Page 72

My father once dreamed of peace, but time and blood hardened hearts on both sides. After his death, we lost two more cities, until only Home remained. It was in the ruins of our once great civilization that the Shaman sank his claws.

A shift in the air warns me before I see him. He steps into the chamber, a living statue carved from war and fury. Seeming bigger. Broader across the shoulders, but tension is written into every line of his body.

Every inch of him is the Al’fa.

His gaze lands on me and he stops. For one heartbeat, he says nothing.

“You returned.”

“I have,” I reply.

A flicker of something crosses his face—relief? Anger? Desire? I can’t tell. He steps forward slowly, until we’re nearly eye to eye. I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, but I don’t look away.

“I didn’t think you would,” he says, voice low. “That, perhaps, you would flee to your city. Turn your back on me.”

“I was never yours to turn my back on,” I say, stepping even closer. “And I never fled. I went to do what you asked of me.”

His jaw tightens. He keeps a distance between us. A hand’s width but the tension in the room is increasing. I watch his chest, rising and falling faster.

“You went to die.”

“I went to save my people.”

The silence between us crackles. Every breath between us feels too loud. Slowly, I reach into the folds of my cloak and pull out the sigil.

“My General, Janara, lives. And he commands more than mere ghosts in the tunnels. He brought me this.”

I extend my closed fist, turning it over, and then opening it to reveal the pendant. The metal gleams dully against my skin, heavy with history and hope. I offer it to him. The Al’fa doesn’t take it. His gaze drops to the artifact, then jumps back to my face.

“Is this what you risked your life for? This is the proof you bring me? A pendant?”

“No,” I whisper. “This is what Iearnedfor risking it.”

He steps closer and my breath catches. He takes the sigil from my hand. His fingers brushing against my palm and I feel the shudder run through him. He stares at the old metal seal like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve.

“I know what this is,” he says after a long pause. “This was thought destroyed, lost years and years ago.”

“It wasn’t. It was taken from me by the Shaman. Janara acquired it and kept it hidden. He saved it for someone worthy.” I don’t move. “Someone who could convince the Zmaj to once again listen.”

His gaze snaps back to mine.

“You assume I will listen.”

I smile. It’s not a kind one.

“I assume nothing. I am showing you what you asked. I brought you not only proof that my people would obey me, but also a symbol of peace. I note that you haven’t crushed it yet.”

He growls softly, low in his throat, the sound barely contained.

“You came back full of fire,” he mutters. “That’s dangerous.”

“Only if you intend to burn,” I reply, voice soft but unyielding.

Another beat of silence. Then he gestures sharply.

“Come. Not here.”

I follow. This isn’t just politics anymore—it’s war. And it’s personal. He leads me to the inner chamber. Once again, I stand in the room where I knelt. This time, I’m not going down on my knees. He paces the perimeter like a caged beast. I let him.