His violet eyes churned, but he did not make the demand again.
He waited.
With hands steadied in the fires of plague-ridden temples and battles in the Axis Hall, Auryn held her satchel tight and looked at him right in the eyes.
“We shall do no such thing,” she answered.
“You have taken from our dead,” he accused.
She lifted her chin, pulse hammering in her ears. “If you wanted them, you’ve had days to claim them. Instead, you’ve left your dead here to polluteOur city. Therefore, these items now belong to the Lattice.”
Something flickered in his eyes. The glaive rose in one smooth motion until its blade hovered inches from her throat. The steel caught the last glint of Polis light, cold and merciless. Emerald refracted on the aethersteel, and for a moment Auryn wondered if she would become another scuff on its edge.
Behind her, Lu’ma shifted. Sudden and sharp.
Auryn’s hand came up.
A command to stop. To hold.
A demand for stillness.
Auryn did not step back from the Glider’s threat. Instead, she lifted her hand and set her palm flat to the edge of his blade.
“Do not think you may do as you please here,” she intoned. Smooth. Calm. Controlled.
Mana surged into her fingers, silver and gold light searing along the steel, spreading like glowing ink from where she touched outward. The metal hissed, warping and bubbling.
The Glider’s eyes narrowed. He flinched back.
Just a breath.
Just a reflexive twitch.
But the blade was so sharp that it sliced into her hand.
Silver blood welled—bright against her skin—yet she didn’t so much as glance at it. Her gaze stayed locked on his.
“The Gliders have no reason to attack Us,” Auryn decreed, her voice steady. “We’ve done nothing to warrant such hostility.”
His eyes dropped to the blood on her palm, then lifted to meet hers again. Silence stretched between them. Heavy and nauseating. Auryn’s hand throbbed in pain. Blood trickled down to her wrist. That scent hit her again. That bitterness on her tongue that reminded her of ceremony, of ritual.
“You have done enough,” he said at last, his tone unreadable. “The Sky has reason enough to strike at the Flaeme’s heart.”
“Enough to warrant an attempt to assassinate the Sokâr?”
“Your head still sits upon your shoulders,” he countered. “A true attempt would have left you without.”
Auryn swallowed past the dryness in her throat.
“We think it odd that your Matriarch would sanction such actions when her petition for Vessar with Our Resh’Agar is still in effect. The Writ of Luster allows trade between Our people, but it does not sanction acts of war.”
The metal beneath her hand hissed and whined as it melted to liquid and poured onto the stone at her feet. The glow spread farther down the glaive. This time, when the Glider moved, Auryn released the weapon.
But still—she didnotstep back.
The Glider’s eyes narrowed further.
Auryn took another silent breath. “You did not cross the Arc of Mourning to enter Krystopolis. Had you done so, We would have known of it. Instead, you violate agreements long kept in place to crawl up through the Cataclyss and attack Us.”
