Tension Rising.

Fenrir and his companions followed Kintaro through the gates of Golvalin Palace with measured steps. The change from the city outside was immediate. Kuatan had been vast, hot and alive with molten rivers and the distant calls of its subterranean jungles. Golvalin felt older. Heavier in that regard. The palace seemed less constructed than excavated from the mountain's bones, its black walls polished smooth by generations of hands and hard work. Great pillars rose from the stone floor, each carved with the likeness of some ancient shokan warrior or dragon whose name had long outlived the kingdom that first remembered it. Clan banners hung between them in deep reds, ochres and blacks, some pristine, others faded with centuries of age.

Weapons from forgotten campaigns rested behind bronze latticework along the walls. Centaur armour, split through the breastplate. Skulls and horns from beasts Fenrir could not identify. Near one junction stood the immense stone likeness of a four-armed king, both upper hands gripping a ceremonial hammer while the lower pair rested upon the heads of kneeling enemies.

Fenrir did not need Kitana to explain who those monuments represented. Goro's family had been here for a very long time. That knowledge followed him through every corridor. So did something else. His gaze repeatedly slipped toward Shang Tsung and the hooded stranger walking beside him.

He hated himself for it. Every few moments, some insignificant detail drew his attention back: the figure's height, the rhythm of her stride, the way her head sometimes angled when Kitana spoke behind her. Once, Shang murmured something too softly for Fenrir to hear. The stranger did not answer, yet her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly beneath the dark silk.

It was a familiar gesture. Too familiar for him. Yet Fenrir forced his attention forward. This wasn’t a moment for doubt to show itself. Whether his suspicions were grief playing tricks on him again or something far worse, answers would have to wait. He had not descended into half of Kuatan merely to destroy Sheeva's chances because Shang Tsung had placed a mystery within arm's reach.

Kintaro led them into a broad central hall. Then stopped. The Shokan nearest them changed at once. Warriors who had barely acknowledged Fenrir moments earlier straightened. Several placed fists over their chests. Others bowed their heads. Even Kintaro's proud posture shifted as he offered a short but unmistakably respectful inclination.

Fenrir knew who was approaching before he saw him. Each footfall struck the floor with enough weight to be felt through the soles of his boots. Goro emerged from beneath one of the great arches.

Two Shokan warriors followed several paces behind him, each carrying an enormous ceremonial spear. Their bodies were marked from shoulder to ankle in black and vermilion war paint, angular patterns tracing muscle and old scars. Heavy armour covered only what was necessary, leaving most of their imposing physiques exposed as though protection were secondary. The Ush-Tar, they were called.

Fenrir had heard the name before. They were not merely Goro's guards. They were warriors chosen personally from among the most accomplished veterans of Kuatan; soldiers who had marched beneath Shao Kahn's banners during conquests across the realms and returned with reputations for brutality rivalled only by their devotion to shokan supremacy. They believed strength determined your worth; That the Shokan stood above most others. Goro had given them very little reason to question either belief.

The Prince of Kuatan stopped several feet from Fenrir. For a moment, Fenrir remembered another room. He recalled that night when his life changed forever. Goro standing before him after Shao Kahn's death, every muscle in his enormous body refusing the very idea that an earthrealmer could command Outworld.

The prince remembered another event. The tournament, his defeat. The humiliating knowledge that the much smaller creature standing before him had survived everything he and Kintaro threw at him. Neither lowered his gaze.

Goro's upper arms folded across his chest while the lower pair remained loose at his sides. His nostrils flared. “Hmph.” His eyes travelled slowly down Fenrir's body and back upward. “Just as small as I remember.”

Fenrir's expression barely changed. The corner of his mouth lifted. Goro was trying to establish the rhythm of the exchange, to make Fenrir feel small inside a palace built for giants; surrounded by warriors who regarded the ground beneath his feet as ancestral property.

Fenrir had learned long ago that sometimes the easiest way to disrupt an opponent's rhythm was to refuse the premise entirely. His eyes moved toward the long strip of dark hair tied behind Goro's head. “And you're still rocking that terrible ponytail.” His smirk widened by a fraction. “It’s good to know some things survive even regime changes.”

Kitana slowly covered part of her face with one hand in disbelief. “That idiot…Gods, how did I fall for him?” She thought.

