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I force myself to move. Elara’s safe return is a victory. Her information might save us. But as I walk toward her, I can’t stop thinking:

If she can have both… why not me?

Why can’t I lean into the fire burning between me and the Al’fa? Why am I still standing alone on the edge of the cliff, too afraid to leap?

36

RANI

Isit across from Elara.

She’s cleaned up, but it only makes the evidence of her ordeal starker. The hollowness in her cheeks, the rasp of her smoke-roughened voice. Yet her posture remains unbowed.

Behind her, Ryatuv stands like a dark, coiled shadow. I don’t miss the way his hand brushes her shoulder now and then. Reassurance for her, maybe, but also for himself. Z’leni remains in the healer’s wing, but the moment Elara saw me, the first thing she asked about was his welfare.

Rosalind stands in the doorway, watching. Rosalind remains as unreadable as ever, though fatigue has hollowed her features. Her eyes, though, are as bright and as sharp as ever. She takes in everything, watching and filing it all away.

There’s no mistaking now that Elara and the two warriors have bonded in some way. Even Za’tan, seated at the back, watches her in silence, his frown faint but steady. The Al’fa stands at my side, silent but alert.

“I’ll speak plainly,” she says. “We didn’t escape. Wesurvived. Barely.”

“Tell me everything,” I say, nodding to encourage her.

Elara’s hands clench the table’s edge. When her eyes meet mine, there’s no shyness—only raw urgency.

“We were trapped when the tunnels collapsed,” she says. “But what you need to know is that the quakes aren’t natural. It’s the Paluga. It is real and it’s stirring.”

Her voice cracks a little on that word. Ryatuv’s jaw clenches.

“We had to go through one of the old magma channels. Ryatuv carried Z’leni most of the way, and I…” she swallows, “I thought we’d die in there. There were…” She closes her eyes. Her breath comes faster. “Creatures,” she whispers. “Twisted things. Some were burned down to bone; others had no skin at all. All of them are being driven upward, like they were running from something worse.”

I clasp my hands before me, cold to the bone despite the chamber’s heat.

“We were lucky that one of the patrols found us.”

Lucky.

But it doesn’t feel like luck. It feels like something ancient, clawing its way free from the bones of the planet.

“The Paluga is waking,” she says. “And the Shaman is desperate. I was arrested and thrown into a cell. He’s been sacrificing everyone he can reach. Anyone who questions him. It’s bad and it’s going to get worse.”

A cold settles in my gut. This woman, this human, clawed her way out of death and darkness with two males, one Urr’ki, one Zmaj, who clearly would follow her to the ends of the world.

“What of the Urr’ki?” I ask. “The ones who aren’t with the Shaman?”

“I don’t know. I hope some are hiding,” she continues, “but the city is drowning in blood and madness. The quakes have damaged so much of it and the Shaman is growing more insane. After what we saw escaping, I am certain that whatever he needs to fully wake the Paluga... he’s almost there.”

I rise to my feet slowly. My spine feels tight, my hands cold.

“And if the Paluga awakens?” the Al’fa asks.

“We all die,” I say flatly. “Urr’ki. Zmaj. Human.”

Elara’s eyes soften, but there’s iron beneath them.

“She’s right. We can’t let him finish,” Elara says.

“No,” I whisper. “We can’t.”