1
TALIA
By the time the argument outside reaches shouting volume, I’ve already decided to ignore it.
“Eyes here,” I say calmly. “We’re almost done.”
The children sit in a loose, uneven circle on scavenged mats and folded blankets, bodies that don’t quite match but have learned how to fit anyway. Some have scales dusting their cheeks or shoulders. Some have horns barely breaking the skin. Others look entirely human until they move and the light catches something wrong.
Three races. All of them refugees.
Illadon sits near the front, long limbs folded with barely contained energy, brilliantly colored scales catching the light every time he shifts. He’s older than most of the others, already protective without realizing it, positioned so he can see Rverre without making it obvious.
Rverre sits a little apart, wings tucked tight, dark hair falling forward as she traces shapes on her slate that don’t quite match what I’m teaching.
Malcolm sprawls beside Zoe, round and cheerful and already chalk-smudged, his tiny magenta-tinted horns peeking through his curls as he whispers something that makes her snort. Zoe’s red hair is braided back from her face, subtle scales at her temples flashing rainbow colors when she turns her head.
Elneese and Ganeese sit shoulder to shoulder, mirror images except for the way one always watches the tent flap while the other watches me. Aeros perches on the edge of his mat like he’s ready to bolt at any moment, wings twitching when the shouting outside spikes.
Pachua and Leia share a slate between them, heads bent together in serious concentration.
There are human children too—some older, some younger, some far too quiet for their age. They sit mixed in without ceremony, because in here, that’s how it’s supposed to be.
“This isn’t about memorizing dates,” I say, raising my voice just enough to cut through the noise outside. “It’s about understandingwhypeople built the world the way they did.”
A hand shoots up.
“So no one could sneak up behind you,” Illadon says before I can stop him, flashing a grin that shows just a hint of fang.
“That’s one reason,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Anyone else?”
“The stone carries sound,” Zoe adds thoughtfully. “In the tunnels, you could hear someone coming.”
“Yes,” I say. “The tunnels weren’t just protection. They were communication.”
I pace slowly as I talk—not because I need the space, but because movement keeps them grounded. Keepsmegrounded. Outside the tent, someone shouts again—angrier now—and something metal clangs against packed earth.
Malcolm startles. Aeros’s wings flare.
“Hey,” I say softly, crouching so I’m at eye level with them. “Look at me.”
They do. Every time, it still feels like a small miracle.
“This space is ours,” I tell them. “No shouting. No fighting. No choosing sides.”
I rest my hand briefly on Pachua’s shoulder, then Leia’s and they settle. When I straighten, my gaze finds Rverre again. She hasn’t looked up once.
Her chalk moves across the slate in steady, deliberate lines. Not letters. Not numbers. Shapes that don’t belong to tunnels or camps or anything we’ve built since escaping from under the mountain.
Arches. Towers. Repeating patterns that make my chest tighten for reasons I can’t quite name.
“Rverre?” I say gently.
She doesn’t respond, instead, she sets the chalk aside and presses her palm flat against the ground. Her shoulders loosen, just a fraction, like she’s finally found something solid after too long floating.
That’s when the wrongness settles into my bones. I kneel beside her and place my hand over hers, warm against the packed dirt beneath the mat.
“Stay with me,” I murmur.
