I survived what I left behind. Can we survive what lies ahead?
“Will they take me?”
Rythar's hand lands on my shoulder. His mouth pulls into something that isn't quite a smile. "They’re already going to pay for trying once.”
CHAPTER 31
CONCORD PLATFORM ALPHA
ELENA – IN FLIGHT
Rythar’s warshipmakes the skiff look like a toy.
The hatch seals with a hydraulic snap. The interior is angular, built for speed and impact, not comfort. No windows. Just armored plating and narrow tactical displays that glow softly, their amber light cutting across matte metal walls.
The Xytheos-sized seat isn’t padded, but it molds around my smaller form while a full-body harness snaps into place with a series of rapid clicks over shoulders, ribs, and thighs. I test it instinctively and get nowhere. Even if I wanted to stand, the ship wouldn’t allow it.
The smell of recycled air sends me straight back to the underground of New Terra. I grunt as my body slams into the seat as the ship rips through the atmosphere. "Sorry," Rythar says. "These are built for Xytheos warriors. I'll take it slower."
Rythar occupies the pilot's seat like he was engineered for it. One hand on the control stick, the other resting near the pulse-cannon trigger. He doesn't look at me. His attention is forward, readouts flickering across his face faster than I can follow.
I’m unsettled, but it’s not because of the threat of conflict right now. The warship is battle-ready, but Rythar isn't expecting an immediate fight. It’s unsettling how completely atease Rythar is up here. We're nowhere near the jungle, and he's not any less lethal. I won't make the mistake of assuming the other rulers are different. I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Are you alright?" His gruff voice breaks my reverie.
I open my eyes. "I'm... fine," I gasp between breaths.
“We’re almost there,” he grunts.
Ahead, the Council platform floats in the thin outer atmosphere—massive, anchored to nothing. The hull is black and glassy, but the surface is pitted with scars and old scorch marks. I can see the Concord ships already docked, lined up in perfect formation. One ship is more heavily armed and shielded. It looks equivalent to Rythar’s ship. It must be the High Lord’s personal warship.
Winged figures circle above the platform. A dozen, maybe fewer. They hold formation in tight arcs, blades strapped across their backs.
"Who are they?" I ask.
Rythar barely glances up. "A few from Sky Legion. General Akran's enforcers. They handle Council matters across biomes." He pauses. "Unusual that their General is absent for a meeting like this. I assume Akran is occupied with his new bride. Like the rest of us."
"They leave their biome, but you don't?"
"Sky is different. Akran's only real land is some cliffs. His warriors live in artificial habitats that move through open air. Jarrett keeps them close to the Astral Spire for obvious reasons."
"Strong defense, controllable offense, then?" I smile. "But I never saw them in the Green Reach. Or Reach's End."
Rythar gives a short laugh. "Most biome lords will enter each other's territory. Only Vorak was reckless enough to enter mine uninvited. And I don’t entertain."
"Not a fan of company?"
One of his hands finds mine. "Only yours," he growls.
Rythar lands with zero ceremony. The ship touches down onto the pad, and the hatch cycles open before the engines even finish winding down. The moment the doors part, the air is different. It prickles against my skin.
“What is that feeling in the air?” I whisper.
Rythar raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t take his eyes off our surroundings. “It’s stronger than his usual presence, isn’t it? Bit annoying. Like a buzzing fly. The High Lord is angry.” He gives my arm a squeeze, then pushes me behind him as he says, “I’m angrier. Say nothing. He is always spying here.”
Drenz and three of Rythar’s best follow, weapons slung but hands loose at their sides. I’m bracketed by muscle. Rythar in front, Drenz behind, and the other two flanking. I want to be strong enough to stand with Rythar, but this time, I don’t mind the guards.
We cross the docking ring. More warriors wait at the threshold, faces hidden behind visors. They don’t move.