Jade turned her mouth behind her fingers, but the quiet breath that escaped her betrayed the laugh she was suppressing. Even Skarlet's crimson eyes creased faintly above her veil. Syzoth merely stared ahead, though one side of his mouth twitched.

Shang Tsung, instead, raised an eyebrow. The sorcerer watched Fenrir with renewed curiosity. Perhaps stupidity explained it. Perhaps confidence bordering on self-destruction. Yet Fenrir had survived too many supposedly foolish choices for him to continue dismissing them as accidents.

More interesting, for the sorcerer at least, was Goro's reaction. The Shokan stared at Fenrir. Then his lips slowly curved. A deep, humourless chuckle rolled from his chest. For a heartbeat, everything political between them receded, and only the warriors remained. Goro had respected very few outsiders in his long life. The Great Kung Lao had earned it. Liu Kang had torn it from him through victory. Fenrir, infuriatingly, had done the same. Yet, the Shokan prince despised him.

That did not mean he underestimated him. Perhaps that made the hatred worse.

Fenrir was an Earthrealmer. A creature from the realm whose champions had stained Goro's proudest legacy. He had killed Shao Kahn, claimed the throne the Shokan prince believed should never have belonged to an outsider, and commanded Outworld’s armies with unrivalled leadership. Now he had come to Kuatan and publicly supported the one warrior standing between him and his birthright.

Respect could coexist quite comfortably with the desire to break someone's spine. Goro's ambitions reached far beyond personal insult.

First came the crown. Golvalin was his home. His inheritance. His ancestors looked down from nearly every hall he walked. Generations of Goro's blood had ruled the Shokan, and he had spent centuries proving himself worthy of continuing that legacy through conquest, through victories and leadership. The fact that anyone now questioned whether the throne should be his was offensive enough. That an Earthrealmer “emperor” had chosen to support Sheeva made it unforgivable.

Beyond the crown lay the Centaurs. Goro remembered every shokan body left upon the steppes, every humiliation Motaro had ever thrown toward his people. In his mind, compromise had merely allowed the Centaurs to grow stronger. Once crowned, he intended to reclaim everything he believed Kuatan had lost. If the Centaurs resisted, he would crush them.

And after that, the Shokan would never again exist merely as the muscle beneath another Emperor's hammer. That was the part of Goro's vision he considered most righteous. For generations, shokans had died to expand someone else's empire. Goro believed that if their people were destined to conquer, then the victories should finally belong to them. Outworld itself would soon discover that the Shokans could hold a sceptre as easily as they held a war hammer.

That certainty also coloured how he viewed the lesser Shokan clans. The Tigrar were useful, ferocious and worthy of battle…but hierarchy existed for a reason. If their warriors were required to bleed so the greater Shokan nation might rise, then they would bleed. Strength served the whole. Those strong enough to command decided what that whole required. It was precisely the future Sheeva had begun teaching Kuatan to question.

Goro looked past Fenrir toward the imperial delegation. His smirk disappeared. “Look around you.”

Fenrir heard it before they obeyed. The heavy scrape of spearheads shifting against stone as their armoured feet repositioned around him and his guard. The shokan guards had begun closing ranks throughout the hall.

Skarlet moved first. One foot slid subtly behind the other. Her hand remained nowhere near a weapon, yet Fenrir knew she could create one from blood before most of the guards around them completed their first step. Syzoth shifted toward Fenrir's left flank swiftly. Jade angled her body sideways. Kitana's hand settled near the folded fan at her hip. Behind them, Fenrir's soldiers tightened formation without a single command being spoken.

Fenrir looked at them. Months under his command had changed their response. Once, he might have needed to order everyone into position. Now they moved with him instinctively. Not because they feared what would happen if they failed. But because they had decided long ago that if Fenrir stood somewhere dangerous, they would stand there too.

Shao Kahn had commanded loyalty through terror. He had rejected that method long ago. Fenrir had never fully understood how much stronger that chosen loyalty could feel until moments like this.

He looked back toward Goro confidently. “Are you sure?” Goro's brows drew together. Fenrir gestured casually around himself. “Because from where I'm standing, I feel pretty well guarded.”

The soldiers behind him did not smile. They carried proudly, just like the Ush-Tar, Fenrir's emblem proudly in their armour.

