New Faces.

“So, there are no kings or emperors on Earthrealm?” Kitana asked, her gaze fixed on her reflection, though it was clear she was not truly looking at herself.

The question lingered for a moment.

Fenrir leaned back against the stone wall, arms loosely crossed. “Not anymore. The ones that still exist are mostly ceremonial. Real authority rests with elected leaders, presidents or prime ministers in most nations.”

Kitana paused with the eyeliner just short of her eyelid. A faint crease formed between her brows.

“That is… absurd,” she said at last. Then, after a beat, softer and more thoughtful, “...but not entirely without merit.”

A small smile touched Fenrir's lips. “I’ll take that as progress.”

She resumed her work with careful precision. “Do not rush your victories.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The chamber Kotal had given them was modest by royal standards, but deliberate in its design. Stone walls were softened by woven tapestries, and low-burning braziers cast a warm, steady glow over the room. It was not lavish, but it was respectful. A warrior’s hospitality. Enough comfort to make the place feel lived in, not merely assigned.

Kitana sat at the vanity with flawless posture, every movement measured and refined. Yet there was something gentler in her tonight. A looseness in her shoulders. A quiet she rarely allowed herself in court.

Fenrir watched her, not openly, but not trying very hard to hide it either. She noticed, of course. She always did.

“Is there something on my face?” she asked without turning.

“Just trying to figure out how Queen Kitana can look so perfect even when she is not facing me.”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Careful. You are speaking to your queen.”

“Oh, I am aware.” He tilted his head. “I am just testing how much authority I am allowed tonight.”

That finally made her glance at him, sideways and amused.

There it was again, the strange ease between them. Not enough to erase what they were, but enough to make the room feel warmer than the braziers did. Kitana adjusted one of her earrings, then let her attention settle on him in the mirror as she spoke.

“You are allowed to speak,” she said. “That does not mean I will always spare you.”

“I would not expect you to.”

She gave a quiet hum. “You say that as if you enjoy being made to work for my patience.”

Fenrir's smile deepened. “I enjoy a lot of things about you.”

Kitana’s eyes lingered on him in the mirror a moment longer than necessary before she returned to her makeup. “Flattery will not get you far.”

“It might not,” he said, his voice lowering just enough to make the tease feel private, “but I suspect honest curiosity will.”

That earned a soft, restrained laugh from her. Not the courtly kind, the real one. The one he seemed to draw out of her more and more often.

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But do not let it go to your head.”

“I would never.”

The silence that followed was not awkward. It was companionable, almost intimate, the kind that settled only between people who had begun to trust the same quiet. Fenrir watched the way she worked, steady hands, elegant posture, the kind of composed grace that had once been survival and was now simply her nature. Yet here, away from the court, there was less steel in it. More softness around the edges.

It always seemed to happen like this. Kitana would ask a question about Earthrealm, or politics, or his life, and somehow the conversation would become something else entirely. Not a lesson or an interrogation, a conversation. One that let her hear his voice and let him see the part of her that did not wear a crown first.
She liked those small glimpses of flirtatious words they gave to each other. It showed her the same interest she gave him; besides, she loved it when he took the initiative. It made her feel wanted but also respected. He never **** anything. He only played this game of “diplomatic flirting”; they were on perfectly…perhaps he was a better suitor and partner than she thought. She giggled softly under her breath, of course he was. It was just fun teasing him, especially when she playfully mocked him, and he acted all flustered, all taken aback. Perhaps she learned that from Mileena, she was an expert in that area of expertise, she was so skilled that.
“I do have an opinion,” she said at last, still facing the mirror. She was glad he was paying attention and being as perceptive as always. Something that she adored and quite frankly made her even more attracted to him, those flashes of pure intelligence and perception were unexpected at first, but soon she realised that Fenrir was someone quite skilled and cunning. Very similar to the three of them, the queens, in a good way. He would never admit it, but she knew that he didn’t need her to rule. He was more than capable by how he acted and was, yet he had shown that he didn’t care about that, and honestly, he shared with her that he had grown to care for them genuinely…and so did they for him.

She felt warm all around her body when she thought of those eyes of his, those romantic eyes. And she wasn’t sure yet, but she had her theories that so did Jade and Mileena. She couldn’t blame them, while he would deny it and say that they were well above his league; in reality, he was a catch. Maybe they were the lucky ones here.

Those thoughts sometimes drifted more warmly to her thighs. More specifically, they led themselves to become lustful and needing of his touch again. Those thoughts reminisced of that moment they shared in the hot thermal waters…how one thing led to another and finally to both of them enjoying and accepting their sexual attraction for each other. The way he touched her, how his voice sounded deep and warm to her ears, how he looked at her with passion and hunger, and she returned it tenfold… She couldn’t, and didn’t, want to forget the mental image of seeing his naked body in all its gorgeous and handsome freedom just for her to appreciate and how she did the same for him.

