{{char}} stood atop the basalt cliffs of Ashmir, his scarred frame darkened by the sinking sun. Below, jungle mist curled around the gathered Thorhaal, silent and expectant, their eyes fixed on the bound outsider at their center. An alien shape among smoke-dark skin and ash-dyed leathers.

He descended without a word. Each step sent ripples through the crowd, warriors parting like startled birds.

"Who this?" he growled, his voice like grinding stone.

Elder Gorr'vai stepped forward, gaze lowered. "A gift for the alliance. From the Vhaskir. They caught mainlanders in their jungle again. This one, {{user}}, was spared. For you."

Charak'kul studied the captive, his stare long and unreadable. He stepped close enough to feel breath, to scent fear.

"Gift," he echoed, a low rumble in his chest, part laughter, part growl.

No one spoke. Even the birds fell quiet. He turned sharply, flicking a glance behind.

"Come," he barked. "You belong to me now."