Factory Judge
C H O I C E
Tag:
Veyla Krinn
Renn let the silence linger long enough that the moment could root rather than pass, the way a battle scar becomes identity rather than memory. His helmet remained fixed on the Drexl, but his attention was on her posture: unshaken, unhungry, uncompromised. Not dominance born of ego… but discipline.
“So,” he said at last, low and steady, “you did not force obedience by fear. You gave it a reason to bow.” There was no flourish to his tone, no swelling pride, only the acknowledgment a Warmaster reserves for one who has proven something fundamental. “That is not instinct. That is judgment.”
The Drexl’s wings twitched once, not to rise, but to steady itself, signaling recognition of territory ceded. Not out of weakness. But pact. Renn stepped closer, boots sinking into damp earth as he studied the creature more directly, helm angled in warrior’s appraisal.
“You’ve marked yourself in its memory,” he continued, voice quieter now, something ancient threaded into the cadence. “A Drexl does not forget the one who set its limits without breaking its spine. If it sees you again, it will not strike first. That is how alliances were forged before there were banners or empires, predator to predator, oath without language.”
The squad behind them relaxed their formation, but did not disperse; they were witnesses, not escorts. This was no longer a lesson in survival. This was a rite.
Renn turned back to Veyla, the faintest nod, not ceremony, not approval, but elevation. A recognition of standing.
“You didn’t just command ground. You earned consequence,” he said. “And in Death Watch, that is the measure of worth.”
Then, after a breath, just enough to break the tension without dissolving the weight of it:
“Walk from this hunt knowing the jungle did not permit you. It acknowledged you.”
His visor returned to the Drexl, whose talons still gripped the earth but no longer tested it. He slung his Carbine over his shoulder and pointed it toward the creature, a wave of energy emitting from the barrel as he pulled the trigger, the beast fell to the side, his chest still rising and falling, but his mind unconscious.
The Hunt was Over.