Even though that was the catalyst for that passionate embrace, truthfully for her and him, there was a growing need to hold each other in their arms. For love to take over them and to become officially lovers; That politically decreed, imposed by the elder gods, could become official one day, perhaps she would call him his husband with loving pride of sharing her love, bed, body, soul and life with him.

“I was hoping you did.” He answered.

That made her mouth curve slightly. “Then you are fortunate.”

“I know.”

She let out a quiet breath, and for a moment her expression softened in the mirror. Then she straightened again, the queen returning to the surface without ever fully banishing the woman beneath.

“It sounds unstable,” she said. “But in a way, it allows for liberty of choice. The chance for the people to determine who speaks for them.”

Fenrir raised an intrigued eyebrow. “As in?”

“Well, on one hand, changing your ruler every 4 to 6 years sounds unstable.” She explained, “Especially if the next or prior ruler or… how did you call it?”
“President or prime minister.” He answered with an amused smile.

“Thank you.” She replied, thankfully smiling. “If the president from this new party, as you said, thinks differently from the last one, then it would mean an unstable state, and it can lead to corruption.”

“Isn’t that the same with monarchs? I always found that more unstable and worse in the long term.” Kitana looked at him now with a raised eyebrow, the sheer irony of what he was saying. “Yeah, I know our current status, I meant the ones who are incompetent or evil for decades till ****.”

Kitana’s expression turned thoughtful. “It is said that when a ruler is born, the gods toss a coin into the air.”

Fenrir snorted softly. “That sounds about right.”

“Then perhaps Earthrealm merely tosses the same coin more often.”

He laughed under his breath. “You make it sound like an insult.”

“It might be.”

She set the second earring in place, then sat back slightly, finally giving him her full attention. “I do not think your system is without value. It is simply difficult for me to imagine it working well for long.”

Fenrir's expression stayed calm, but he listened closely.

Kitana continued, her voice even, almost analytical now. “At least with a crown, people know where the power sits. With these elected leaders, as you call them, the danger is not only corruption. It is speed. A man can take everything in a few years and leave no time for the consequences to catch him.”

“That can happen under a monarchy, too.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “But usually because of incompetence, or because the ruler is surrounded by snakes.” Then, a quieter admission: “It is why I trust you more than most people who wear a title.”

“I don’t think it’s all bad.” She answered honestly. “I think it’s an interesting way, one that most clans here apply, although those are chosen from merit and skill, and they last till retirement or ****. Not temporary charges like the ones you mentioned. That being said, I think it’s good for the people to have the choice to choose who they want to be represented by…although sometimes it can be misguided.”

“Well spoken.” He said with a smirk.

“I still prefer monarchy, at least in our case,” she stated. “Edenians and Outworlders live too long for constant upheaval to be anything but dangerous. A good king or queen can guide a realm for centuries. A bad one can do the same damage. But it is still easier to hold a line than to rebuild one every few years.” She met his eyes in the mirror. “What I do not trust is greed disguised as duty.”

“And you do not think that happens in monarchies?”

Kitana gave him a small, knowing look. “Of course it does. Usually from incompetence, vanity, or snakes in the court.”

Fenrir smiled faintly. “You have a way with words.”

“I tend to use them only when I mean them.”

That made him nod once, more serious now. “There are good governments, too, Kitana. Just because they are younger does not mean they are meaningless.”

“I believe you,” she said. “I simply cannot picture it.”

And there it was, the difference between them, laid bare without hostility. Not a clash. Not yet. Just two lives shaped by very different lessons, trying to understand each other without surrendering what they knew to be true.

“It is easier to destroy four years of work in a day than fifty years of rule,” she said quietly. “And easier still to be fraudulent if you know you can disappear before the people see what you have done.”

Fenrir held her gaze, thoughtful. In the pause that followed, both of them seemed to understand that this was no longer only a debate about systems. It was also a debate about trust, about power, and about what kind of future they were trying to build together.

“It is also easier to inherit a corrupted and dishonourable bloodline,” Fenrir said, his tone steady but more forceful now, “and while change can take generations, it is always harder to undo than to destroy. Whole dynasties have collapsed because their vision was lost long before the throne was. What remains after that is decadence, tyranny and rot. In Shao Kahn’s case, all of it at once.”

Kitana’s posture sharpened at once. She turned from the mirror just enough to look at him properly.

“I agree,” she said, though her voice had grown firmer. “But that is the danger of judging from the outside. You can take one ruler and decide the whole bloodline is cursed. That is not the truth, Fenrir.” Her eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in conviction. “Maybe someone like Reiko would call Shao Kahn a strong ruler. To us, and to most of the realms, he was a monster.”

