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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T he soft knock at his chamber door came just after the morning meal, when pale sunlight had begun streaming through the tall windows and Naya had left to bathe in the adjoining chambers.

Akoro looked up from the reports Nrommo had brought him—updates on district affairs and trade negotiations that had accumulated during their absence—to find his brother standing in the doorway.

“Oppo.” Relief flooded through him at the sight of his brother’s face, no longer haunted by the desperate longing that had marked it for years. There was light in Oppo’s dark eyes now, a contentment that transformed his entire bearing. “Come in.”

His brother stepped into the chambers, and Akoro noticed immediately how different he looked.

The carefully controlled sadness that had become his constant companion had lifted, replaced by something approaching joy.

His shoulders no longer carried the invisible burden of separation, and when he smiled, it reached his eyes for the first time since they were boys.

“You look well,” Akoro said, setting aside the documents as Oppo settled into the chair beside his bed. “Better than I’ve seen you in years.”

“I feel better than I have in years,” Oppo admitted, his voice warm with an emotion Akoro had almost forgotten his brother possessed.

“Oshrun and Nnimi...” He trailed off, shaking his head as though unable to find adequate words.

“She’s remarkable, Akoro. My daughter. Bright and curious and so beautiful it makes my chest ache just looking at her. ”

The wonder in his brother’s voice sent a complex tangle of emotions through Akoro’s chest---happiness for Oppo’s joy, but beneath it a sharp edge of something that might have been envy.

His brother had found his mate, claimed his family, built something real and lasting despite every obstacle. While Akoro...

“Tell me about her,” he said, pushing aside his own turbulent thoughts.

Oppo’s face lit up with the kind of pride only a father could possess.

“She speaks both languages fluently, though she prefers Shtǒnma when she’s excited about something.

She’s learning to read---showed me a book about desert flowers that she’s nearly finished.

” His hands moved as he spoke, painting pictures in the air.

“And she has this laugh, Akoro. Pure and bright and completely unguarded. When she laughed at something I said yesterday, I nearly wept from the joy of it.”

Akoro found himself smiling despite the ache building in his chest. “She sounds extraordinary.”

“She is. They both are.” Oppo’s expression grew more serious, though the contentment remained.

“Oshrun has done an incredible job raising her. The community respects her as Khesh, but Nnimi loves her simply as her mother. Watching them together...” He paused, searching for words.

“It’s everything I never dared hope for. ”

“And the integration is progressing well?”

“Better than anyone expected. The Omegas are already making plans to establish workshops in some of the outer districts, sharing their knowledge while maintaining Ilǐa as their home base.” Oppo leaned forward, animation replacing the careful reserve that had defined him for so long.

“They’ve developed techniques for magical tool maintenance that could revolutionize how we approach infrastructure.

And their understanding of wild magic containment could prevent future disasters entirely. ”

Pride swelled in Akoro’s chest, though it was tinged with something more complicated.

The alliance he and Naya had forged was succeeding beyond his wildest hopes, creating prosperity and security for both peoples.

Yet watching his brother’s happiness stirred uncomfortable questions about his own approach to leadership.

Oppo had found this joy through service and sacrifice, through choosing what was best for Oshrun and their child over what he personally wanted.

He’d spent five years separated from them because it protected their safety, their community, their future.

While Akoro had always pursued what served his goals first---conquest plans, strategic advantages, the expansion of his power.

“You’ve been given a second chance,” Akoro said quietly. “Few people get that.”

“I know.” Oppo’s gaze sharpened, studying his brother’s face with newfound perceptiveness. “Which is why I’m here. To talk about yours.”

Unease prickled along Akoro’s spine. “My what?”

“Your second chance.” Oppo settled back in his chair, crossing his arms with an expression that brooked no deflection. “With Princess Naya.”

Akoro’s jaw tightened. “We haven’t discussed it.”

“You’re avoiding it?”

“I don’t want her to leave.”

“You should still talk about it. Let her know?—”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Akoro said. “I don’t want her to leave, because if she does, I’ll have to bring her back. Then we’ll be exactly where we started.”

Oppo exhaled slowly. “So you’ve learned nothing?”

“I’ve learned that I need her more than breathing,” Akoro said, the dark edge of his possessive nature flaring to life. “I’ve learned that she’s kind and generous and willing to sacrifice herself for others. I’ve learned that being with her is the only place I have any right to exist.”

Despite the gravity of their conversation, Oppo was fighting a smile. “And yet you would still force her back here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Akoro’s voice dropped to a dangerous murmur. “She shouldn’t leave.”

Silence stretched between them as uncomfortable realizations emerged in Akoro’s mind.

His entire approach to leadership had been shaped by the same fundamental drive that had corrupted his ancestors—take what you need, pursue what serves your goals, let others adapt to your decisions.

Different methods than his family’s cruelty, but the same underlying assumption that his desires should determine everyone else’s fate.

