A Kaidon Rises

The incessant crackle of energy blades pressed against one another rang out through the frozen courtyard, interspersed by faint sizzles as the falling snow evaporated against the interlocked ria’kuns. Bracing himself against his opponent’s unyielding fortitude, Autel ‘Vadamai tilted his head slightly when his ears honed in on the sound of a strong gust blowing in. The surrounding Sangheili watching the duel had taken notice too, a few of them adjusting their furry winter wear or facing away from the wind.
But not N’von, the brazenly armoured kaidon of the Vadam Keep who was either unaffected by the gust or failed to notice it entirely. It was difficult to tell which it was, but regardless Autel took advantage of the ensuing mist that sprayed into his opponent’s face by pulling his ria’kun free and kicking a pile of snow at N’von. The kaidon swung his weapon wildly while he tried to clear his vision.
But it was not the sword hand that Autel went for — instead, his blade clove through the hand held to his opponent’s eyes, cleanly upward through the wrist. A spray of purple landed in the snow next to N’von, who howled in agony and dropped his ria’kun to Autel’s disgust. The albino lowered his blade and growled, “Pick it up, so that you may die a warrior’s death.”
Clutching the stump of his left hand, N’von laughed hysterically despite the pain edging into his voice. “You really think you can be kaidon? You, who is blinder than a newborn jota? Who still bears the marks of childhood on the back of your neck?”
“If I am what it takes to end this blood tithe,” responded Autel flatly. “The Covenant has taken far too many of us — and you let them. For this, N’von, you must pay with your own blood. Pick up your blade, if you are still worthy of it.”
With a defiant yell, N’von grabbed his ria’kun with his remaining hand, though his off-balance swing was easy for Autel to deflect. The albino turned into the movement, using his opponent’s momentum to move behind him and wrap his left arm around N’von’s neck. The kaidon choked and thrashed but to no avail as Autel grabbed his sword arm by the wrist and held him in place.
“But you aren’t worthy of it, are you?” he snarled into N’von’s ear. “Ra’kai was not my ancestor, he was yours, and you have sullied his weapon in wielding it selfishly and foolishly.” In a single stroke, Autel severed the other Sangheili’s right hand.
The defeated kaidon screamed before toppling to the ground, writhing in a bloodstained slush as the ria’kun slashed and hacked at his bleeding body. Autel did not let up even as N’von tried crawling away on his knees and mutilated arms, meticulously cutting the armour from him piece by piece. Finally, the albino kicked his opponent in the midsection, sending him rolling pitifully onto his back into a fresh patch of snow.
Autel leaned in over the feebly stirring Sangheili. “Your blood debt to House ‘Vadam is paid, N’von. Do you wish for a quick death?”
“I’m not...” bleated N’von, all traces of arrogance gone. “Don’t... I’m not rea—” A flash of light razed across his neck, and his head rolled away from his body, blood oozing from his splayed mandibles.
Murmurs broke out among the watching Sangheili as Autel crouched down and removed the kaidon cloak from N’von’s decapitated corpse, the crest of Rahnelo’s House ‘Vadam still visible despite the purple patches soaking through its dark blue. The albino straightened and turned to face his keep members, clutching the cloak in one hand and his ria’kun in the other. “Are there any warriors among you who intend to challenge me?”
In response, every Sangheili knelt in near-unison, lowering their heads and gazes deferentially.
Autel deactivated his ria’kun at last, and with a well-practiced flourish, cleaned its metal blade with the crook of his armoured forearm and reattached it to his hip. He then fastened the bloodstained cloak to his own shoulders before picking up N’von’s severed head and removing the former kaidon’s helmet. It was an ornately decorated headpiece, better suited for ceremonial purposes than for combat, though N’von certainly liked to wear it more often than he needed to.
Autel tossed the helmet aside, not even sparing it a second glance as it rolled to a stop next to N’von’s body. “Rise, House ‘Vadam. I know nothing of being kaidon, but I do know my coming days will be fraught with enemies. Look me in the eye, so that I can find allies among you.”
The Sangheili obliged with varying levels of hesitation, with his uncle Jido being among the first to straighten to a standing position. Beneath the older Sangheili’s unflappable demeanour was a thin veneer of satisfaction, and Autel recalled that Jido’s son Taga had been among the first conscripted for the Harvest Campaign — sent to his death by N’von, like many others would be in the subsequent cycles.
Satisfied, Autel made his way closer to the others, so that he would not miss a single person in the crowd. Through his debilitated eyesight, he saw wariness, but also relief and even hope. The albino’s gaze lingered on Jido, whose stoic expression held just a glimmer of pride. “Good, very good,” Autel murmured. “A prosperous future is on the horizon, my brothers and sisters. We need only put our trust in one another if we are to reach it.”
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