Fenrir exhaled through his nose, letting the argument sit for a moment before answering. “I am not judging you,” he said more quietly. “And I am certainly not saying you have Shao Kahn in you. I am saying that power can rot anything if it is left alone long enough. If I sat on that throne for centuries and started believing I was untouchable, who knows what I would become.”

Kitana’s expression softened, but only slightly. “You are not him.”

“I hope not.”

The words came out low, and something in them made the room feel smaller. Fenrir broke eye contact first, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. The movement was small, but Kitana caught it immediately. She always did. Whatever confidence he wore in council, she had begun to learn the quieter signs that followed after it, the tension in his shoulders, the way his voice changed when he was carrying too much.

She rose from the vanity at once and crossed to him. Her hand found his, and then, with careful tenderness, she leaned in and rested her head briefly against his shoulder.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

He did not answer right away. Not because he was hiding it, but because he was choosing how to say it. That, too, she was beginning to understand about him.

“Yes,” he admitted at last. “And I have been trying not to let it show.” He looked down at their joined hands. “Sometimes I am afraid I am making things worse. Every choice feels like it could help or ruin everything, and I keep wondering whether I am helping you three and Outworld… or just delaying the damage.”

Kitana listened without interrupting; her thumb moved slowly over the back of his hand.

“That fear is understandable,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “I just do not know if I am the emperor Outworld needs.”

That made her go still.

Fenrir kept going, more honest now that he had started. “I feel like the war is on me. I feel like every person who gets hurt because of this conflict is a reminder that I have not done enough, or done it correctly. I was never meant to lead anything. I am used to fighting, improvising, making decisions on my own and half the time that only makes things worse.”

Kitana’s expression did not change at first. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

Fenrir blinked. “What?”

“You,” she said, and there was affection in it now. “You are such a fool sometimes, and you do not even notice.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “I am not in the mood for being te—”

She lifted a finger and pressed it gently to his lips.

“Then listen,” she said, calm but unmistakably firm. “First, you are not an idiot. And you are certainly not a bad emperor. You have done better than most would have dared in your place, and you continue to do so with every day that passes. You do not see it because you are standing inside the storm. We are the ones watching it from the outside.” Her eyes held his, serious now, warm beneath that severity. “Jade sees it, Mileena sees it, I see it, and so do the people.”

She lowered her hand and squeezed his more tightly.

“Outworld chose you because you gave them something they had not felt in a long time, hope. Not because they were ****, but because they believed in what you are trying to build. More than you think. And yes, you have made mistakes. So have I. So have Jade and Mileena. Mistakes do not make us weak, Fenrir. They teach us how to carry the next time differently.”

He watched her in silence, the hard edge of his worry beginning to soften.

“And second,” she continued, quieter now, “you do not need to punish yourself every time you are uncertain. You are building something real here. Something that does not belong to Shao Kahn, to fear or to the old Outworld. Something worth protecting.” Her voice gentled further as she looked at him. “Something I care about deeply.”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The argument had not vanished, but it had changed shape. What remained between them was not just comfort. It was trust; quiet, deliberate, and still growing. Kitana could feel it in the stillness of the room, in the way the moonlight had begun to spread across the floor, silvering the edges of the bed and the vanity. The night had settled properly now, and with it came a softness she had only recently allowed herself to feel.

Fenrir looked at her the way she was looking at him: not with hunger, not with heat, but with the dangerous tenderness that always seemed to come before something mattered too much.

They both knew what was waiting there, just beneath the surface. The time for hunger and lustful desire was fading. Something deeper, more deliberate and romantic, was growing between them…and far more frightening because of it.

Kitana felt it first, a small, involuntary breath as the space between them thinned. Fenrir moved with her, not toward her, but with her, as though neither wished to **** the moment ahead of itself. Her fingers shifted in his hand. His thumb brushed once against her knuckles. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then returned to his eyes.

It was nearly enough; the moment was prepared for.

Then a knock came.

Both of them froze. Kitana let out a quiet, surprised laugh, the sound of it soft and breathless as the spell between them broke.

“I suppose we should see who that is,” Fenrir said, though his tone carried the faint disappointment of a man who had been interrupted at the exact wrong moment.
“I suppose so,” she replied, still smiling, though her cheeks had gone faintly pink. Returning to the vanity to apply the final touches to her makeup.

Fenrir stood and crossed to the door, carrying that strange warmth with him, the kind that made the room feel brighter after he had passed through it. He reached for the handle, still thinking of how close they had been to doing it all over again in passion, to turning quiet trust into something undeniable.

When he opened it, he found himself looking at an unexpected face.

“Howdy,” Erron said plainly.

Fenrir blinked. “...Hi?”

Kitana glanced over her shoulder from the vanity, one hand still near her face as she finished the last careful line of her eyeliner. “Who is it?”

