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And then—light. Real light.

Z’leni rounds the final corner, and the tunnel opens up into another small chamber. Not a constructed one. This isn’t the undercity, it’s natural. Formed by water or time or maybe something older. The walls glisten with veins of green and blue crystal, faintly glowing with bioluminescence. The light dances across the stone, surreal and dreamlike, painting the hollow in soft, shifting colors.

I crawl the last few feet and collapse onto the stone floor. Not in panic this time, just exhaustion. Ryatuv helps me sit, his arm steady behind my back. Z’leni leans against the far wall, torch extinguished, saving it for later since the room glows on its own. His chest rises and falls in quiet rhythm, but his eyes are on me. Not pitying. Watching.

“You did it,” he says simply.

“Barely,” I say, shaking my head.

“But you did.” Ryatuv’s voice is quiet, and when I look up, I see something in his eyes. Respect, sure, but also something else that I can’t name. “You were brave.”

I laugh softly. It’s not pretty. Not cute. More like a broken, bitter thing.

“I cried. I froze. That wasn’t brave.”

“You kept moving anyway,” Z’leni says, pushing off the wall to crouch in front of me. “That’s the very definition of brave, dragoste.”

Dragoste.

The word hits me like a warm hand to the chest. My heart stutters. Not from panic this time, but something deeper. Warmer. More dangerous. I’ve heard that word before and I know what it means. I don’t know if he meant to use it. Surely not. Not here, not now, with Ryatuv right there. I dart a glance at Ryatuv but he isn’t reacting. Maybe he doesn’t know the word, it is Urr’ki, he might not know what it means.

Z’leni moves close, his hand resting beside mine on the floor. His cocky grin is gone. What’s left is raw. Honest. And Ryatuv’s hand is still on my back, steady and silent like stone. I look between them.

These two warriors are so different, yet they’re both fighting for me. Both risking everything. Not just because they have to. Because they want to. Because, for whatever reason of their own, they care. I swallow hard.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper.

“What do you mean?” Z’leni asks, tilting his head.

I swallow down what I was going to say. These two are like oil and water. Even suggesting such a thing would be like asking the twin suns of Tajss to stop shining so damn brightly. Sure, I can ask, but I know damn well it’s not going to happen.

They are watching intently. Staring and studying and thinking their own, unknowable thoughts. The tension between us is real. And I’m not an idiot, I recognize the sexual nature of it, but do they? Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this tension is purely a survival bonding.

I don’t know. All I know is that this is messy and terrifying and raw… but real.

I press a hand over my heart, feeling it hammer against my ribs.

Terrified. Shaking. Stronger.

Because of them. For them.

Maybe even... for me.

“Forget it,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s nothing. Let’s get out of here. Together.”

27

RANI

The outer edge of the Zmaj compound rises ahead, a looming wall of stone shaped into a tight, unforgiving maze.

Zmaj scouts lead the way, responding with quick calls when the guards spot our approach. Khiara walks stiffly at my side, every movement betraying his frustration and barely contained anger.

We navigate through the angled barriers until the guards stop us with their dark glowers. I wait, letting them talk to the scouts, without saying anything. Eventually I hope to win them over, to establish trust between our peoples, but that is a far flung future from the now.

I tighten my grip on the proof hidden beneath my cloak—a reclaimed sigil, once given to the Urr’ki King by the first Zmaj emissaries. A symbol of the fragile peace our peoples once shared.

I had believed it lost forever, torn from my neck when the Shaman rose to power. But Janara pressed it into my hands with a fierce whisper: