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“You took command of my people.”

“I took responsibility when it was clear no one else had,” she snaps back. Her tone is iron wrapped in silk. “We didn’t know what would happen, but I thought it best to be prepared if we didn’t stop the awakening of the Paluga. The quakes were worsening. I had to make a call.”

“Youhad to?” he growls. “Your people, your choices—your call? We are not yours to command, human.”

Behind him, Zmaj warriors stiffen. Behindher, Visidion steps closer, one massive hand already drifting toward the weapon on his back.

“We should stop this,” Khiara whispers in my ear.

“No,” I correct him. “This is mine to stop.”

The Al’fa is breathing like a cornered beast. Rosalind’s hands are clenched at her sides. It’s clear that neither of them are going to back down.

“You may not like my methods,” she says evenly, “but I got your people moving. You’ll thank me when they’re not buried under tons of molten rock.”

Visidion growls, stepping forward, sliding the lochaber on his back free of its holster.

“Watch your tone,human. I am the Al’fa under the mountain. Only I speak for my people,” the Al’fa growls.

“AndIspeak for every human who followed me down here,” Rosalind snaps. “Every mother who carried her child through fire. Every man who gave his life to protect someone else’s.”

“You act like a queen,” the Al’fa snarls.

“I act like a survivor.”

The air crackles. I step between them.

“Enough.” My voice isn’t loud, but it rings out like a command. The weight of it silences even the quake that rumbles beneath our feet, for a brief moment. They shift their angry glares to me. The Al’fa’s chest heaves. His nostrils flare. Rosalind’s jaw is tight, chin lifted in challenge. But neither speaks.

“Look around you,” I say softly. “Look at them.”

I point to the compound—at the families fleeing with only what they can carry, the wounded being treated on stone benches, the Zmaj standing shoulder-to-shoulder with humans, lifting supplies. The Urr’ki mingling amongst them and being directed to how they can assist. All three species working side-by-side and together, all old grievances forgotten.

“None of our battles matter if we don’t survive.”

A fresh tremor rocks the ground. Part of the far ceiling cracks, stone falling like broken teeth. A human shouts. A Zmaj dives, catching a falling child and shielding her with his wings.

Rosalind’s expression shifts. Not softening, exactly, but something more vulnerable flashes through it. She glances around the arena at the destruction already begun and the quakes are growing stronger.

“We can’t stay here much longer. The tremors will continue and we’ll lose the northern passage entirely,” Rosalind says.

“I have scouts checking the lava tunnels,” Visidion says, his voice quieter. “We think the western corridor is stable enough to move the rest.”

The Al’fa still glares, but some of the fury is fading, dampened by the weight of exhaustion and grim reality.

“You should have told me,” he mutters. “I am the Al’fa.”

Rosalind meets his eyes again.

“And I respect that. But leadership isn’t waiting for orders. Sometimes it’s about seeing the fire coming and pulling people out before they burn.”

He doesn’t answer, but he snaps his wings closed and his tail drops onto the dirt and sand. Not much, but it’s enough. I breathe, slow and steady.

“We all want the same thing,” I say.

Rosalind nods. “Survival.”

“No.” I shake my head. “More than that. A future. A world where we don’t just survive—but live. Together.”