I can feel their doubt. Like a beating pulse against my ribs.
Dahn of the Black Maw stands opposite us — once an ally, now one of the most vocal critics of the path we’ve chosen. She folds her arms, jaw hard. “You ask us to follow a leader with a human mate at his side,” she hisses into the hum of wind and ancestral echoes.
The gathered crowd shifts. Rumors have trailed us like specters — half-bloods, outsiders, dilution of lineage. I hear them in the silence. See them in the glances.
Ayla’s fingers tighten around mine. I sense her gathering strength — not anger, not defense, but clarity. Not a woman asking permission — a womanclaiming a future.
“You think I don’t hear them?” she calls out, voice clear as a blade drawn in moonlight. “You think I don’t know what you whisper behind closed faces? Yes, I am human. Yes, my daughter carries both her father’s bloodandthe fire of humanity. But tell me this — what makes a Reaper strong?”
A ripple of murmurs begins — not mocking, not supportive, just unsettled.
Ayla doesn’t hesitate.
“Is it purity of blood?” she asks, stepping forward into the ring of eyes. “Is it ancient lineage? Because if that were true, Tyrannus would never have spawned warriors at all. We would have died on bone altars long before war claimed the void.”
Gasps — maybe discomfort, maybe recognition.
I tighten my grip on her hand. Her voice is not a weapon. It’s a summons.
“Our strength comes from what weprotect,” Ayla continues. “From what wefightfor. We were born for survival — for working with fire and bone, for standing between death and life. And this child stands before you with her head held high, unflinching, unbroken — and unashamed of who she is. She isn’t a dilution. She is evolution.”
Soft footsteps echo. Chelsea walks up beside us, her chin raised, eyes glowing like warm embers against twilight. I can smell her — like earth after rain, like blood and jasmine and pure possibility.
One of the younger warriors — one of those who once eyed her with doubt — leans in and growls playfully, “So she beatseven the toughest of us?”
Chelsea grins — that fierce, stubborn grin that’s half mine and half Ayla’s — and she steps forward without hesitation.
“She’s not just tough,” she says. “Iwillbe stronger than all of you. And I’ll fight you to prove it!”
A roar of laughter erupts from the crowd — not mockery, but celebration. A shift in atmosphere begins. Skepticism melts like frost near flame.
Dahn’s shadowed eyes narrow. “You think this child’s strength is proof?”
“I know it,” I say, voice deep and steady. “You know strength when you see it. And you know what we have lived through for the last three years.”
Another leader snorts. “Then why did you disappear for so long? Where were you when we needed you?”
I look over the crowd — not with contempt, but truth.
“I was dying,” I admit. “Hanging between this life and the void. And somewhere in that black I heard her voice — herpromise. It pulled me back. We did not return to salvage glory. We returned with a reason. We returned with our heir — with our future.”
A hush settles like snow on still ground. Not empty. Not void — but contemplative.
One of the elders — a tall woman with eyes like pale flame — steps forward. “The Bone Singers tell of a prophecy,” she says, voice resonant and wild as wind. “Of a child born of dual flame — fire and bone — who will unite the shattered clans. Many deemed it legend.”
I glance at Chelsea. She meets my gaze without fear — just recognition.
“Legend,” I whisper, “is just memory waiting to be true.”
A stir rises. Then another. Reapers shift — some nodding, some whispering. The atmosphere tilts toward hope, toward possibility.
Brom steps up beside us, voice steady. “What Kallus and Ayla propose is not weakness. It isrenewal. If we cling only to what we were, we will die as we were.”
Dawnfire — one of our fiercest warriors — steps forward. “I am Clanless,” he declares, voice booming. “I have no home. I have no legacy. But I have blade and blood. If it means standing with these two and their child — I stand.”
Another warrior steps forward. “And I.”
Then another.
