More warriors stopped, turning to stare at me. Even Dorek lowered his weapon slightly, shock crossing his features.
“You call yourselves warriors?” My voice was shaking but I didn’t care. “You call yourselveshonorable?You’re beating old beings who can’t even stand properly. You’re destroying the very technology that might save you. And you—” I pointed at Dorek with a trembling hand. “You just shot an unarmed male who was trying to protect his mate.”
“He is corrupted,” Dorek said, but there was uncertainty in his voice now.
“He’s more honorable than any of you,” I shouted back. “He stood between you and defenseless beings. He took a blast meant for me. That’s not corruption—that’s courage.That’swhat real warriors do. They protect those who can’t protect themselves. They don’t murder the helpless.”
I turned to take in all of them, every red-eyed, rage-flushed warrior in that chamber. “These Kythrans didn’tdestroy your world. Their ancestors did. Do you understand that? None of these beings were even alive when those decisions were made. They’re victims too. They’ve spent their entire lives trapped in these caves—hiding fromyou—while trying to fix what their ancestors broke, and you’re killing them for it.”
Vikkat was staring at me now, and I saw something shifting in his expression. The red in his eyes was fading, replaced by what looked like some actual,rationalthought.
“You want someone to blame?” I continued, my voice breaking. “Blame the systems. Blame the hubris of ancient engineers who thought they could control nature to control a planet. Blame the autonomous networks that evolved beyond anyone’s ability to manage. But don’t blame these six old beings who are just as trapped as you are.
“If you kill them,” I said more quietly, “you kill your only chance of ever fixing this. Because we need them. We need their knowledge, their understanding of the systems, their willingness to help. And if you murder them out of rage and vengeance, then you’re no better than the ancestors who built those towers in the first place.”
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating.
Vikkat was the first to move. He lowered his weapon completely, his shoulders sagging. “Enough,” he said quietly. Then louder, with command behind it: “Enough! Warriors, stand down!”
Slowly, reluctantly, the other D’tran lowered their weapons. The red in their eyes began to fade, replaced by other colors—blues and grays and browns.
Behind them, the Kythrans were picking themselves up,helping each other, tending to their injured. One of them approached slowly, holding something in his trembling hands. “Please. For your injured male. It will help.”
The Kythran was offering a small container, its contents glowing faintly in the red light. He opened it to reveal a thick, viscous substance that looked almost like liquid crystal.
“What is it?” I asked in their language.
“Ancient medicine. From before the towers. It heals, sustains, restores.” He hesitated. “From large sentient beings that hold themselves to the ground by thick stalks. Most departed many cycles ago, but some remain. Our grandmothers made concentrated ointments and preserved a small supply.”
My breath caught. What they described sounded a lot like Solas, and if this substance waslami, preserved from before the catastrophe, it could save Torven. I took the container carefully and knelt beside my mate, who was on the ground, his face tight with pain.
“Hold still,” I said, my hands shaking as I scooped a small amount of the substance onto my fingers. It felt warm, almost alive. “The Kythrans say this will help.”
“Zara—” he started.
“Don’t argue with me right now,” I said, my voice breaking. “Just…just let me help you.”
I spread the substance over his burned skin as gently as I could, wincing at the feeling of his ruined flesh. The effect was almost immediate. The blood flow slowed and the swelling eased. It would take time to heal, but if this was, in fact,lami, it would keep out infection and speed his healing.Torven’s breathing eased and his expression relaxed. “Less pain,” he rasped.
The medicine worked. I capped it and handed the small jar back to them. The Kythrans had just proved their good intentions in the most tangible way possible. And something inside me broke completely.
“You fools,” I said, and I was crying now, really crying. “You absolute, idiotic fools.”
I looked around the chamber at the destruction—the smashed equipment, the scattered data cubes, the Kythrans nursing their injuries, the D’tran standing there awkwardly.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” My voice was raw. “My scanner is destroyed. The only tool we had that could navigate these caves, that could analyze the weather systems, that could maybe—maybe—have given us some edge in understanding how to fix this. It’s gone. Pulverized. Because you couldn’t control your rage for five minutes.”
I gestured at the scattered technology. “And look at all of this. Data cubes that might have contained answers. Equipment that might have been useful. Information that could have saved lives. All of it destroyed because you needed to hurt someone,anyone, even if it meant hurting yourselves.”
Vikkat started to speak, but I cut him off.
“No. I’m not done.” I stood up, leaving Torven on the floor. “You talk about corruption? AboutDestranslosing the old ways? Look at yourselves. You just attacked helpless beings, destroyed your own chances of salvation, and nearly killed the one person who’s been trying hardest to keep all of you alive.”
I pointed at Torven. “That male has done nothing but tryto help you. He shared information, and he took a blast for me that was fired by one of you. And you callhimcorrupted? If anyone here is corrupt,” I went on, my voice dropping to something cold and furious, “it’s you. Not the Destrans. Not Torven.You. You attacked the helpless. You destroyed knowledge. You nearly committed murder based on crimes that happened millennia before any of you were born.”
I turned to look at the Kythrans, who were watching with those large, dark eyes, and switched to their language. “And you. You’ve been hiding down here for generations, trying to fix this alone. Why didn’t you try to contact the D’tran? Why didn’t you try to work together?”
The eldest Kythran spoke. “Fear. Our forebears tried, long ago. We were hunted. Killed. We learned to hide.”
