She’s not defiant and there isn’t a hint of fear. She is certain. She knows. I swallow hard and step back. Illadon feels the shift in space. The way the room tilts toward him. He inhales slowly, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin just enough to claim height he hasn’t fully grown into yet and steps forward.
He stops between Korr and me.
“My parents are alive,” he says, voice rich and clear, carrying to every person present.
In this moment I see the leader he will be, not the child he is. A ripple moves through the chamber. Several Zmaj exchange glances.
“They lead our people,” Illadon continues, voice steady, shoulders squared. “If Korr had harmed them, I would not stand here.” The younger Zmaj who made the accusation shifts, unsettled. “Korr didn’t take us. He came to help us. This mission to find this city, to find you, is ours.”
He rests his hand on Rverre’s shoulder.
Rverre steps forward with him, standing at his side. Her wings remain folded, but her chin lifts, eyes bright in the fractured light.
“We were not carried here,” she says softly, though the chamber still hears her. “I was called.”
Illadon nods, backing her without hesitation. A ripple rushes through the chamber, background murmurs rising to almost shouts before fading as Syin raises a clenched fist.
“Called?” Syin repeats, the word edged with skepticism.
Rverre doesn’t flinch.
“The ground,” she says. “The city. Tajss herself.” Her gaze drifts briefly to the broken ceiling where light spills in, then returns to the gathered Zmaj. “This place is not finished. It is waiting.”
A few wings rustle uneasily, tails drag across the floor. Illadon’s voice cuts cleanly through the tension.
“We chose to come,” he says. “Not because he told us to.” He jerks his chin toward Korr. “Not because anyone forced us.” His hand remains steady on Rverre’s shoulder. “Korr stood with us. Followedus.”
The younger Zmaj who made the accusation shifts, jaw tight.
“You expect us to trust the word of children?” he challenges.
Illadon meets his gaze without hesitation.
“I expect you to recognize the truth when it stands in front of you,” he replies.
A low murmur moves through the humans. Rverre’s voice softens, but it does not weaken.
“If he meant harm,” she says, eyes sweeping the chamber, “the ground would recoil. It does not.”
Several Zmaj glance instinctively toward the floor, as if they might feel it for themselves. Syin folds his arms.
“You speak of the ground as if it favors you,” he says.
Rverre tilts her head slightly.
“It favors balance,” she answers.
Illadon steps half a pace forward now, no longer anchored by her but aligned.
“We are not trophies,” he says, the word deliberate. “We are not treasure to be claimed or displayed.”
A few Zmaj bristle at that, tails lashing once.
“We are human and Zmaj,” he continues. “We are the best of both and we stand here alive because people chose to protect us without owning us.”
His gaze flicks briefly to me, then to Korr.
“He did not steal us,” Illadon says. “He came when we asked for help. And he stayed when it was dangerous.”
