“Make time.” Her eyes flashed gold with determination. “The seers are in agreement, Rezor. All of us, even those who disagree on the solution. These outsiders fulfill the prophecy. Three who fall from the storms. Three who bear the marks of sky people. The sanctuary will face its greatest trial, and will face ruin or renewal based on how we respond.”
“Prophecies are not instructions,” I said, but without heat. Zelana had helped raise me when my own mother had been too lost in grief by the death of my older brother and father to do so. I would neither turn her away nor show her anything but the reverence she deserved as a respected leader to my people. Still, I’d been arguing this point with seers my entire life: “They’re warnings at best. Vague possibilities.”
“This one is not vague.” She opened the book, her fingers finding a page with the ease of someone who’d read it a thousand times. The ancient text was written in Old D’tran, theformal script we only used for sacred records. “When three descend from the storm-torn sky, bearing marks of those who fled, the sanctuary’s peace will shatter. The choice then falls to the guardian: embrace the change or perish in the resistance. Only through unity with the fallen can balance be restored.”
The words settled over me like a weight. I’d heard them before, of course. Every leader learned the major prophecies. But hearing them now, with three aliens in my compound and my marks still burning with impossible heat, made them feel less like ancient poetry and more like a trap closing around me.
“Unlike the seers, thecouncilis divided on what this means,” Zelana continued, closing the book but keeping her eyes on me. “Some believe the outsiders are here to help us. Others, like Vax, believe they’re a threat we must reject to survive.”
“And what do you believe?”
Her eyes shifted to a contemplative violet. “That it’s too soon to know. I believe the prophecy must unfold before we can know how these people will affect us. I believe we’re standing at a crossroads that will determine whether our people have a future or only a past.”
I rubbed my chest absently, where the marks still pulsed with warmth. I’d hastily donned a shirt upon returning to keep the bright marks hidden. “Vax wants them exiled. Or executed.”
“I know.” Her expression grew troubled. “He’s already gathering support among the more conservative council members. He argues that the prophecy warns of ruin, so we should eliminate the threat before it can manifest.”
“He won’t move against my direct orders.” I said it with certainty. Vax was cautious and traditional, but he was loyal. “None of them will.”
“No,” Zelana agreed. “It is your role, not theirs, to decide the fate of our sky people. But they’ll question. They’ll watch. And if anything goes wrong, they’ll blame you for bringing destruction upon us by showing mercy to outsiders.”
She wasn’t wrong. Under normal circumstances, we, in the valley, let no one enter. Not even our neighboring clan, led by a fine leader named Vikkat. Our ways were of strict insulation. But I’d often pondered whether that was the wisest path. Especially now, when the circumstances werenotnormal. The storms had intensified. Three beings that lined up with a prophecy appeared in our lands. The line between protection and isolation was growing blurry.
Leadership meant bearing the weight of every decision, good or bad. If I was wrong about the sky people—if theydidbring disaster—it would be my responsibility. My failure. But if I executed three injured, vulnerable beings out of fear? That would make me the kind of leader I’d sworn never to become.
“I will speak with them,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Learn who they are. What they want. Whether they pose any real threat beyond fulfilling some ancient seer’s cryptic warning.”
“The small female is strange,” Zelana said, and something in her tone made me look at her sharply. “Something about her, specifically, has meaning, Rezor. Sacred meaning.”
I kept my face expressionless. Not even Zelana could know Cleo’s effect on me. “If so, we will learn what it is.”
“Of course.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Be careful, my lord. Your guards obey you, but should they lose faith in you, they will look for guidance from another. And that person may not understand the true burden and challenges of being a leader.Youdo. Remind them of that.”
She left me standing in the corridor, her words echoing in my mind. I stood there for a moment, my hand pressed against my chest, feeling the warmth that wouldn’t cool.
Then I turned and headed back toward the guest quarters.
When I arrived, the door guarded by two of my most trusted warriors. I could hear low voices speaking in that strange, fluid language the outsiders used among themselves, and a female D’Tran speaking quietly. After knocking once to announce myself, the voices hushed. I opened the door and stepped inside to see the injured female, Mierva, was being tended by Erith, who was examining the hastily done splint with professional disapproval.
The large male, Baleck, stood near the window. It was fascinating how he and Mierva had skin that color-shifted. I wondered if the tones and patterns reflected their thoughts and emotions. That would be good information to have. Then there was the small female, Cleo. She sat on one of the beds. Her dark eyes tracked every movement in the room with the wariness of someone who’d learned not to trust easily.
Those eyes found me the moment I entered, and I felt the now-familiar heat flare in my marks.
“Lord Rezor,” Erith said, not looking up from her work. “This splint is adequate but not ideal. I’ll need to reset the bone properly. It will be painful.”
“Do what’s necessary,” I told her. Then, to the room ingeneral, I added, “You’ll be provided with everything you need for comfort. Food, clothing, medical care. But you’ll remain under guard at all times.”
Baleck said something in their language, the tone questioning. Cleo responded, her words halting, but she seemed to find my words understandable, thanks to whatever translation method she was using. Then she looked at me.
“Are we…prisoners?” she asked, her accent thick but the words clear enough.
“You are guests,” I replied slowly. “Under supervision. Until I understand what your presence here means.”
“We crash,” she said, frustration clear in her voice. “That what it means. Wenotinvade. Not threaten. We just try…survive.”
“Perhaps.” I gestured toward the door. “You. Cleo. Come with me. I have questions.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Where?”
