The man falters, then rallies when a few others move closer behind him. Human. Middle-aged. Worn thin by fear and hunger and too many nights without walls.
“The hybrid,” he says, jabbing a finger toward Rverre. “She’s the one causing this. We’ve heard what she does. How she is. Now she’s wandering off on her own. What is she calling down on us now?”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd and I feel Rverre tense.
“She’s a child,” I say, keeping my voice level. “And she didn’t wander. She followed something she doesn’t understand yet.”
“That’s the problem,” another voice cuts in. “None of us understands it. And we’re the ones who pay when things go wrong.”
Korr turns his head slowly. The movement alone quiets them.
“You’re afraid,” he says in a tone that is not accusing, but also not gentle.
He’s stating facts. A dangerous thing to do. The first man stiffens.
“We’ve earned the right to be.”
“No,” Korr replies. “You’ve earned the responsibility not to make it worse.”
A few people scoff. Someone laughs, sharp and brittle.
“Easy for you to say,” a woman snaps. “You’re not human.”
The words hang there, ugly and deliberate. Illadon steps forward. I catch his arm before he can speak. Korr doesn’t move,but something in him shifts. A tightening. A stillness that wasn’t there before.
“No,” he agrees. “I’m not.”
He takes one step closer to the man who spoke. Just one.
“You want to talk about blame?” Korr continues. “Then talk about who opened the tunnels. Who ignored the warnings. Who thought the ground itself would forgive them.”
The man pales.
“That’s not?—”
Korr closes the distance in two strides.
It happens fast after that. The man reaches for a knife. Korr disarms him in a single, brutal motion. Twisting his wrist fast and hard. Tendons stretch too far and the blade drops into the dirt with a sound that echoes far too loudly.
Korr doesn’t strike again because he doesn’t need to. The man screams and drops to his knees. Korr crouches, bringing himself eye level.
“You don’t threaten children,” he says quietly. “Not here. Not ever.”
He rises and steps back, already done. Silence crashes down. No one rushes forward. No one argues. Even the ones who had been nodding along look away now, faces tight with the sudden understanding of consequences.
I let out a harsh breath I’d been holding. Rverre presses closer to me. Illadon’s hands are clenched into fists at his side, shaking.
“Enough.”
The voice cuts through everything. Calista.
She pushes through the crowd, Ladon at her side, Jolie just behind them. Leadership in motion always carries weight, but this—this is different. This is damage control.
“What happened?” Calista demands.
The injured man sobs something incoherent, but no one moves to help him. Korr turns to her, expression unreadable.
“He threatened this child,” he says, motioning towards Rverre.