“Erron Black,” Fenrir murmured, opening the door just enough to see him clearly. Behind the frame, Syzoth stood watch outside, silent, invisible and alert as a statue with a pulse.

Kitana gave a small, curious hum. “Why is he here?”

“Good question.” Fenrir looked back at her, then opened the door wider. “Might as well ask.”

Erron stood in the corridor with that easy, lazy confidence of his, hat low, posture relaxed, like he had every right to be there and knew it. “Mind if I come in?” he asked. “I’d hate to start a royal scandal without permission. Also, I’m unarmed, if that helps settle any nerves.”

Fenrir studied him for a beat, then glanced at Kitana. She gave him a slight nod.

“Fine,” Fenrir said. “But try anything stupid, and I’m breaking your teeth.”

Erron’s chuckle came out warm and dry. “That’s the kind of hospitality I was hoping for.”

He stepped inside as if he belonged there, tipping his hat at Kitana with practised ease. “My queen, radiant as ever.”

Kitana didn’t fully turn from the mirror. “Erron, as charming and obstinate as always.”

“Wouldn’t be me otherwise.”

Fenrir folded his arms. “So? Why are you here? If this is about escorting us to dinner, we can walk without a babysitter.”

“Babysitter?” Erron repeated, amused. “Kid, I’ve seen better manners in a saloon knife-fight.”

Syzoth, still outside, gave a low, warning hiss at the insult. Erron glanced toward the door and smirked. “Relax, reptile. I’m just admiring the local wildlife.”
Fenrir snorted despite himself. “That answer didn’t help.”

“Nope.” Erron reached up, removed his hat, and from the inner band produced a gold coin. It gleamed once in the firelight before he flipped it toward Fenrir.

Fenrir caught it one-handed, inspected the black dragon emblem stamped into one side, then tossed it to Kitana without looking away from Erron. She caught it smoothly, finally turning enough to examine it. “What is this?”

“A mercenary coin,” Erron said, settling one hand on his belt buckle. “Old Black Dragon issue. Means somebody’s still got business, contacts, and enough bad habits to keep the world interesting.”

Kitana’s eyes narrowed. “You can keep it. We are done dealing with Kano’s people.”

“Good,” Erron said. “Because I’m not with them anymore.”

Fenrir's expression didn’t change, but his tone sharpened just a little. “That’s convenient.”

Erron shrugged. “Sure is. But convenient doesn’t mean false.”

Kitana set the coin back on the table with careful fingers. “Then what do you want?”

Erron’s grin widened a fraction. “I want to work for you, personally.”

Fenrir gave him a flat look. “That usually means payment.”

“It usually does,” Erron said. “And I ain’t cheap.”

Kitana turned from the mirror at last, studying him with that calm, appraising look she reserved for people who thought they were harder to read than they were. “I assume Kotal knows you are here.”

“He knows.” Erron’s tone was smooth, almost casual. “He also knows I’m better used doing something that matters than standing around looking pretty for his enemies.”

That earned a faint, surprised look from Fenrir. “He agreed to this?”

Erron nodded. “Said Outworld could use another pair of eyes and a gun that doesn’t get sentimental.”

Kitana folded her arms. “And you came here for that reason alone?”

“No,” Erron said. “I came because I’ve got information you’ll want. A lot of it.”

He reached for the bedside table and set down a small black device marked with the Black Dragon emblem. With a click, it lit up, projecting a map of Earthrealm and multiple marked locations across the globe.

Fenrir straightened. “Those…those are Black Dragon hideouts.”

“Bingo.” He answered with a smirk.

Kitana stepped closer, her composure shifting into sharper interest. “How much of this is accurate?”

“All of it.” Erron powered the display off and tucked the device back into his coat. “Safehouses, weapons caches, meeting points, blacksites, names if you know where to look. Enough to make a proper nuisance outta their whole operation.”

Fenrir let out a slow breath. That was the kind of information Special Forces would kill for. “And you’re just offering this?”

“Not free,” Erron said. “But I’m not asking for much.”

Kitana’s eyes narrowed again. “Of course you aren’t.”

Erron gave her a crooked tilt of the head. “You’re welcome to distrust me, queen. Comes with the territory. But I’m not here to rob you, poison you, or sell you out to whatever lunatic I used to work for last month.”

Fenrir held his gaze. “You do understand this sounds suspicious as hell.”

“I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”That almost drew a smile from him. Erron continued, “I figured I’d make myself useful while I’m here. Kotal’s got me handling a few things already, but Outworld’s changing. Seems like a good time to be on the winning side.”

“You say that very confidently,” Fenrir said.

“Son, confidence is the only currency I’ve ever trusted.”

Syzoth’s voice came from the doorway, dry and edged. “And men like you rarely pay their debts honestly.”

