Outside the gate, chaos reigned, rioters shouted obscenities and hurled spoiled vegetables. Henry, along with other family members stood guard at the entrance of the Bearington Estate carefully observing the growing tension.

Angry rioters shouted insults and hurled spoiled cabbages, chanting rhythmically “Share your food!” Their frustration and resentment toward the clans and kingdom were evident. Rumors spread the clans secretly stored food for the upcoming war, food they didn’t plan to ration.

Due to the Feline Kingdom’s successive victories, the Ursa Kingdom’s former trading partners were conquered one by one. Worse still, the Feline Kingdom declared a trade embargo on the Ursa Kingdom. Vassal states who traded with the Ursa Kingdom would be severely punished. Moreover, the envoys from the Akkadian Empire returned empty-handed. Now that the Bovine Kingdom was under siege, the Ursa Kingdom had one with whom they could purchase grain.

“Share your food stocks!” “You eat lavishly while we starve!” yelled the rioters. “I beg you to share your food, my children are starving,” begged a tearful Rabbiton mother, showing her children with sunken eyes.

“We have no food stocks!” yelled the guard standing next to Henry.

“Stop lying! Show us your hidden grain cellars,” shouted another protester.

Soon verbal spars erupted between the clan and rioters. Yet, through it all, Henry remained stoic.

But as the tension escalated, the rioters grew more aggressive, shaking the gates and some trying to crawl over the wall.

Behind the crowd, with a wide smirk, Henry noticed a player, one of Kenai’s henchmen, observing the crowd. Henry had no doubt, there were others like him outside each clan estate monitoring the situation.

But just as the situation seemed on the brink of spiraling out of control, a rumble of footsteps echoed through the air as the Bearington army assembled behind the gates. Clad in their armor and brandishing their weapons, they formed ranks with military precision, ready to restore order to the capital and quell the unrest.

“Move away from the gates…or die!” John ordered.

Henry knew his uncle meant every word. For his uncle the honor of the clan was sacrosanct. He would happily kill or lie to protect his family’s honor like he was prepared to do in Henry’s trial.

Hearing the order, rioters quieted down and backed away, their anger tempered by the sight of the formidable force assembled before them.

The rioters hesitated; their rage diluted by the undeniable power displayed before them. The air grew tense, a palpable silence stretching over the crowd as they weighed their desperation against the deadly serious threat.

John, standing tall and unwavering, surveyed the crowd with a steely gaze that brooked no argument. “This is your last warning,” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the whispers and murmurs of the retreating mob.

Henry, observing from his vantage point, felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. He understood the rioters’ plight—hunger and fear were powerful motivators. Yet, he also knew the importance of maintaining order and the safety of his family and their people.

As the crowd began to disperse, the atmosphere relaxed slightly, but the underlying tension remained. The kingdom was on a knife-edge, and today’s confrontation was but a symptom of deeper troubles plaguing the land. Henry wondered about the other clans, whether they too faced similar challenges, and how long before the strained peace broke entirely.

“Move out, defend the capital!” John ordered, as behind him, the clanking of armor and the soft thuds of boots on the earth signaled the army’s readiness to act.

As the gates closed behind him, the once riotous crowd began begging for food for themselves and their children. Parents even offered to sell their children for food. The once peaceful city was now engulfed in desperation and despair. As the gates of Bearington Estate shut with a resounding thud, the wails and cries of the crowd pierced the evening air, a stark reminder of the dire situation outside the protective walls. The Bearingtons were known for their might and resolve, but the growing humanitarian crisis posed a moral dilemma that brute force alone could not resolve.

In the heart of the capital, chaos reigned supreme. The streets, once bustling with the sounds of commerce and laughter, now echoed with the shouts of angry protesters, arson, and the clang of metal against metal.

Emboldened by their rage and frustration, the rioters had taken to the streets in droves, their numbers swelling with each passing moment. They moved like a tidal wave, sweeping through the city with a ferocity that left destruction in their wake.

Shops and homes were ransacked, their contents plundered and destroyed. Fires raged unchecked, sending plumes of thick black smoke billowing into the sky, obscuring the sun, and casting a pall of darkness over the city.

