EXT. THREE RIVERS – WEST GATE – DAY

The road narrows.

Stone walls rise on either side — old, reinforced, scarred
by floods and war alike. Three rivers converge beyond the
gate, churning and loud.

The HANDSOME CAB slows.

The escort tightens automatically.

Ahead —

The WEST GATE stands open.

Not abandoned.

Waiting.

From within the gate rides a small column — disciplined,
deliberate.

At its center:

COUNT KHALEB OF KOTHE.

Mounted. Armored. Heavy.

Not ceremonial armor — worked armor, scarred, maintained.
His horse is massive, iron-shod, unbothered by noise or
crowd.

He rides to the edge of the road and stops.

The river wind pulls at his cloak.

The parrot stiffens.

The sharpshooter shifts the longgun an inch – no more.

Khaleb studies the cab.

Then he raises a hand.

The column halts behind him as one.

Silence stretches.

INT. HANDSOME CAB – CONTINUOUS

Lianna exhales once.

Not annoyed.

Interested.

She opens the window slit.

EXT. WEST GATE – CONTINUOUS

Khaleb inclines his head.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        Lady Lianna of the Well-Healed.

Not a question.

                     LIANNA
        Count Khaleb of Three Rivers.

They regard one another.

Two professionals measuring cost.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        You travel north with an escort
        meant for war.

                     LIANNA
        The road suggested it.

A beat.

Khaleb’s eyes flick – just once – to the engineer’s cab,
the fire orb’s faint hum audible now.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        You pass by my gate at an
        interesting time.

                     LIANNA
        I hear that a lot lately.

A ghost of a smile – gone before it becomes friendly.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        You won’t find the north quiet.

                     LIANNA
        I’d be disappointed if it were.

Another beat.

The wind shifts. River spray catches the light.

Khaleb reins his horse closer – not threatening, not
yielding.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        Ride with us through the city.

                     LIANNA
                (smiles, thin)
        I don’t stop unless invited.

Khaleb holds her gaze.

Then nods.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        Then consider this an escort - to
        the edge of my patience.

Lianna’s smile widens just enough.

                     LIANNA
        Lead on, Count.

Khaleb turns his horse.

The gates open wider.

The cab rolls forward.

                     WIDE SHOT
        Three Rivers swallows them — stone,
        water, banners snapping hard in the
        wind.

From the walls, unseen eyes watch.

Far away, in the desert:

Zhad builds a shrine where gods once stood.

Two powers move.

Neither knows how close the third already is.

                     SCENE: LIANNA ENTERS THE HALL
        This contrasts violently with Zhad’s
        ziggurat and brazen bull.

INT. KING CODYNIA’S HALL – NIGHT

Firelight.

Not torches — hearths. Multiple. Stone-lined, tended,
alive.

The hall is vast. Older than banners. Pillars carved with
river-marks, trade knots, harvest sigils.

Tables stretch the length of the chamber.

They are heavy with food:

Roasted meats. Steaming breads. Bowls of fruit glazed with
honey. Platters of fish still smelling faintly of river
smoke.

Musicians play at the far end — strings, low pipes, a
steady rhythm meant to carry conversation, not dominate it.

People eat. Laugh. Argue softly.

This is not performance.

It is normalcy preserved at scale.

LIANNA enters with Khaleb.

She slows without meaning to.

Not awe.

Recognition.

                     LIANNA
                (low)
        You eat well.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        My people work hard.

They should eat better than I do.

He gestures.

Servants move immediately. A place is cleared — not at the
head, not hidden.

Among equals.

They sit.

Wine is poured. Dark. Local. Expensive without trying.

                     LIANNA
        This hall was built for a king.

Khaleb smiles, almost fond.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        Yes.

A beat.

                     LIANNA
        Yet you don’t use the title.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        The title was taken.

The hall was not.

He tears bread. Passes it to her.

                     COUNT KHALEB (cont'd)
        My great-great grandfather was named
        Count

when kings became inconvenient.

He accepted it.

Kept the roads safe.

Kept the rivers flowing.

                     LIANNA
        And the crown?

Khaleb shrugs.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        Crowns break.

Tables endure.

Lianna eats.

It’s good.

She looks around again — at people who are not afraid to
eat in public.

                     LIANNA
        There’s a man in the Xulean.

Khaleb’s hand stills.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        I know.

She watches him carefully.

                     LIANNA
        You knew before I arrived.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        Three Rivers misses very little.

A faint smile.

                     COUNT KHALEB (cont'd)
        And disrupting trade gets my
        attention.

A servant leans in. Whispers.

Khaleb listens. Nods once.

                     COUNT KHALEB (cont'd)
        He’s taken the fort.

                     LIANNA
        Near the Old Caravan Road?

Khaleb takes a drink.

                     COUNT KHALEB
        The very one.
        He’s built a shrine.

That lands.

Lianna doesn’t ask to whom.

Khaleb sets the cup down.

                     COUNT KHALEB (cont'd)
        The rivers will move whether his
        gods approve or not.