Erron turned his head toward the Zaterran and tipped two fingers from his hat. “And yet, here I am.”

Fenrir exhaled through his nose, then looked to Kitana. She didn’t like the man; that much was obvious, but she wasn’t dismissing the value of what he brought either. That was enough for now.

“We leave tomorrow at midday,” Fenrir said at last. “Pack light.”

Erron grinned. “Already did.” He tossed the device back to Fenrir. “Keep it. Use it for the Special Forces, burn it or hand it to whoever needs the headache. I’m just the messenger.”

Fenrir caught it and tucked it away. “You’re sure you want to hand this over?”

Erron started toward the door. “Kid, I’ve spent enough years in bad company to know when it’s time to cash out.”

He paused on the threshold, glanced toward Syzoth, and gave him a lazy salute. “Snake.”

Syzoth didn’t move. “Cowboy.”

Erron’s laughter drifted after him as he left, his boots fading down the hall with an easy whistle that sounded entirely too relaxed for a palace full of royalty and war.
The moment the door shut, Kitana sighed and set her makeup aside. “He is insufferable.”

Fenrir smirked. “That means he’s probably useful.”

“That is not comforting.”

“It was not meant to be.”

He slid the device into his coat and looked toward the door, where Syzoth still stood guard. “He might be a pain in the ass, but Kotal trusts him enough to let him speak. That tells me something.”

Kitana stepped closer, her gaze thoughtful now. “It tells me he wants more than a contract.”

Fenrir looked back at her. “You think he’s feeding information to Kotal?”

“I think he is feeding information to anyone who will pay him, and Kotal knows that.” She crossed her arms lightly. “He is not here by accident. Nothing about that man is accidental.”

Fenrir considered that, then gave a small shrug. “Maybe. But if he can help us and hurt Black Dragon operations at the same time, I’m not going to complain.”
“You are very quick to trust questionable men when they bring useful information.”

“I prefer to call it strategic optimism.”

Kitana arched a brow. “That sounds suspiciously like foolishness with better posture.”

He laughed and reached for his jacket. “And yet you still like me.”

Her expression softened despite herself. “Unfortunately, yes.”

He moved to her side, slipping an arm around her waist. She let him, her posture easing at once. Fenrir kissed the top of her head with quiet affection.
“I’m being careful,” he said. “If Kotal wants to judge me, then I’d rather give him the best version of me.”

Kitana leaned into him just enough to show she approved. “You say that as if you are not already doing exactly that.”

Fenrir smiled. “Then let’s make a good impression anyway.”

She gave a small, amused huff and touched his arm. “I like the sound of that.”

With that, they left the chamber together, Syzoth falling in behind them like a silent blade, watchful as ever.

The rulers entered the dining hall with quiet grace, their arms loosely intertwined as they crossed the threshold together. Syzoth followed a pace behind them, hood and mask removed for the occasion, his posture rigid with duty even as he tried to seem at ease. Fenrir had dressed more formally than usual, trading his practical black layers for a fitted crimson-and-black coat that gave him the bearing of an emperor without stripping away the edge that made him unmistakably himself. Kitana wore a gown custom-made to honour her figure and her rank, elegant and refined, with enough ornamentation to catch the candlelight without ever looking excessive. It was clearly Ammit’s work; tasteful, deliberate, made for a queen.

The room itself carried the same balance. A long stone table sat at the centre beneath dark green cloth, golden plates, polished utensils, and a spread of appetisers that gave the space the feeling of a ceremonial welcome rather than a tense negotiation. Braziers burned low along the walls, their light warm rather than harsh, and tapestries depicting Osh-Tekk victories, rituals, and old cityscapes hung between columns like reminders of what had survived.

Guards stood at attention near the doors and along the walls, while nobles and officers filled the room in measured clusters, speaking in low voices until Kotal’s arrival gave the evening shape. D’Vorah moved among them with unsettling ease, her posture calm, her attention sharp, speaking to one noble, then another, as though she were gathering more than conversation from each of them.

Kotal greeted them himself, hands folded behind his back, his expression composed and watchful. “I am glad you decided to stay,” he said with a respectful nod.
Fenrir and Kitana returned it in kind. Kotal turned to the room and raised his voice just enough to command it without straining. “Everyone, I present to you Emperor Fenrir and Queen Kitana of Outworld. Guests of honour in this fortress. Treat them as such. I will answer any offence to them.” His gaze settled over the room like a blade. “Now eat, drink, and speak as civilised people while the food is prepared.”

The effect was immediate. The nobles bowed, some sincerely, some out of obligation, and Fenrir could feel the weight of Kotal’s influence behind it. Their acceptance was real enough, but not effortless; too many still looked at him and saw not an emperor but an Earthrealmer who had somehow taken a throne that had belonged to monsters and warlords for too long. He understood that. He did not expect admiration to come cheaply. He and the queens were not rebuilding Outworld to be loved on command. They were building it to be better, to make it stronger in culture, in law, in dignity, something worth defending because it deserved to exist, not because fear demanded it.

