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“None here are your enemy,” I say, loud and clear. “There is but one enemy we must face.”

No one moves.

I drift my gaze over the resistance fighters. Meeting their eyes one at a time, every inch the Queen. No one moves. Almost, it seems no one dares to breathe.

Lifetimes of hatred and fear are thicker than the smoke, blanketing all of us.

Janara steps forward and walks up to me.

He stares into my eyes for a moment. Long enough that my heart beats faster. Fear coils deep in my stomach.

Will he betray me too? Was I wrong to trust him?

A faint, almost broken smile tugs at the corners of his lips, as if he’s reading my thoughts. He bows his head and drops to one knee, offering me his blade.

“My Queen!” he says, projecting his rocky voice. “Our one and true Queen!”

He looks up and there’s something beneath the steel in his gaze. Loyalty, but more too. It takes me a moment to recognize it. He’s asking for forgiveness.

“My General,” I say, placing my hand over the flat of his blade, accepting his offer.

He bows his head. The tension between the two groups heightens then it breaks. The resistance fighters drop to one knee almost as one. Shouts rise—not just cries of loyalty, but of relief, of hope renewed.

“There is nothing to forgive,” I say softly, intending my words only for Janara, but the Al’fa is close enough to hear them too. “He fooled us both, but no longer.”

“We will bring justice to the Shaman and all who follow him,” Janara growls, loud enough it echoes off the nearby buildings.

The air shifts. A sound rises from the Urr’ki crowd, not fear, not hatred, butrelief.As if something long held in their chests is finally allowed to exhale. Vapas breathes heavily beside me. Khiara relaxes and blinks back tears I pretend not to see.

The Al’fa stands like a mountain, unbending, but I catch the subtle shift in his posture. Not retreat. But… respect. He’s watching me. Learning me.

Janara rises, sliding his weapon back into its sheath.

“You brought the Zmaj,” he says under his breath.

“I broughthope,” I counter.

Janara stares for a long moment.

“After all that’s happened… I wasn’t sure how you’d pull this off,” he says at last.

I had no choice. Fire and blood are the only currency left in this world.

“Because this world is not done yet. We are not done.”

His eyes search mine, looking for weakness, but he finds none. He nods, then turns to his fighters and raises his voice.

“This city belongs to us. Not the Shaman. Not the Maulavi. We take it back—tonight.”

They roar in answer. A ragged sound, but full of power. And it’s not just them.

Behind me, the Zmaj lift their voices in a call that echoes across the stone walls. Deep. Guttural. A sound of war, but also more. A promise. The humans join in—not as loud, not as fearsome, but every bit as determined.

I stand in the center. A Queen between three peoples. And for the first time in what feels like lifetimes… I am not alone.

We march. Not as a single army, but a tide.

Zmaj flank the edges, their scales shimmering in the smoke-lit haze, wings folded tight. The long shafts they carry with blades on one end gleam, ready to kill. They follow the Urr’ki resistance which surges forward in ragged columns. Their patchwork gear makes them look mismatched, but they move with unity. Purpose. Fire in their eyes.