And in her scent—so faint I almost miss it—something shifts.
Life.
It’s too early to be sure. But my instincts rarely lie.
She’s carrying my child.
I say nothing.
Not yet.
I just pull her to my side, my arm locking across her shoulders as the bone-song crescendos. Around us, the clan beats fists against the floor in rhythm.
She presses into me, trembling, breath catching in her throat.
I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper, “You’ve been accepted.”
She turns her face into my chest.
And doesn’t let go.
CHAPTER 11
AYLA
I’ve never imagined a world this harsh could be this breathtaking.
Tyrannus looms before us like a bleeding dream. The sky isn’t blue — it’s scorched with red and rust, like a dying ember stretched across the heavens. The air here tastes of iron and distant storms, thick with a perfume of wild blooms I can’t name. And the land — gods, the land — shatters every expectation I ever had about what beautyshouldbe.
Towering obsidian spires rise like blackened bones clawing toward the bleeding sky. Between them, vine-choked ruins — skeletal remnants of a civilization older than Reaper legend — twist tangled in jungle growth so dense it seems alive, breathing, watching.
I should feel fear.
Instead, I feel… wonder.
I walk beside Kallus — not behind him, not in front of him — but beside. Shoulder to shoulder. Equal.
That terrifies me more than any prison cell ever did.
He doesn’t hold me. Doesn’t guide me. He simplywalks with me,his presence a solid weight in the shifting wilds. I can feelhis warmth through the air, like it’s a separate heartbeat next to mine.
Reapers bustle around us, some carrying weapons that look like they were forged from nightmare and bone. Others are escorting beasts — massive, scaled predators with glowing eyes and teeth like carved obsidian.
They look at me like I’m some peculiar constellation they’ve never seen before. Curious. Tentative. Respectful, in the way warriors regard someone who didn’t break when everything else in their world did.
I swallow hard when a particularly broad-shouldered Reaper, massive muscle clenched beneath aquamarine war paint, steps aside and bows his head ever so slightly.
Respect,I remind myself. Not submission.
But my pulse still thunders.
“That’s how it is,” Kallus murmurs at my side, voice low like he’s speaking to his own shadow. “They don’t fear you. Theyrespectfear. Not weakness. Not truth.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, eyeing a pair of Reaper scouts whispering and glancing our way, “I’m a far cry from a seasoned warrior.”
“Maybe you’re just far cry from boring,” he says without turning his head.
I consider arguing, but the terrain distracts me — an obsidian pathway rimmed with peculiar flora that glows faintly violet, like earth-bound starfire. Tiny motes of luminescence drift through the air; the place feels like a shrine.