That became obvious quickly as the questions started. Some were careful, some obvious, some dressed up as courtesy, and some barely hid their contempt. Kitana handled them with the kind of effortless precision that came from millennia of practice. She could be soft when she chose, but her poise never truly gave way; she answered each noble like a queen who did not need to raise her voice to remind them of the room's hierarchy. Fenrir watched her with open admiration, leaning against the wall while Syzoth stood nearby like a silent shadow. He had never enjoyed courtly politics, but he could recognise skill when he saw it. Kitana made every reply sound measured, every correction sound graceful, and every warning feel like a lesson they would be foolish to forget.

One noble, a tall Osh-Tekk with jewelled rings and the self-satisfied tone of someone used to being heard, gave voice to what several others were thinking. “My queen,” he said, with the careful edge of a man trying to sound reasonable while testing limits, “how do you intend to tax us? Your reforms and your husband’s ambitions cannot be funded without cost. Some of us fear the burden will be no lighter than it was under Shao Kahn.”

Kitana did not bristle. She only turned her gaze toward him with the calm of someone who had survived courts far crueller than this one. “Count Nicteé,” she replied evenly, “if you had read the reform in full, you would already know how that burden is being handled.”

A few nobles exchanged murmurs. Nicteé lifted his chin. “I did read it. I still have doubts. It sounds as though you are asking more from us than you are willing to sacrifice.”

“You are mistaken,” Kitana said, her tone still measured, still royal. “It is the opposite. The crown is drawing from its own wealth first. We are using what Shao Kahn hoarded to rebuild roads, restore trade, and repair what his reign broke. Just a week ago, the emperor sold the last of Shao Kahn’s remaining treasures to secure tools, materials, and resources for Outworld’s recovery.” She let that settle before continuing. “Yes, you will still be taxed. But eighty per cent of what is collected stays in your own communities, managed by your regents with our approval. The remaining portion supports the realm as a whole. That is not tribute for war, it is investment in a future.”

The nobles quieted. Even the sceptical ones seemed to have less to cling to now. Nicteé hesitated, then gave the smallest tilt of his head. “I was not aware of that last part.”

Kitana’s mouth curved, just slightly. “Yes. I had gathered as much.”

Fenrir watched from the wall with a private grin, while Syzoth stood beside him, arms behind his back, calm and attentive. “She’s good, isn’t she?” Fenrir murmured.
Syzoth’s eyes remained on the room, but his answer came with a dry fondness. “Indeed, my liege. You are a fortunate man.”

Fenrir snorted softly. “Are you saying I’d have no chance without her?”

“I am saying,” Syzoth replied, “that without her, you would have to work much harder to look half as convincing.”

Fenrir laughed under his breath. “Look at you, what a snake.”

“I am a reptile, not a snake,” Syzoth said, the faintest edge of amusement in his voice. “Use your insults correctly.”

“Then **** on a fly,” Fenrir muttered, still smiling.

Before the exchange could settle, another voice cut in from the side. “Gentlemen.”

Erron Black tipped his hat with the easy confidence of a man who had never been welcome in rooms like this and had somehow learned to enjoy that fact. Syzoth tensed at once, and Fenrir raised a hand before anything could turn sharper. “Relax. I’m here in peace,” Erron said, taking in the room with a lazy glance. “Figured I’d get a proper look at the new boss before dinner.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Fenrir replied. “What do you want, Black?”

Erron’s grin widened a little. “Simple things. A drink, a conversation, and maybe a better understanding of who I’m working for.”

He produced a glass of whiskey with theatrical ease and offered it to Fenrir . Fenrir took it, sniffed it once, then looked at him with mild suspicion. “This whiskey?”

“Yup,” Erron said, taking a drink of his own. “And a damn fine one.”

Fenrir tasted it, then gave an approving hum. “How did you even get this in here?”

“I have my ways,” Erron said with a shrug. “And if you keep me on, I’ll make sure the palace gets a proper supply. Free of charge.”

“Nothing’s ever free,” Kitana said without looking over.

Erron gave a low, amused chuckle. “Now see, that’s why I like you already.”

Fenrir offered the glass to Syzoth. The Zaterran looked at it with open curiosity, then accepted it after a brief pause. He took a careful sip, endured the burn, and then, almost against his will, let the flavour settle. His expression shifted only slightly, but it was enough to amuse both Earthrealmers.

“Well?” Erron asked.

“It is… acceptable,” Syzoth said at last.

Fenrir grinned. “High praise.”

Erron lifted one shoulder. “Can’t please everybody.”