The Shokan prince stepped closer. His enormous body cast a shadow on Fenrir. “You stand beneath my mountain with fifty outsiders while hundreds of Shokan surround you.” Goro's lower hands clenched. “How long do you imagine your little guard would survive against my Ush-Tar?”

One of the elite warriors struck the butt of his spear against the stone. The sound boomed through the hall. Goro leaned slightly forward. “How long would you? Earthrealmer.”

Fenrir's eyes narrowed. Before he could answer, another voice crossed the hall. “Longer than you might like.” Goro's head turned. The surrounding guards stiffened at the most familiar voice. A woman approached through the ranks of Shokan warriors.

It was none other than her. Sheeva. She did not possess Goro's overwhelming scale; few living Shokan did. Yet nothing about her presence could be mistaken for lesser strength.

She radiated the silent authority of someone who no longer needed to boast. Her powerful arms moved naturally at her sides; broad shoulders held straight beneath ceremonial armour fitted for battle rather than display. Golden plates followed the lines of crimson cloth on her body without hiding them, leaving Fenrir briefly aware of the contrast between disciplined muscle and the distinctly feminine curve of her waist and hips. The firmness of her curves accompanied her posture and the allure that her body emanated to any man or woman willing to take the challenge of fighting or seducing her.

Fenrir's gaze lingered a fraction longer than intended.

Sheeva, always aware of her surroundings, noticed. Her eyes flicked toward him. Down once, taking in the lean strength beneath Fenrir's attire, the scars visible near his collar, the relaxed way he stood beneath Goro's shadow as though size were little more than an inconvenient disadvantage. Then back to his eyes. A faint curve appeared at the corner of her mouth. Seductive and provocative. Just as she allowed it to be seen, it was gone almost immediately.

Fenrir's brow rose by the smallest amount. “Interesting.” He thought.

Sheeva's attention returned to Goro before anyone else could read much into the exchange. “He is not alone.” Her tone hardened. She stopped beside Fenrir, close enough that the declaration became a physical fact. “You would do well to remember that.” Goro's nostrils flared. Sheeva continued either way. “Fenrir Kahn entered Golvalin as my honoured guest.”

One of her upper arms folded across her chest. “Place a hand upon him while he remains beneath my protection, and I will not merely be permitted to answer.” Her eyes narrowed. “I will be obligated to.” A small murmur travelled through the Shokan guards. Fenrir glanced sideways at her. Sheeva did not confront Goro by pretending she could overpower him.

She confronted him with the one weapon he could not simply punch through without damaging his own claim. The code.

Goro looked at her with open contempt. “So,” He turned fully toward her. “You finally decide to show your face.”

Sheeva's expression remained flat. “I never hid it.” She stepped forward until only a short distance separated them. “I stood before every trial required of me. Faced every challenger placed in my path.” One of her lower hands gestured toward the ancient palace around them. “And I am still here.”

Goro grunted in reply. “Because fools like you confuse endurance with worthiness.”

Sheeva's eyes sharpened. Coldly, she replied: “Then you should be concerned by how many of those fools sit among the elders.”

Goro's upper fists tightened. “They are old men afraid of what strength is required to lead our people.” He narrowed his eyes with disdain. “They are nothing more than keepers of foolish code.” That word carried more than personal contempt.

Around them, warriors began separating instinctively. Those bearing symbols aligned with Goro drifted toward the prince. Others moved closer to Sheeva. The division Fenrir's had seen throughout Kuatan was suddenly standing in the same hall. This time armed. Ready for a brawl. Kintaro's claws flexed, bracing himself. Skarlet's hand instinctively twitched. Fenrir felt the air change almost immediately.

Then, three dull taps echoed from deeper within the palace. Not loud. Yet every Shokan stopped dead in their tracks. An old figure emerged from beneath the shadows of the ancestral columns. Two elders followed him several paces behind.

The leader walked with a long staff of black stone reinforced by bands of gold. Age had bowed his shoulders but not his gaze. Small pieces of ceremonial armour rested over layered robes, each plate engraved with marks Fenrir assumed represented victories or generations of service.

The old Shokan did not look powerful. The reaction to his arrival said otherwise. Kintaro bowed immediately. The Ush-Tar lowered their spears. Shokan warriors on both sides placed their hands over their chests. Even Sheeva inclined her head. Goro, instead, remained stoic.

