Page 104

My heart pounds. This hasn’t been politics for some time — this is survival, raw and unforgiving. It’s no longer a question of whether we should act, that’s been decided. The question has been when, but now is the time. I feel it, deep in my bones, like a prophecy carved in fire.

The Al’fa grunts. The only sound that breaks the deep quiet of the chamber. Elara’s words hang in the air, heavy as iron. The Paluga is waking. I knew it. I’ve said it, but she affirms it by the things she saw on her journey.

I know it’s true. The stories were never only stories. They were warnings. And we who thought ourselves above them, we ignore them at our peril. Za’tan shifts. The Al’fa’s posture tightens, coiled and unreadable. Ryatuv hasn’t let go of Elara.

“I will speak to the Council,” I say, my voice quiet but clear. “But we have to act now. We can’t wait, this is it. This is survival.”

Before anyone can respond, the leather door of the chamber jerks aside. Two Zmaj warriors step inside holding a struggling, snarling figure between them. Uncertain I’m seeing what I think I am, I blink, but the sight doesn’t change.

Between them, they drag a soot-blackened Urr’ki child, his limbs thin and wild with desperate strength. He’s caked in soot and blood. His clothes are ragged and torn, but he’s fighting. Kicking and struggling to break free with wild eyes. I step forward and his eyes lock onto mine.

“Queen?” he gasps, his voice raw. He stops fighting, lowering his head. “Queen, he’s killing everyone. He’ssacrificingthem on the machine.”

My stomach lurches but I keep my outward calm. The warriors holding him set him onto his feet and the child drops to his knees before me.

“The Shaman?” I ask.

He nods violently, tears streaking through the grime.

“General Janara sent me. He said to run. He said you were alive, you were with the lizards. I didn’t believe him, but I follow orders. He said it was now or never. If you’re idea is going to work, there’s no more time to waste.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. No one breathes. And then, as if the world wants to confirm it, the ground shudders. A deep, rolling tremor. Dust rains from the ceiling, the scent of crushed stone thickening the air.

A distant crack echoes through the stone corridors.

I kneel, placing my hands on the child’s shoulders.

“What is your name, young one?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine then widen as he realizes he’s looking at his Queen. He quickly drops them to the floor. He’s trembling, whether with fear or tension I’m not sure.

“Muda,” he says.

“Muda, you have done well,” I say, speaking softly. “So, very well.”

Za’tan mutters a curse.

“This is it,” the Al’fa says, iron in his voice.

I rise, pulling the boy up with me. I motion for him to go with a nearby healer.

“Take him. Feed him. Keep him safe.”

Then I turn. Not as a supplicant. Not as a strategist. As a Queen.

“I ask,” I say, my voice rising, “not as a guest of the Zmaj but as Queen of the Urr’ki – the last Queen of my people. I ask you to honor our alliance.”

The Al’fa’s eyes meet mine. He frowns deeply but doesn’t speak.

“There is no more time,” I say. “If the Shaman is not stopped now, we lose everything. Not just Urr’ki, but Zmaj and humans too.”

A moment. A breath. He meets my eyes with a steady, certain gaze then he steps forward, broad and imposing, but not threatening. His voice is deep, loud enough for all to hear.

“We will attack.”

The chamber bursts into motion. Warriors rise, voices call orders, and messengers are dispatched. I don’t move, not yet, because the Al’fa is watching. And there’s something in his gaze that I can’t put my finger on. Pride, perhaps, respect I am sure. Something else, too. Something that tightens my chest.

“We go together,” I say.