A few murmurs rippled through the chamber—some approval, some worry. The copper-scaled female shook her head as we passed.
“You bring too many risks,” she muttered. “The mountain won’t hide us forever.”
I wanted to snap back that monsters hadn’t saved me—a Mesaarkan had—but Rygnar touched my shoulder lightly, guiding me on.
“Not today,” he said under his breath.
Outside, the sun had cleared the ridge. I didn’t realize until I stepped into the light how tightly my body had been locked. I drew a long breath and felt the tension in my chest ease.
“Well,” I said, trying for humor, “that went better than a hanging.”
“They will see you differently soon,” Rygnar said. “They are cautious, not cruel.”
“You keep saying that like you need me to believe it.”
He looked over, the faintest smile ghosting across his mouth. “Maybe I do.”
We followed the terrace path downward, past dwellings carved into the cliff and narrow gardens overflowing with plants I didn’t recognize. The air smelled of damp soil and resin. Children darted between doorways, two of them unmistakably half-Mesaarkan, with faint ridges beneath their hairlines and amber eyes bright with curiosity. A human woman waved from a doorway, and Rygnar inclined his head in return.
“She’s one of us?” I asked.
“Her name is Mara,” he said. “She was taken from an enclave labor camp years ago. She chose to stay. Many did.”
It struck me then that this hidden place wasn’t secret for secrecy’s sake. It was an act of survival. A quiet rebellion that didn’t need banners or weapons. A life built in the cracks between wars.
“Does anyone else know about you?” I asked. “Outside this basin?”
He hesitated, scanning the sky. “A few,” he said at last. “One is a cyborg commander who owes us silence. His name is Raven Blackwood.”
That name made my head lift. “I’ve heard of him. CRENA used to call him their liaison with Cyborg Command.”
“He calls us his test of peace,” Rygnar said dryly. “He brings supplies once each season under the guise of patrol. In return, we pretend not to exist.”
“That seems… fragile.”
“All peace is,” he said.
We reached his dwelling, and I followed him inside, the faint hum of the mountain folding around us again. He lit one of the glowing strips along the ceiling, bathing the room in soft green light.
“Rest,” he said. “I’ll work my shift in the lower mine. Veklan will want to see you helping in the medical station later.”
“I can handle that,” I said. “Before the war, I worked in convoy triage. I’m not useless.”
“I never thought you were.”
He turned to go, then hesitated. The light played across the ridges along his temple, the ones that looked almost like carved leaves.
“The council will warm to you,” he said. “They already saw something I did not expect.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re not afraid of me anymore.”
I blinked, realizing he was right. Somewhere between the cave and the council, the fear had drained away and left something far more dangerous in its place.
Curiosity.
Admiration.