The elder planted his staff against the floor. “Enough.” His voice was roughened by age. Yet, the entire hall surrendered to it.

“Kilur.” Goro greeted the elder solemnly.

Fenrir had heard the name during the journey. He was the oldest among the three presiding elders. Therefore, he was the keeper of the succession rites. One of the few living Shokan whose authority did not come from the number of warriors he had slain. But from his merits throughout the centuries.

Kilur looked from Sheeva to Goro. “Every Shokan present knows the Code.” His gaze moved toward the gathered warriors. “You will remember it.” Then back to the claimants. “Until the council convenes, neither candidate will provoke, challenge or strike the other within these halls.”

Goro scoffed. “This is nonsense—”

Kilur's staff struck the floor. “It is the law your ancestors wrote.” Goro fell silent. Kilur stepped slightly closer. The old Shokan had to tilt his head upward considerably to meet the prince’s eyes. Yet, he did so without hesitation. “Prince.” The title came colder than Fenrir expected. “If you wish to inherit the authority of your bloodline, you will first demonstrate that you remain capable of obeying the laws they had created.”

Goro's jaw clenched. Several Shokan inhaled sharply.

Fenrir watched Goro carefully. The prince could kill Kilur. Physically, there was little doubt. Perhaps one blow would be more than enough. Goro knew that, so did everyone around him. But striking the elder would cost something his fists could not recover. Legitimacy. He would be proving Sheeva's argument for her: that Goro believed strength placed him above the very traditions he claimed gave him the throne.

For a long moment, the prince’s lower fists trembled. Then stopped. Goro looked toward Sheeva. Sheeva's eyes remained as cold as before. Goro turned and roared. “Ush-Tar.” His warriors immediately followed. Goro did not wait for the sorcerer. That tiny detail did not escape Fenrir.

Shang Tsung watched Goro leave with the faintest narrowing of his eyes before following at a more leisurely pace. “Seems like Goro and Shang aren’t as tight as I thought they were.” Fenrir thought.

Shang paused long enough to glance toward the monarchs. “Until tonight, then.” His pleasant smile returned. “I suspect the council will be considerably more entertaining than our arrival.”

Kitana stared at him coldly. “Your presence tends to guarantee that.”

Shang's poisonous smile widened. “You flatter me, my dear Kitana.” He turned away. The hooded figure moved beside him. For one brief moment, however, she did not follow. Her face remained hidden beneath the cowl, but her head turned slightly toward Kitana.

Then toward Fenrir. The pause lasted barely a heartbeat. Shang spoke her way without turning. Something too quiet to distinguish. Then, the figure moved. Fenrir watched until both disappeared into the leftward halls.

His thoughts threatened to follow them. Kilur's voice pulled him back. “Emperor.”

Fenrir turned. The two other elders were already withdrawing into separate passages, attendants gathering behind them as preparations for the night's council resumed.

Kilur studied Fenrir, carefully rather than reverently.

Fenrir inclined his head and addressed the older shokan. “Elder. Thank you for having us.

“Welcome to Golvalin.” Kilur's eyes moved briefly toward the hall Goro had taken. Then toward the opposite wing. “Be mindful of where you stand while beneath this roof.”

Fenrir raised a brow. Kilur continued before he could answer. “Kuatan is divided deeply enough that every guest eventually becomes a symbol, whether he intends to or not.” His gaze hardened. “You have already chosen whom you support. Do not mistake that choice for authority over what happens next.”

Fenrir understood the warning. It was not merely about personal safety. If he barged into Shokan politics like Shao Kahn once would have, everything he had promised Sheeva about autonomy became meaningless.

Fenrir bowed his head again. “I understand.”

Kilur held his gaze long enough to decide whether he believed him. “See that you continue to.” He turned. “The ancestors will hear the claimants at nightfall.” Then he was gone.

Fenrir watched him disappear. “Friendly man.”

Kitana gave him a sideways look. “Fenrir.”

“What? I like him.” He said with a grin. Jade's lips curved.

Sheeva shook her head. “You have been inside my kingdom for less than an hour and have already antagonised Goro and impressed Kilur”

Fenrir looked at her. His grin never faltered. “Productive morning if I say so myself.”

This time Sheeva's mouth actually curved. Only slightly. “Come.” She gestured toward the opposite wing as they moved deeper into Golvalin.