His attention drifted then, naturally, to the weapons at Fenrir's side. “That arsenal of yours, though. Now that’s a sight. That gun in particular looks like a revolver, shoots like a cannon. And that sword… there’s a story there.”

Fenrir's smile thinned a fraction. “There is.”

“Well,” Erron said, “A man should respect the pack another man is carrying.”

Fenrir cringed at that, clearly a phrase that had other connotations back in the day. “That sounds bad on so many levels…” He thought to himself, instead, he answered. “Thank you?”

“You are welcome, you got a nice piece, partner.” He said with a grin, taking another sip of his whiskey glass.

“Someone shoot me already.” He thought, wanting to escape this situation as fast as he could.

“How did you acquire or come to find something like that?” He asked, Syzoth didn’t add anything to that question, but he was curious himself as well.

“The gun was made by a good friend of mine,” Fenrir answered, passing the glass to Syzoth so he could have the final taste of the drink. He didn’t waste much time; as if thirsting for it, he drank it all quickly.

Erron nodded, interested in their service. “Anyway, should I contact her or him?”

“Perhaps, if you prove your worth and loyalty.” He answered simply. Making the bounty hunter smirk with respect at his reply. “And the sword?”

“A family heirloom.” He answered simply. There was no need for them to gain more information than needed.

“I see,” Erron said with a nod. “Anyhow, you are skilled with them. I’m sure our enemies will have a tough time dealing with that arsenal of yours.”

“On that we can agree upon Earthrealmer,” Syzoth said respectfully.

Fenrir shook his head, then followed Erron’s gaze across the room. It landed on D’Vorah, who was still moving from noble to noble with that same calm, deliberate precision. “What about her?” he asked at last. “What can you tell me about D’Vorah?”

Erron chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

Syzoth’s posture changed before Erron even answered. “You wish to speak about your comrade’s loyalty?” he asked, not quite accusing, but close.
Erron tilted his head. “Only the ones I don’t trust.”

“How did she find herself under Kotal’s wing?” Fenrir asked.

“She used to serve Shao Kahn as most of us did,” Erron said, eyes still on D’Vorah. “Then she switched sides when Kotal took the throne. She’s sharp. Effective. Keeps her cards close.”

“And trustworthy?” Fenrir asked.

Erron gave a dry little huff. “That depends on what you’re buying.”

“I don’t know… I don’t want to judge without knowing, but there’s a certain air from her that doesn’t feel right to me.” He stated. “He reminds me of some demons I hunted before arriving here; they were cunning and, in most cases, treacherous. They knew how to waive themselves into any court or position of power with the skills and words.”

“I don’t want to go against your will, my emperor, but I believe we don’t have enough information about D’Vorah for us to judge her actions and words,” Syzoth answered, not confronting but rather advising as a friend and ally.

“I have to agree with my fellow partner in crime here,” Erron added. “I don’t like her either nor trust her, I think she’s full of bull´. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to betray Kotal or something worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so, forget I asked that.” He stated, though his eyes lingered on her. She moved with ease around the nobles, like a snake snipping its poisonous fangs all over the crime scene before striking cold on the flesh.

Fenrir stepped out onto the balcony for a little air and a clearer head. The stone beneath his boots still held the day’s warmth, but the night had begun to soften it, and the city below was wrapped in moonlight and ember-glow. Z’Unkahrah looked different from up here, less like a fortress and more like a memory that refused to die. The rooftops, braziers, and distant terraces of the Osh-Tekk capital shimmered in silver and gold, while smoke from nearby pipes drifted through the open air in slow ribbons. It was a proud city, wounded but unbowed, and that alone gave it a kind of beauty Fenrir could respect.

A few nobles lingered nearby with something close to a pipe and shallow cups, speaking in low, measured tones. Fenrir kept to himself, hands resting on the stone railing as he stared out over the city, trying to let the noise of the hall fade behind him. He thought briefly of Kitana inside, of the way she had commanded the room without ever needing to raise her voice. That steadiness of hers always seemed to make the world feel more manageable. He almost smiled at the thought.
He did not stay alone for long.

“This one is curious,” D’Vorah said from behind him, her voice arriving a moment before she did. “Why does the emperor seek solitude when his beautiful queen remains inside?”

Fenrir glanced over his shoulder as she came to stand beside him. Even in the moonlight, she looked wrong in ways he could not immediately name; too still, too measured, as if every movement had been chosen by something else first. “It clears my head,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

D’Vorah let out a soft, buzzing laugh that made the hairs on the back of his neck tighten. “This one has no shortage of thoughts,” she replied. “You are the one who looks as though he carries too many.”

He turned back toward the city. “Maybe I do.”

“That is not loneliness?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“No,” Fenrir said after a beat. “Just stress. There’s a difference.”

