Silence stretches but it no longer feels hostile. The people are considering. Virn studies the two of them for a long moment.
“You speak as if the future is already decided,” he says slowly.
Rverre’s emerald eyes glow faintly in the fractured light.
“It isn’t,” she replies. “That’s why you’re afraid.”
A sharp intake of breath moves through the chamber. Illadon doesn’t move away from her.
“We are the future of Tajss,” he says, voice steady and unyielding. “Whether you make room for it or not.”
The weight of that settles over the gathering.
Illadon doesn’t say it like a challenge. He doesn’t bare his teeth or puff himself larger than he is. He says it the way stone exists — solid, unarguable.
Whether they make room for it or not.
That is what steals my breath. This isn’t a rebellion, it’s a becoming.
A tremor moves through me, not fear or grief. This is something fuller. For years I held the mostly buried belief that my worthwas measured by what I could not give. By the absence of a future that would never carry my blood.
But blood is not the only thing that builds a future.
I have taught them. I have held the line when they were small. I have shown them how to stand when the world tried to break them.
Illadon stands taller than he did yesterday. Rverre’s wings catch the fractured light and do not tremble. They do not look borrowed from anyone. They look earned.
Pride floods my thoughts, lifting my heart. I glance sideways and see Korr is watching them; then his eyes shift to me. There is no question in his gaze, only an absolute certainty.
“Dragoste,” he whispers, but he might as well shout it from the highest roofs of this new city.
He’s not claiming a future; he’s choosing it. Choosing us.
Something shifts and I see that I am not smaller for loving him. It doesn’t diminish me to stand beside him. Accepting him, choosing him, I am more.
Whatever storms Tajss sends, whatever wars or reckonings rise from this fragile alliance, these children will meet them standing. And we will stand with them, not as conquerors, but as something the world cannot break.
“Bold statements,” Syin says.
“True statements,” Illadon counters. “You are Zmaj. My father is a mighty warrior and has taught me. I know the pride of being a male. Of forcing the world to bend to your will. But I also know that Zmaj exist in tune with Tajss herself.”
“All of us are, to one degree or another,” Rverre says softly. “If you listen.”
“Right!” Illadon says, his voice cracking. He coughs, clearing his throat, his face flushing with embarrassment. Syin and Virn smile, but do not comment showing restraint and understanding.
“The choice is yours,” I say, stepping up again. “We do not wish conflict, but we need help. You clearly need help too. We will bring many warriors who will not only provide for our own, but for all.”
“Our people will not be forgotten? Overriden?” Virn asks.
“My dad would never allow that,” Illadon says.
“Or mine. Or our mothers,” Rverre says.
“We have a ruling Council,” I say. “Humans, Zmaj, and Urr’ki are all represented. I am certain that your leaders would be welcomed. I do not serve on it, but I can imagine how hard it has been to find balance with all the different factions and species they oversee. It cannot be impossible to integrate your people.”
Virn looks at Syin. Something passes between them without words, but an understanding is reached.
“We will welcome your people,” they say in unison. “There will be debates and discussions, but that is for later. For now, let us celebrate a finding of lost brethren and a renewal of hope for a brighter tomorrow. Tonight, let us give thanks to Tajss.”
