The cups clinked softly against the polished stone table, the mood light and easy for once. We were gathered in one of the Breaker Clan's guest halls—well-decorated but simple, like everything else in the compound. No gaudy crests, no vanity. Just space for warriors to breathe between battles.
Zach raised his glass, voice calm but a little more relaxed than usual. "Thanks for coming. Technically, it's not official yet. Every elder gets to submit a nomination before the decision's final."
Amir waved him off, grinning. "Yeah, but they all know who's gonna win. Stop acting humble."
Laughter followed. Even Nel cracked a rare smile.
Deya took a sip of her drink and leaned back. "Still wild to me that this place is around the corner from what basically looks like Detroit. Real humble vibes for a top 3 clan."
"Power doesn't need to flaunt itself," Zach replied, smirking.
The room settled into a rhythm. Amir reenacted one of his training duels like it was a full theater performance—hands slicing the air, switching stances mid-story. Deya egged him on. Nel rolled her eyes. For a few minutes, we were just… people.
But that peace cracked when Nel leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing toward the hallway behind us.
"Wait," she said quietly. "Is that...?"
We all turned.
Yeah. It was them.
Just down the corridor, framed by flickering ceremonial lanterns, stood three of the most powerful individuals on the planet. Not shouting. Not posturing. Just standing together—and the air still felt heavier.
Ronan Break. Built like the clan he led: firm, unshakable, structured. Every line in his posture said strength without effort.
Muhammad. Barefoot, in layered robes that looked randomly thrown on but somehow worked. His energy radiated like music—light, flowing—but Ron and I both knew better. He wasn't just strong. He was dangerous.
And my mother. Zena Fortune.
The Fortune Keeper.
Dressed simply, hands behind her back, gaze calm—but everyone in the hall could feel her presence. She wasn't using her domain, but her essence was so controlled it might as well have been pressing down on our lungs. I'd seen it break people before they even realized they were fighting.
Their voices carried just enough to hear if you weren't trying to eavesdrop—but we were all quiet now.
"The clans are posturing more than usual," Ronan said, tone steady. "Too many making moves they're not strong enough to finish."
Muhammad shrugged gently. "The world's unbalanced. Too much power hoarded at the top. Someone's going to tip the scale soon."
My mom didn't blink. "Then we remind them why balance is maintained."
The pressure that followed those words was unreal. Not a threat. Just a truth. A fact delivered like the weight of a falling mountain.
Even the guards posted near the edge of the corridor straightened.
Zach set his cup down with a quiet clink. "We should move."
"Yeah," Amir muttered, grabbing his jacket.
But I stayed a second longer, watching.
Three of the top seven powerhouses in the world. Not in battle. Not on stage.
Just talking.
And that was somehow more terrifying.
We weren't at the top yet.
But we were getting closer.