Prelude: A Fractured World
Even after the fall of the Skyhold, even with Zaraya's legends growing with every battle, Velmora Prime remained broken.
The planet was a patchwork of ruins and rivalries:
• Isolated tribes, each clinging to ancient customs.
• Scattered rebel cells, suspicious of outsiders.
• Forgotten cities, ruled by warlords who liked Dominion rule better than chaos.
The people of Velmora had survived centuries of slavery by learning not to trust.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
Hope got you killed.
And now, Threx Soluun's council faced the impossible:
Unite them.
All of them.
Or fall separately when the Dominion's reinforcements returned.
⸻
The Plan
In the abandoned citadel of Kaelar's End, the resistance leaders devised a desperate gamble:
• Call a conclave.
• Invite every surviving leader—tribal elders, rebel generals, warlords.
• Propose an alliance under a single cause.
But there was one problem:
The leaders hated each other almost as much as they hated the Dominion.
Old betrayals. Ancient grudges. Broken promises.
Words alone wouldn't convince them.
They needed a symbol.
A champion.
Someone who embodied both rage and hope.
All eyes turned to Zaraya Starheart.
⸻
The Journey to the Gathering
Zaraya didn't want the role at first.
She wasn't a politician.
She wasn't a queen.
She didn't want titles.
"I fight," she told Threx, "I don't make speeches."
But Amari Vey, standing in the council shadows, crossed her arms and said sharply:
"If you truly fight for Velmora, then fight with more than your fists."
It stung.
It was true.
So, wrapped in a cloak stitched with the broken banners of fallen tribes, Zaraya set out to the Gathering across the shifting plains.
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The Gathering of the Broken Moons
They met at The Crescent Scar, a cracked valley where once three moons had been visible—before the Dominion shattered two of them to crush an ancient uprising.
Under the lonely light of the last moon, the tribes and factions assembled.
• Old warriors draped in rusted honor-marks.
• Young insurgents still bearing the burn marks of servitude.
• Priests, assassins, scientists, shamans.
The air was thick with suspicion.
Blades were sharper than words.
One wrong move would ignite a civil war right there in the valley.
⸻
The Challenge
Tradition demanded a Trial of Merit to speak to the Assembly.
Normally, it was a ceremonial duel.
This time, it was deadly.
A champion of the Vraken Clans—massive warlords known for betraying past uprisings—stepped forward:
A titan of a woman clad in bone-forged armor named Sarna Vex.
"If you want to speak, little star," she growled, "you'll bleed for it."
Zaraya smiled grimly.
She pulled back her cloak, revealing her cracked armor and the scars that ran like rivers across her arms.
"I already have," she said simply.
And she stepped into the circle.
⸻
The Duel
The duel was brutal.
• Sarna Vex fought with the power of a warbeast, swinging a hammer that could fell starships.
• Zaraya fought with speed, instinct, and the burning pulse of the cosmos.
Sarna drove her into the ground, again and again, testing the limits of her endurance.
Zaraya stumbled. Bled. Nearly fell.
But she remembered Threx's words.
She remembered Amari's cold fire.
She remembered the little girl she had once been, staring through the bars at a stolen sky.
And when Sarna Vex swung her hammer for a final, killing blow—
Zaraya caught it.
With one hand.
A ripple of cosmic force cracked the earth beneath them.
With a roar that echoed off the broken moons, Zaraya hurled the hammer aside, drove Sarna to her knees, and then—
—stepped back.
She did not kill her.
She offered her a hand.
⸻
The Speech
There, beneath the fractured heavens, Zaraya raised her voice:
"I don't fight for crowns.
I don't fight for titles.
I fight for every child still behind a cage.
I fight for every song that was silenced.
I fight because I remember what it means to hope."
She turned, slowly, letting her voice rise like thunder.
"Unite with me, not beneath me.
Stand with me, and we will break the chains not just on Velmora—
—but across every star they have ever touched."
For a moment, there was only silence.
And then—
A chieftain knelt.
Then a rebel general.
Then a dozen more.
Until the valley of broken moons was filled with the sound of knees meeting stone.
The people of Velmora Prime—scattered, wounded, proud—became one people again.
Under the silent stars, a revolution was truly born