Amidst the chaos, the cries of the innocent could be heard, pleading for mercy and salvation. But their pleas fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the roar of the mob and the crackle of flames.

The rioters were relentless in their pursuit of chaos, their anger fueled by years of poverty and starvation. The clan soldiers and city guards outnumbered and overwhelmed, struggled to maintain order, their efforts hampered by the sheer scale of the uprising. They fought valiantly, but their ranks thinned with each passing hour.

In the midst of the turmoil, the Kenai and his men launched their attack on the palace. The clan soldiers and city guards already overwhelmed fighting to restore order, were unprepared for a coup. Opening a second battlefront would only thin out the existing soldiers, the clans could only hope the palace guards were up to the task.

As the clamor of battle raged through the streets of the capital, the darkening sky was lit by the fires that consumed the city's once-proud edifices. The sound of steel clashing, cries for help, and the roar of the mob formed a harrowing symphony. Inside the palace, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the remaining guards hastily erecting barricades and fortifying positions, preparing for the assault they knew was coming.

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The palace, a grand structure of ancient stone and ornate decorations, now felt like a besieged fortress. Every entrance and hallway was manned by guards, their faces set in grim determination. They were outnumbered, but the strategic advantage of their position gave them a sliver of hope.

Having slipped away from the Bearington Estate, Henry moved swiftly through the chaos, cloaked not only by his dæmon but by the night itself. His heart pounded with a mix of regret and resolve as he made his way toward the palace. The fate of the kingdom might well hinge on the events that would unfold in the next few hours.

Henry knew he had to find a way inside the palace before the attackers breached its defenses. He skirted around the perimeter, avoiding the main conflict zones until he found the path Kenai had taken. As he ran, he passed the lifeless bodies of place guards. With the palace’s scarce defenses, Kenai forces ripped their way through inside. What Kenai’s forces lacked in discipline they made up for in sheer ferocity and ruthless tactics.

Once inside, Henry moved with purpose, following Kenai’s wake of destruction. He needed to reach the throne room, where he suspected Kenai and the palace guards would make their stand. As he navigated the corridors, the sounds of battle grew louder, a stark reminder of the urgency of his mission.

Reaching a corridor, Henry found what remained of the palace guard assembled, led by a badly injured Brax. Despite his wounds, he remained steadfast, “This palace will never fall to fools like you!” he declared, his voice echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.

Henry watched as Brax fought Kenai forces, killing three before spurting out blood.

Henry stepped forward, revealing his presence. “Brax, I’m here to help.”

He eyed him apologetically, “Henry…I’m sorry” before collapsing.

“Brax, no!” Henry cried running to catch his teacher’s body. “Brax, you’ll be alright. Just wait, Brax stay with me a little longer!”

Henry's voice cracked as he knelt beside Brax, cradling his fallen mentor in a frantic attempt to stanch the bleeding. The old warrior's breath was labored, his eyes clouding over with the veil of impending death, yet his grip on Henry's arm was surprisingly strong.

“Promise me, little cub,” Brax gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper amidst the cacophony of ongoing battle. “Protect your people... lead them... with honor."

"I promise," Henry replied, tears mingling with the dust and blood on his face. "I will, Brax. I'll make you proud."

As Brax's hand fell limp, a deep, sorrowful rage welled up within Henry. He gently laid Brax's body down, standing to face the chaos that had overrun the once majestic throne room. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smoke that seeped in from the city fires.

Kenai's forces, having breached deeper into the palace, were now spreading through the corridors, shouting, fighting, and searching for the king. Henry wiped his face, steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation. He took out his axe, feeling its familiar weight—and moved as a man on a mission.

Kenai himself appeared at the doorway, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he took in the scene. The throne room's grand doors burst open, and Kenai's henchmen charged in. Henry was right on their heels, his grief transmuted into a fierce determination. With lethal precision, he moved to kill Kenai. The training he had received under Brax's watchful eye now served him well, his movements a blur of motion meant to sever Kenai's head.

“HAULT” commanded a regal voice. Henry felt his bloodline being suppressed. Despite his anger and bloodlust, his body was unable to overcome pressure.

