Calista’s gaze flicks to Rverre and Illadon then to me before returning to Korr.
“Did he?” she asks carefully.
“Yes.”
No embellishment. No defense.
Jolie moves to Rverre immediately, dropping to her knees and pulling her close. Rverre clings to her for half a second and then looks back at me. That, more than anything, hurts. Calista exhales slowly.
“Get him to the medic,” she orders, gesturing to the sobbing man. “Then clear this area.”
People hesitate, looking at one another until Korr turns his head. That gets them and they move.
As the crowd disperses, the camp feels smaller somehow. Tighter. Like everyone has realized at the same time that this place can’t hold what’s happening to us. Calista’s attention settles on me.
“Talia,” she says. “Walk with us.”
It isn’t a request. Korr steps forward at the same time I do.
“I’ll escort,” he says.
Calista studies him for a moment, then nods. “Fine.”
Illadon starts to follow.
Ladon puts a hand on his shoulder. “No son, not this part.”
Illadon bristles, but Rverre lays her hand on his bicep and he stays. I look back once as we walk away. The two of them standing side-by-side, older than their years by far. Growing up much too fast because Tajss will tolerate nothing less.
The camp is already reshaping itself around the incident. People whispering. People watching. Lines hardening where there shouldn’t be lines at all. And beneath it all, the sense that something has shifted irreversibly.
We approach the council tent and Calista glances at me sideways.
“Thank you for intervening,” she says.
“I didn’t,” I say honestly. “He did.”
Her mouth tightens. “That’s what worries me.”
I glance at Korr. He’s watching the horizon even now, posture rigid, shoulders drawn tight as the valley opens ahead. He hasn’t looked back once. I suspect that whatever Rverre heard out there didn’t just call her. It cracked something open.
And I have the sinking certainty that by the end of the day, none of us will be able to pretend this it was nothing.
2
KORR
The council tent is quieter than the camp outside, but only just.
This isn’t the full council. Everyone here knows that. This is the spine of it—the people whose presence makes decisions whether the others like it or not.
Rosalind sits at the head of the table, posture composed, expression unreadable. Padraig and Drosdan flank her, human and Zmaj authority balanced by long habit rather than comfort. Elmer sits opposite them, jaw tight, hands braced on the table like he’s ready for a fight he’s already decided to lose. Sabrina and Annabel stand near the back, close enough to speak, far enough to observe.
Jolie, Calista, and Amara remain together, silent but unmistakably present. Mothers first. Everything else second.
The Urr’ki Queen stands apart from the table, regal and still, her presence unofficial and impossible to ignore. Beside her, the Cavern Z’maj Al’fa has claimed space without asking, massivearms folded, his attention fixed on Rosalind. He is not council, but neither is he optional.
Korr remains near the tent entrance, half-turned toward the outside world, exactly where someone like him belongs. Rosalind’s gaze locks onto me.
