The forest air was heavy with the scent of dampness and moss. Sunbeams pierced the canopy in golden ribbons; each breath made the leaves whisper ancient secrets. Strax walked beside Shura—the white tigress who, in recent times, had made the roads and carcasses of the world her hunting ground and her home. Her steps made no sound; when she walked, it seemed as if the forest itself adjusted its rhythm so as not to disturb her.

"Why did you want me so isolated? It seems like you're even going to devour me," Strax asked playfully, with the calm that always seemed to be abundant in him. "You're not a woman of many words."

Shura stopped on an open trail and looked at him. Her white fur shimmered with the filtered sunlight; her blue eyes were two cold stones that weighed the intentions of the man before her.

"Because with people around, conversation turns into a spectacle," she replied, her voice deep and drawn out like the trot of an animal that has seen war. "And I wanted to talk without a thousand mouths repeating every syllable."

They continued to a wide clearing. The ground was covered with dry leaves; in the center was a circle of ancient stones, as if the forest guarded an old altar. Shura sat down, her front paws crossed, her body tense like a bow.

"Tell me," she said. "What do you want from me? I don't think the things you've given me and helped my tribe with have been for free, quite the opposite, I know you sell the remains of what we hunt, but I'm sure that's nothing much for someone like you. So tell me, what do you really want? I know you're not from this continent."

Strax stood a step back, watching the light play on her profile. There was something in the way she sat—not submission, but assessment. Very similar to the way he looked at his adversaries before tearing them apart.

"I'm not from here," he said, simply. "I've never hidden this. But since you ask: the plan I have for this continent is simple."

Shura growled softly, almost inaudibly. "Simple? In a land of power and monarchs?"

"Simple," Strax repeated, and a short smile curved his lips. "To destroy the Celestial Emperor. To take this place for myself. To dominate it. To be the strongest. In short: that's it."

Silence. The wind stopped for a moment, as if it too wanted to hear the tigress's answer. Shura remained motionless. Her muscles stood out under her fur; the scars on her face told stories of fangs and blood.

"You want to destroy the Celestial Emperor," she said finally. "Why?"

Strax tilted his head. The question was older than the forest, but it hadn't lost its sharpness.

"Nothing much, I'm just preparing for something much bigger than him, so if he gets in the way, and I believe he will, I'll just kill or enslave him. Whatever. I can do whatever I want. Because the truth is: power that cannot be challenged becomes tyranny. Maybe I'll be a tyrant? I don't know yet."

Shura looked at the sky through the treetops. A crow cawed in the distance. She remembered—unwillingly—the Monarch of Beasts, the roar that had once terrified her, her people bound and used as mounts disguised as a "contract." The hunting spirit within her trembled.

"And your people?" she asked. "Those who follow you? What do you give them in exchange for blood and loyalty?"

Strax approached, stopping a few meters away. His presence was like heated iron: unseen, but felt. He chose his words with the coldness of someone negotiating a contract. "Protection. Land. Order. As long as I am in charge, no one crosses your forest without paying tribute—and tribute means food, weapons, furs, and space. I don't ask you to change the way you live. I want allies, not servants." There was a strange firmness in his promise; it wasn't pity, nor benevolence, it was calculation.

Shura growled again, softly. The memory of seeing her family used as mounts swelled in her throat.

"Promises are easy to make when you have power," she replied. "And easily broken when that power is wielded too harshly. How can I believe a stranger who arrives and speaks of 'order' when he brought dragons and destruction?"

Strax smiled—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Because I have already proven myself. Because I am not just words. Because yesterday in Kaelthur the Beast Monarch swore to be king and today he crawls like a toy. I don't need oaths to prove to you what I can do. My actions speak louder."

Strax raised an eyebrow, curious. He felt her body stiffen completely—from her muscles to her hidden claws—as if the question had been the tip of a spear.

"Why are you asking me this now?" he wanted to know, his voice calm but sharp. "What's the reason for all this? Why, suddenly, do you care so much about what I want to do?"

Shura closed her eyes for a moment. It was quick, but you could feel the weight of many decisions there. When she looked at him again, her blue gaze was firm, cutting, without a trace of doubt.

"Because things have changed," she said simply. "Before, I hunted to survive. Then, I fought not to become anyone's mount. Now... now I think beyond that. I look at my cubs, at the trails the ancients left, and I ask myself: why fight if tomorrow is always the same? Why protect land that turns into chains? Why sacrifice life for those who don't care?"

Strax watched her in silence. The forest seemed to breathe with them; a bird spread its wings and disappeared among the treetops.

"And what exactly do you want with this?" he asked, letting the question hang in the air.

Shura raised her head. Her whiskers trembled. There was pride there—the kind of pride that doesn't bend—and also an ancient weariness, that of someone who has already survived too many battles.

"I want to swear loyalty," she replied. The words fell heavily, full of intention. "But not blind loyalty. I won't be a leashed animal. I want an oath with a purpose. Something that guarantees the future of my tribe, that gives us authority. I want to be able to say 'no' without having to pay for it later."

Strax chuckled softly, almost amused. The idea of ​​a tigress offering loyalty—and imposing conditions—had something fascinating about it. Few dared to negotiate with him on equal terms.

"And why would I accept your oath?" he asked. "What guarantees me that, at the first sign of trouble, you won't abandon me and run back to the forest?"

Shura lowered her gaze for a moment, thinking. When she raised it again, there was a raw, wild, and direct sincerity in her eyes.

"Because I am a tigress," she said. "And tigers don't change sides for trivial reasons. We weigh the advantages. If you give me what no one else has given me—security, respect, space to live—I will fight. Not for you, but because your cause will protect what is mine. And if you betray me, I will come after you. Not for revenge, but out of instinct."

Strax laughed again, a short laugh. There was no contempt, only recognition. She saw the world the same way he did: a power game with simple and brutal rules.

"Fair enough," he replied. "So you want land and protection, not titles or empty promises."

"Exactly." Shura nodded. "And I want guarantees. A fixed territory, patrols that respect our borders, free trade between the tribes and Asgard when it's beneficial to both sides. And, above all, I want you to intervene if another empire or king tries to use my people as mounts or slaves. If your fist is strong enough to command, let it also be strong enough to protect."

Strax began to walk around her, treading slowly on the layer of dry leaves. He was thinking. Whenever he accepted alliances like this, he opened a flank—but he also created a weapon. A new force that could turn against his enemies... or against himself, if he misjudged the situation.

"And what do I gain from your loyalty?" he asked. "I want something practical. How do you and your tribe strengthen me?"

Shura straightened her chest, firm. "We can hunt and maintain food supplies. Patrol the forest and warn of invasions, ambushes, bandits. My children know every trail, every crevice. And when you go to war, we will be the vanguard—beasts that attack quickly, spread fear, and clear the way. We can also send furs and tusks to your craftsmen and soldiers. Is that enough for you?"

Strax paused, studying her. She had value. It was more than he expected to hear. Information, mobility, a shock force... and the political weight of having an entire tribe on his side. A resource that not everyone could buy.

"It's enough," he replied. "But I still need proof. Something that cannot be undone overnight."

Shura wrinkled her snout. She fell silent, remembering the ancient traditions. When she spoke, her voice sounded almost like a chant.

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