Chapter 3 — Gaze of the Warlord

Raik Draven

Raik Draven stood in the center of his command tent, the oppressive heat of the floodlamp above casting harsh shadows across his scarred face. The mingling scents of burning fuel, sweat, and aged leather hung thick in the air, a reminder of the constant tension that underpinned the camp. Outside, muffled voices and the clang of metal reminded him of the fragile unity within the coalition he had forged. The tent felt both like a sanctuary and a battlefield—a place where decisions carried the weight of survival.

Veyra leaned against the crude wooden table at his side, her arms crossed and her sharp green eyes fixed on him. “She’s lying,” she said bluntly, her voice edged with exasperation. “No scavenger comes out of the Flats looking that clean. And that bracelet—” She gestured with a sharp flick of her hand. “It’s too refined. She’s hiding something.”

Raik didn’t respond immediately. His dark gaze shifted to the tent’s entrance, where the flaps quivered faintly in the cold wind. His posture was as unyielding as stone, a figure of command clad in dark, militaristic gear. The tattered red scarf around his neck bore faint scorch marks, a relic of battles long past. He didn’t need to respond to Veyra right away; he knew her frustration well enough. It mirrored the cautious mistrust that kept them alive.

“Everyone’s hiding something,” he said at last, his voice low and gravelly, carrying the weight of too many years spent in the dirt and blood of survival. “The question is whether what she’s hiding is worth killing her over.”

Veyra let out a sharp breath, her wiry frame taut with irritation. “You’re too soft on these strays, Raik. Every time you think one of them might be useful, they turn around and stab us in the back—or worse.”

Raik’s piercing brown eyes turned toward her, and for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken tension. “And if we kill everyone who walks through these gates without asking questions, we’ll end up no better than the clans we’re trying to protect them from.”

Her lips tightened, but she didn’t argue. Raik knew she wasn’t wrong to be wary. Leadership meant walking a razor-thin edge between trust and suspicion, and every decision felt like one more weight pressing down on his shoulders.

The flaps of the command tent swept aside, breaking the charged silence. The scarred leader of the patrol entered, his expression grim, followed by the woman—tall, lean, and wiry, her ash-blonde hair pulled back in a utilitarian knot. She stepped forward with the hint of weariness in her stride, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Despite her apparent vulnerability, there was a calm, deliberate control to her movements that immediately set Raik on edge.

He studied her, his sharp gaze cataloging every detail with the precision of a hunter assessing prey. Her scavenger’s cloak hung awkwardly, too clean to belong to someone who had survived the Flats. Her boots bore no real sign of hard travel, and her posture was too composed for someone on the run. But it was the bracelet—gleaming faintly at her wrist beneath the folds of her cloak—that sent a faint whisper of unease crawling up his spine.

The patrol leader cleared his throat, breaking Raik’s thoughts. “She says she’s a scavenger. Claims she was attacked by raiders. No weapons aside from a knife. Nothing else of value on her, but…” He hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly toward Veyra.

“But what?” Raik prompted, his tone quiet but commanding.

The man shifted uneasily. “The bracelet. Looks like technocrat work to me. Didn’t seem smart to take it off her, in case it’s… you know, rigged with something.”

Raik stepped forward, his boots crunching faintly against the dirt floor of the tent. His shadow loomed over the woman as he stopped just in front of her. She didn’t flinch, though her steely gray eyes flicked up to meet his. For the briefest moment, something flickered in her gaze—defiance, anger, or maybe just survival instinct—but it was enough to hold his attention.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

“Selena,” she replied evenly, her tone steady despite the weight of his scrutiny.

“Selena what?”

“Just Selena.”

Her words carried a quiet defiance that wasn’t lost on Raik. He leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. “That’s a fine bracelet for someone who claims to be a scavenger. Where’d you get it?”

Selena’s fingers twitched—a subtle, almost imperceptible movement—but she kept them clasped together. “It was my mother’s,” she said softly, her voice carrying a faint tremor of emotion. “It’s all I have left of her.”

Raik’s gaze lingered on the bracelet. Its intricate craftsmanship was unmistakably technocratic, a relic of a world that no longer existed outside of ruins and legends. He couldn’t decide whether it marked her as a potential ally—or a threat. Either way, it raised too many questions for him to ignore.

“You don’t look like someone who’s been running from raiders,” he said, his voice laced with skepticism. “Your boots are clean, your cloak barely touched by dust, and you don’t carry yourself like someone used to groveling for scraps.”

Selena’s composure didn’t crack. “I’ve learned to take care of myself,” she said simply.

Raik felt Veyra’s eyes burning into his back, her unspoken thoughts hanging heavy in the air. He stepped to the side, glancing at her over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

“She’s lying,” Veyra said immediately, her tone sharp as a blade. “She’s too polished. Too calm. And that bracelet isn’t just sentimental—it’s tech. We both know it.”

Raik tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “She could be a technocrat, then.”

“If she is, why’s she here?” Veyra shot back. “No technocrat would willingly walk into this camp unless they had a death wish—or a damn good reason to lie about who they are.”

Selena’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but she offered no response. Raik turned his attention back to her, his gaze unrelenting. “So, what is it? Are you a scavenger? A technocrat? Or something else entirely?”

Her gray eyes flicked between him and Veyra, a calculated pause stretching the silence before she answered. “I’m someone looking for safety,” she said quietly, her voice firm. “If that’s not something you offer, say the word and I’ll leave.”

The boldness of her response caught Raik off guard. His instinct told him to distrust her, but there was something in her tone—something resolute and unyielding—that made him hesitate. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a cold, dangerous edge. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

Selena inclined her head slightly, conceding the point without apology.

Raik straightened, his decision made. He turned toward the guards at the tent’s entrance. “Find her a tent and keep her under guard,” he ordered. “No one talks to her unless I say so.”

The guards stepped forward, ready to escort Selena out, but before she could leave, Raik’s voice cut through the air once more. “And Selena?”

She paused, glancing back at him.

“If I find out you’re lying, I’ll kill you myself.”

Her expression didn’t change, but something about the way she carried herself as she left the tent set Raik’s instincts churning. He couldn’t shake the feeling that her presence was the beginning of something far more dangerous than it seemed.

When she was gone, Veyra exhaled sharply. “You’re making a mistake keeping her alive,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” Raik replied, his voice distant as his eyes lingered on the empty spot where Selena had stood. “Or maybe she’s exactly what we need.”

Veyra opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a look. “Keep an eye on her,” he said quietly. “I want to know everything she does, every move she makes.”

Veyra nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Raik didn’t respond. His thoughts had already shifted, turning over the possibilities that Selena represented. Whether she was a threat or an opportunity remained to be seen, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t here by accident.

And Raik intended to find out why.