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“It is true,” I say. “I was your Queen, but I let you down. I listened to the Shaman. I led you in war against the Zmaj, knowing full well we were losing. I did it because that’s what we did. We fought the Zmaj with all that we were.”

Protesting shouts rise mixing with some of agreement, shouting the lizards are dangerous.

“I know,” I call out to them. “I know you are lost. Disappointed. That all you know has been taken from you—but know this…” I pause looking at them.

“Listen to her lie!” the Shaman screeches. “Maulavi, sacrifice her. Let her blood be the final piece to bring us into the next world. It is only fitting!”

The Maulavi don’t move, but they tighten their grips on their weapons. Ready to defend, yet not obeying either.

“You’re a monster,” Janara hisses, stepping forward.

I stop Janara with a touch on his arm.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

I keep my gaze locked on the Shaman, but the weight of the gathered masses presses against me. I stand on a razor’s edge. I am not fighting the Shaman, I’m fighting his ideas. I war for the hearts and minds of my people. Their fear is palpable. The taste of it is ash on my tongue.

“No?” the Shaman mocks. “No? You betrayed them,” he makes a sweeping gesture at my people. Seeing that I’m not attacking, he twists his broken body and limps to the edge of the stage. “You see? I knew she had lost her mind. This is what I protected you from. She brings the enemy into our home! My loyal Maulavi and I are the only thing that stands between you and death. We are the only hope of Urr’ki being the First Born in the next world and holding onto that honor!”

I keep a distance between the two of us. Drifting my eyes over the assembled, my heart aches. A cold, crushing pain clamps around my chest, each breath a battle. Their faces are a mix of fear and despair. They aren’t fighting the Zmaj because they’ve given up. They don’t see the point in continuing.

“The Shaman is right,” I say. He was going to interrupt me but that stops his words before they emerge. A murmur runs over the crowd, they didn’t expect this either. “I brought the Zmaj. You can see that, so why deny it? Instead of fear, instead of worry, I want to share with you something else. A vision. My vision.”

I pause, not so much for effect as for any sign that I’m reaching them. That their hearts and minds aren’t too far gone. A low rumble shakes the cavern. Dust falls, mingling with the smoke, and they watch. Silent they may be, but they’re listening. I continue.

“I told you that I knew the war was lost. I knew it. General Janara knew it, but still we fought. Why?” A few scattered murmurs as Janara steps up to stand at my side. I feel the Al’fa’s eyes on me, waiting to see what happens. Ready to order his people to slaughter mine if my gambit doesn’t pay off. “We fought out of fear. Fought because it was all we knew, but I have had time. Time to think. Time to dream.”

“Dreams?” the Shaman scoffs, but his Maulavi shift and they lower their weapons. Slight, yes, but unmistakable. “You speak of dreams.Ihave led them through this nightmare. I alone have guided them towards our only hope of salvation. The awakening of the Paluga to bring on the next world!”

“You lead them to death. To despair,” I say, shaking my head. “I offer something different. I say no! Not today, death. Let the next world wait a little longer. We are not done!”

“No! No! Not today!” shouts erupt from the back of the crowd and it catches on. Others take up the battle cry. I’m winning them over. They are not too far gone.

“I have not only brokered peace with the Zmaj,” I say, turning partway and offering my hand to the Al’fa. He doesn’t hesitate taking it and stepping to my side. “I have brokered an alliance! An end to the generations of war. We will no longer kill one?—”

The world shudders.

At first, I mistake it for the gravity of the moment—the weight of everything broken and spoken—but the tremor deepens, becoming a low, resonant rumble, a heartbeat from something impossibly vast.

Battle cries falter, twisting into confused questions, then ragged shouts of fear.

The stone platform quivers. Cracks thread their way outward in thin, jagged lines. Dust spills from the black tower like ash falling from a dead star. The rumbling grows in intensity and loudness. Outside the gathering square a building collapses and lava plumes into the air.

The Al’fa’s wings flare wide, his stance shifting, instinct reacting faster than reason. Khiara gasps. Janara’s hand tightens on the hilt of his blade. And the Shaman—laughs.

Wild, unhinged laughter, that echoes through the square like the cries of a man who’s glimpsed the face of his god.

“Yes!” he howls, raising his hands to the smoke-filled sky. “Yes! Do you see? The fire comes! The sacrifice is heard! I am chosen! Chosen!”

He spins to his Maulavi, face radiant with madness.

“The Paluga rises! The prophecy is fulfilled!”

“No,” I breathe.

But it’s too late.

A second quake hits, deeper. Stronger. The entire city shivers with it. The broken edges of the stage tilt beneath my feet and the cracked machine lets out a terrible shriek of shearing metal. Screams rise from the crowd. The square erupts into chaos.