D’Vorah stood beside him in silence for a few seconds too long, watching him instead of blinking, as if she were deciding whether his answer satisfied her. “This one observes many things,” she said at last. “You rule with strength, yet you do not behave like the others who sat on that throne before you. It is unusual.”

Fenrir's mouth twitched faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“The hive has been discussing you,” she continued, her tone calm and almost clinical. “They buzz over your choices, your allies, your influence. They send signals back and forth through the tunnels and nests, trying to understand what you are becoming.”

Fenrir gave her a sideways look. “And what have you told them?”

D’Vorah’s expression barely changed, though something sharp flickered behind it. “Only that the emperor is still in motion.”

“Comforting.”

“This one aims to be accurate.”

He looked back out over the city again, but the unease she stirred did not leave with the gesture. She was speaking plainly, yet every sentence felt like it had been turned over in her mouth too many times before being released. He had learned to trust instincts like that; demons had taught him that much. “You ever been to the Netherrealm?” he asked suddenly.

D’Vorah’s head turned toward him with a faint delay, as though the question had arrived somewhere she had not expected it to. “This one has,” she said carefully. “For duty. Not pleasure.”

“Your people have any ties there?”

“No.” The answer came fast, then softened. “The hive had a realm of its own before Shao Kahn’s conquest, as did many others.”

Fenrir nodded once. “Right.”

D’Vorah studied him again. “Why does the emperor ask?”

He hesitated, then decided to answer honestly. “I’ve heard the word Kytinn before. Not here in Outworld or Earthrealm. In the Netherrealm.”

For the first time, D’Vorah’s composure slipped just enough for him to notice. Not fear, something closer to recognition. It vanished a heartbeat later, but Fenrir caught it. He did not know what it meant, only that it mattered. That was enough to stay with him.

D’Vorah folded her hands before her. “Perhaps it is a memory misfiled by the mind. The Netherrealm is full of false associations.”

“Maybe,” Fenrir said, though he did not sound convinced. “Or maybe not.”

At that, she moved the conversation on with eerie ease. “This one is intrigued by your rule,” she said. “An outsider seated on an Outworld throne, and yet the nobles listen. The armies obey. The citizens do not riot in the streets.”

Fenrir huffed softly. “You make it sound more impressive than it feels.”

“Is it not?”

He considered that, then shook his head. “I still think of them as people, not servants.”

D’Vorah’s gaze narrowed a fraction, the closest thing to disagreement she seemed to permit herself. “That is foolish.”

Fenrir looked at her properly now. “Is it?”

“Yes.” Her tone stayed even, but the words sharpened. “A loyal subject is useful. A citizen with a desire is dangerous. A person who believes they have choices may abandon you when a better offer appears. The hive does not suffer such instability.”

“That’s because your hive isn’t built the same way we are,” Fenrir said, voice quiet but firm. “Outworld was poisoned by fear for too long. I’m not rebuilding it on more of the same.”

D’vorah’s mouth curved faintly, though it did not reach her eyes. “And you think trust will hold where fear once did?”
“I think it’s better than chains.”
She considered him for a long moment, then gave a small, almost graceful incline of her head. “This one sees your intent. Make Outworld stronger, endure through time with a vision. That is not foolish.”

“But?” Fenrir asked.

“But strength can be gathered in many ways,” she said. “A hive-mind is stronger than a divided will. One voice is easier to guide than many.”

Fenrir let out a slow breath through his nose. “Maybe. But I’d rather have people who choose to stand with me than ones who were never allowed not to.”

The two of them held each other’s gaze for a beat too long. D’Vorah’s expression was unreadable, but he could feel the pressure in it. Not anger. Not even an offence. More like she was testing the shape of his conviction, pressing at it to see whether it bent.

Then she turned slightly, looking out at the moonlit city as though the matter had already been set aside. “Loyalty is tested eventually, emperor. One day, you will see what remains when it is asked to bleed.”

The warning sat between them like a stone.

Fenrir did not answer immediately. He only watched her as she stepped back, one measured pace at a time, leaving him with that strange, crawling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not fear. Not exactly. Something more annoying. The sense that he had spoken with a puzzle that knew it was a puzzle.

A sharp sting bit into the side of his neck.

He hissed, swatting at it on instinct as a small fly darted away into the night. “Gods damn it,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the spot. “That’s what, the fifth one tonight?”

He stared after the insect as it vanished into the dark, then let out a short, humourless laugh. “Do I have a target painted on me or something?”

With a final glance toward the balcony doors, Fenrir straightened and headed back inside, his mind still on D’Vorah, on the Netherrealm connection with D’Vorah, and on the uneasy feeling that some things in this fortress were not nearly as harmless as they pretended to be.

Next chapter is going to be a fever dream and the next one after that we are going to have some fun with Kitana...