Next to him, he could see Kenai and his group immobile with stunned expressions on their faces.

“I must avenge Brax and put a stop to Kenai!” Henry demanded, glaring at the splendor of King Ursa and clan patriarchs.

“You’ll get your revenge in time,” the Bearington patriarch promised.

“Yes, patriarch,” Henry knelt, subduing his anger.

Next to him, he could hear Kenai and his usurpers breathing heavily, their eyes wide in fear. “Were you not aware that every Bearkin bloodline is subject to the crown? Did you mutts honestly think, you could come in here and unseat me, the king, with your meager bloodlines?” the king yelled angrily.

The throne room, charged with tension and the raw emotions of betrayal and loyalty, fell eerily silent as King Ursa's words echoed off the ancient stone walls. The air, thick with the smell of blood and fire, felt heavy as the gravity of the king's revelation sunk in. The assembled usurpers, led by Kenai, seemed to shrink under the weight of his gaze, their earlier bravado evaporating in the face of royal authority.

Henry, still on his knees, kept his head bowed but his eyes were alight with a mix of relief and unresolved anger. The promise of revenge from the Bearington patriarch gave him a cold comfort, but it was King Ursa's presence that shifted the dynamics profoundly. The realization that their bloodlines, no matter how fierce or independent, were ultimately bound to the crown was a stark reminder of the deep-rooted powers at play within the kingdom.

Kenai, visibly shaken and now stripped of his earlier confidence, looked around helplessly as the king's guards detained his followers. The swift change from aggressors to captives marked a dramatic turn in the unfolding drama.

“You have caused enough destruction, Kenai,” King Ursa continued, his voice booming and authoritative, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "Your reckless ambition has not only threatened the stability of this kingdom but has cost the lives of its loyal defenders," he said, gesturing outwards to the capital. “Patriarch Bearenger, take the prisoner to the dungeon. Teach them the pain of going against their kin.”

As the guards led Kenai and his men away, a palpable sense of order began to return to the throne room. Henry felt a complex swirl of emotions; vengeance was deferred, yet the promise of justice provided a framework for moving forward.

The king addressed a steward, “Announce to the capital, the usurp failed, conspirators and rioters are to be killed on site.

King Ursa turned his steely gaze back to Henry. “Rise, Henry Brown,” he commanded. Henry stood, his body tense, but obedient to his sovereign's command. “The prodigal son has returned. Since your arrival, I’ve enjoyed hearing about your exploits. You have shown bravery and loyalty in your short time here. Your actions today have not gone unnoticed. However, let this be a lesson that the strength of this kingdom lies not just in individual valor but in our unity and adherence to the bloodline that binds us.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Henry said his voice firm yet respectful.

King Ursa regarded Henry for a moment, his expression softening. “Follow me.”

As they stepped out onto the balcony, overlooking the city where fires still burned, people cried out in desperation. The stark reality of the capital laid bare before them.

“Your emperor rejected our trade offer. I suspect he and Lionel already have a treaty and trade agreements in place. My envoys have attempted to make trade agreements with other human cities, but they’ve all rejected us. Look out there, people starving. This city is in desperate need of grain and meat, and I hear your Barony can provide both, as well as iron and gold.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Henry began, his voice steady despite the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind. “Much of my ore already has designated buyers, but I can provide the grain and meat this capital needs. However, it would require significant efforts to ramp up production and ensure safe passage here, given the impending war.”

King Ursa nodded; his gaze still fixed on the smoldering city. “I am aware of the challenges, but desperate times call for decisive action. We must stabilize the capital, then the rest of the kingdom.”

‘Alfred,’ Henry thought, “Already on it, sir” Alfred replied messaging the town council, and automatically managing the transaction.

They continued to discuss the logistics and strategies further until a steward ran up and handed the king a note. “The price is a bit steep, but I’m glad to see you’re already on top of things. It looks like we'll receive the first shipment in two weeks and a week after that. I must say, your town manager is exceptional. Steward, announced the trade deal and," he paused sadly. "The fall of the Bovine Kingdom. We are officially at war.”

As they left the balcony, Henry felt the kingdom’s future loomed large—the battle was over, but the war for the kingdom had just begun.