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His mouth is rougher. More urgent. But there’s tenderness, too. Restraint. His hands don’t roam. He just holds me. And this time when I step back, I don’t say anything.

Neither do they. There are no declarations. No arguments. Only acceptance.

Three hearts still beating. Three souls still standing. A single moment of peace in the firestorm we made.

And behind us the city burns.

41

RANI

The world shudders as a thundering roar tears through the air—deep and bellowing, as if the earth itself cries out in pain and rage.

On the horizon, fire erupts, curling orange-red fingers clawing the cavern ceiling, shooting up from the base of Kala Tavara like a serpent uncoiling from sleep.

I halt mid-step, my breath caught in my throat.

For one suspended second, there is absolute silence. No one speaks. Even the Zmaj, creatures of war and fury, are silent and still, their eyes fixed on the rising flames.

The machine.They did it. They are alive. For now at least.

Z’leni, Elara, and Ryatuv were successful.

Words fail me, but something deep inside responds—an ache I cannot name, as if the marrow in my bones catches fire too. That monstrosity… the Infernal Machine… has been struck.

My hand convulses, tightening on my ceremonial staff. The surface of the staff is etched with old symbols. Symbols that once meant protection, justice, peace—once.

Now they feel like scars carved into old bones.

Vapas is silent, but tense, watching with his dark eyes narrowed. Khiara’s breath quickens, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. Dilacs stands behind us, silent and steady, but his thick shoulders tense beneath his leather armor. He’s the quietest of the three, but now there’s a glint in his eyes I recognize.

Hope. Pain. A glimmer of vengeance long denied.

Beside me, the Al’fa exhales a plume of smoke from his nostrils. His body vibrates with barely leashed energy. Flexing his wings, the nearest humans shuffle back to avoid being struck. I glance over and his gaze is locked on the distant flames.

He says nothing. Neither do I.

There’s no need for words. Not right now.

Behind us, the Zmaj army waits, their curved, brutal weapons gleaming under heat waves that make their numbers seem endless. Row upon row of cold-blooded, fiery eyed monsters who would like nothing more than to kill every Urr’ki they see. My stomach churns. I’ve rolled the dice. Done all I can to create this alliance. Now it is in the hands of fate.

Rosalind stands off to one side, leading the humans who came with us. She’s dressed in white leathers with a long, flowing cape. A narrow blade gleams in her hand. Our eyes briefly meet and she gives a slight nod, professional but tired.

The human hasn’t rested properly in days, but she shows no weakness. She never does. I understand her. She and I are alike. Symbols more than people. Our duties do not allow for the showing of weakness.

“Now?” the Al’fa asks, deferring to my judgment.

I close my eyes, holding onto this final moment of peace, reluctant to let go of this last illusion of control. What comes next is out of my hands.

Will my people accept my return? Will they fight? How many will die before this day ends?

“Yes,” I say, nodding sharply to keep the sigh out of my words.

I step forward into this new world. One that I only imagined until now and am still unsure if this is the right thing to do or if I am dooming my people to end in blood and ash. One way or another, I have done my best. All that remains is to play this out. Only then will I know the outcome.

Every step resounds in my chest.

The memory of being dragged to the cells deep beneath the tower presses in. My guards having betrayed me. I’d had no voice left to scream. The last time I was in my city I was an escaped prisoner. Slipping away like a thief.