“We will only step in against the Verya.” Her voice carried no apology, only the weight of their ancient policy. “The Aldawi-Quaww war has nothing to do with us.”
The words landed like stones in my chest.
“Nothing to do with—” I caught myself, forced my voice into something steadier. Tried to sound like the Beacon they expected rather than the terrified woman underneath. “They’re attacking the empire. Your allies.”
“Allies in trade and diplomacy.” Oeta’s expression remained gentle but unyielding. The fuchsia glow around her pulsed once, a ripple of something that might have been sympathy. “Not in territorial disputes that predate my grandmother’s grandmother. The conflict between Aldawi and Quaww stretches back generations—longer than the Nyaviel have held formal alliance with either side.”
Tori leaned forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. I could see her working through the political map in her head, piecing together the fragments she’d learned during our time together. “Let me see if I remember this right. The Quaww share one side of Aldawi space, the Nyaviel the other, and the large open side faces neutral territory—where the CEG Headquarters sits?”
“Correct.” Oeta nodded, and I caught a flicker of approval in her aura. Tori was a pure human, still learning, still adapting to a galaxy she’d been thrust into without preparation. Her willingness to understand rather than simply demand earned respect. “The Nyaviel territory borders Aldawi space opposite the Quaww frontier. We’ve maintained neutrality in their conflicts for centuries—it’s what allows us to function as intermediaries when diplomacy is needed.”
“But your mental abilities—” Tori began.
“We may be strong mentally,” Oeta acknowledged, and I caught a flicker of something close to pride in her aura. “Individually, a Nyaviel’s mental gifts rival any species in the known galaxy. But our numbers are small. Dangerously small. We cannot afford to be drawn into every conflict that touches our borders. Intervention means choosing sides. It means becoming targets. It means risking our entire species for a conflict we didn’t start and cannot end through force.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Every conflict. As if the war that might consume the empire was just another border skirmish. Another territorial dispute to be observed from a safe distance.
“So while the Aldawi fight the Quaww,” I said carefully, “while my mates fly toward battle lines that might kill them—the Nyaviel will simply... watch?”
Oeta’s expression shifted—the first crack in her diplomatic neutrality. Something in her aura flickered toward darkness. Toward memory. “We’ve seen what happens to small populations caught between larger powers. The mathematics of extinction don’t care about noble intentions.”
Something in her voice made me wonder what history she wasn’t sharing. What losses had taught her species to calculate survival above alliance.
“The Verya, though...” She paused, and I felt the shift in her—the calculation giving way to something harder. Something that approached fear.
The Nyaviel weren’t afraid of much. Their mental abilities made them predators in most conversations, able to read intention and emotion the way others read text. But the Verya...
“They threaten everyone.” Oeta’s words came out weighted. Heavy with implications I didn’t fully understand. “They don’t conquer. They consume. Without pause. Without conscience.Without the capacity for the negotiation that might spare victims. Against them, the Nyaviel will stand.”
“Because you can’t negotiate with their hunger for knowledge, for conquest and invasion…” The words came out flat. I knew this. Had felt it firsthand when they’d taken me, studied me, tried to claim my genetics for their collection.
“Precisely.” Oeta met my gaze, and in her eyes I saw something that might have been apology. Might have been warning. “Against the Quaww, your empire has options. Diplomacy. Ceasefire. Border adjustments that satisfy both parties. But the Verya want more than territory, Selena. They wantyou. And they will not stop until they have you or are stopped permanently.”
The silence stretched between us, thick with everything none of us would say. The Aldawi Empire stood against the Quaww on one front and the approaching Verya on another, and my constellation—my family—was about to scatter across the galaxy to hold those lines.
While I sat in a gazebo and pretended the sun still felt warm.
“And until then?” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Until the Verya arrive? We fight the Quaww alone?”
Oeta didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
A splash drew my attention back to the pool. V’dim rose from the water, tentacles streaming behind him as he lifted himself onto the pool’s edge with fluid grace. The cubs clung to him, reluctant to let their living jungle gym escape, but he untangled them with practiced patience—one tentacle gently prying Meti’s grip from his arm, another guiding Nocrez toward the shallows.
His turquoise eyes found mine across the distance.
Something passed through our bond—a thread of urgency wrapped in careful control. He’d received news. News he didn’t want to deliver in front of the cubs.
My chest tightened before he spoke.
Z’fir glanced at Kaede, and then followed, his vine-covered form dripping as he emerged from the side of the pool beside his bondbrother. Water cascaded from the green growth that covered his lower body, and his gaze caught mine with that particular look. The one that said we need to talk, and you won’t like what we have to say.
I’d seen that look before. Hated it every time.
They crossed the distance together, leaving the cubs in Odelm’s capable hands. The empath gathered the children with easy affection, distracting them with promises of poolside snacks while their clanfathers approached the gazebo. Meti watched V’dim and Z’fir go with eyes too knowing for her age.
