kavkasi. A truly unified land, under my hand. The Dadiani merely scratched the surface of what her power can achieve. You, Zviad, were a convenient tool. A rather dull, easily manipulated tool, but effective nonetheless.” He looked down his nose at Zviad. “And now, your utility has expired.”
Iago flicked a single finger toward his men. One of the Enclave guards, quicker than the others, raised a crossbow. Zviad reacted instinctively, pushing Ketevan behind him, his blade flashing as he met the bolt mid-air. It deflected with a *clang*, sparking against his steel, but the brief distraction was all Iago needed. From beneath his tunic, Iago produced a short, ornate throwing dagger. Its polished obsidian blade was almost invisible as it flew.
Zviad had already turned back towards Iago, but it was too late. The dagger struck him in the side, just below his ribs, biting deep. A searing pain blossomed, sharp and immediate. Zviad staggered, a choked cry escaping his lips, his hand flying to the wound. He dropped to one knee, air sawing through his teeth, his blade clattering against the stone. Blood, dark and visceral, bloomed rapidly across his tunic.
“Zviad!” Ketevan’s scream tore through the air, raw and laced with pure terror. She saw the blood, saw him crumple, and something inside her snapped. The pain, the fear, the humiliation in Iago’s voice, the image of Zviad falling – it coalesced into a molten core of white-hot rage. Her eyes blazed with a light that was not sunlight, but something ancient and powerful. The air around her began to warp, shimmering as if seen through heat haze.
She lifted her hands, not consciously, but as if pulled by an invisible force. A low groan vibrated through the very rock of the watchtower, a sound like a primordial beast awakening. The iron strut in her grasp began to hum, vibrating violently. A concussive ring of raw force erupted from her, silent but devastating. It was not fire, not wind, but a fundamental force that rippled outward. The Enclave guards were thrown backward, their armored bodies slamming into the stone walls with sickening thuds. Elene, caught in the periphery of the force, braced herself, her rifle clattering as she fought to stay upright, her face contorted in disbelief.
Deep fissures, spiderweb cracks, shot through the ancient stone of the watchtower, across the very floor beneath them. A section of the wall above Iago’s head crumbled, showering him with dust and small stones. The mountainside itself seemed to *shudder*.
Iago, though thrown back a few paces, remained on his feet, his stare fixed, stripped of smugness, pinned in shock. He stared at Ketevan, at the shimmering aura that now pulsed around her, at the groaning, cracking stone of the mountain.
“It’s more than the legends claimed.”