Naya already knew it. Even Oppo knew it. He just hadn’t seen it clearly until this moment. And now he didn’t know how to become what his mate needed, because beyond everything else, he still wanted her by any means necessary.

She’d already told him he’d damaged her too deeply for them to be together. Even as he’d held her trembling body, watched her shatter beneath his touch, felt her melt into his embrace—she’d made it clear she couldn’t be an example to Omegas with him as her mate.

She couldn’t be proud of him. Couldn’t let him continue to taint everything she represented. Because that’s exactly what he’d done to her.

Oppo would never understand the full scope of it.

His brother’s path had been different—five years of noble sacrifice, of choosing love over selfish desire.

Akoro couldn’t look at him and his mate and compare himself, not when he had grown to be a beast while Oppo had stayed on the sidelines, not getting his hands dirty.

The question burning through his chest was whether Naya could accept that, now she had an understanding of what they could be together?

When Oppo finally left, he took no answers with him.

Later that day, a sharp knock interrupted Akoro’s spiraling thoughts.

“Come,” he called, expecting perhaps Nrommo with more reports or one of the servants with the evening meal.

Instead, Oppo stepped through the doorway again, but this time he wasn’t alone.

A small figure darted past him into the chambers, moving with the boundless energy that only children possessed.

“Uncle Akoro!” Nnimi’s bright voice filled the space as she launched herself toward his bed with complete fearlessness.

Akoro’s heart stopped. This tiny person—his niece, his brother’s daughter—stood before him with sparkling eyes and copper-threaded braids, looking so much like a miniature version of her mother that it took his breath away.

But there was something of Oppo in the shape of her face, the determined set of her small jaw.

“Careful, shkǔ nǔlrǐ,” Oppo said gently, using what must have been an endearment in the Omega tongue. “Uncle Akoro is still healing from his injury.”

“I’ll be careful,” Nnimi promised solemnly, then climbed onto the chair beside his bed with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to being around adults. “Papa said you got hurt saving everyone from the scary magic.”

“Something like that,” Akoro managed, still struggling to process the surreal reality of having this conversation with his brother’s child—family he’d never known existed until a few days ago.

“Does it hurt very much?” she asked with the direct curiosity of childhood.

“Not so much anymore.”

“Good.” She nodded with satisfaction, then reached into a small bag she’d been carrying. “I made you something. For getting better.”

She pulled out a piece of parchment covered in the kind of artwork only a four-year-old could create—stick figures with wild hair and enormous smiles, surrounded by what might have been flowers or possibly stars. One figure was clearly much larger than the others, and she pointed to it with pride.

“That’s you,” she announced. “And that’s Papa, and that’s Mima, and that’s me, and that’s Princess Naya. We’re all together and happy.”

The innocent drawing hit Akoro with unexpected force.

Here was a child’s vision of family—simple, uncomplicated, built on love rather than duty or politics.

In Nnimi’s world, it was perfectly natural for everyone she cared about to be together and happy.

No impossible choices, no competing loyalties, just the basic truth that people who loved each other belonged in the same place.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice rougher than intended. “Thank you.”

“You can keep it,” she said generously. “I made lots more at home.”

Home. She spoke of the hidden canyon as home, the place where she’d grown up safe and loved despite being separated from half her family. Yet here she was, accepting him into her world with the openness of a child who’d only known love and trust.

“Nnimi,” Oppo said gently, “why don’t you show Uncle Akoro the book you brought?”

She brightened immediately, pulling a slim volume from her bag with reverent care. “It’s about desert flowers! Princess Naya said she wanted to learn about them, so I thought maybe you would too.”

For the next hour, Akoro found himself drawn into his niece’s enthusiastic explanation of various flora, her small finger pointing out illustrations while she recited facts in the serious tone of someone sharing extremely important information.

She switched between languages without thought, occasionally lapsing into Shtǒnma when excitement overwhelmed her vocabulary in the Common Tongue.

Watching her animated face, seeing the intelligence that sparkled in eyes so much like Oppo’s, Akoro began to understand what his brother had tried to tell him.

This was what love looked like when it was allowed to flourish—joy, family, the simple pleasure of sharing knowledge with someone who mattered.

“Uncle Akoro?” Nnimi said during a lull in her botanical lecture.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to marry Princess Naya?”

The question came with such innocent directness that Akoro nearly choked. Across the room, Oppo’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline, though he made no move to intervene.

“Why do you ask that?” Akoro managed.

“Because you smell like each other,” she said matter-of-factly. “And Mima says when people smell like each other, it means they love each other very much. Like how Papa smells like Mima even when he’s been away.”

Akoro stared at her. This tiny person had seen through all the complex political and emotional tangles to the fundamental truth—he and Naya belonged together. It was written in their scents, visible to anyone with the innocence to see clearly.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally.

Nnimi frowned, clearly dissatisfied with this adult explanation. “Why?”

“Well...” Akoro found himself struggling to explain concepts like duty and empire and competing loyalties to someone who viewed the world through the lens of simple affection. “Princess Naya has important work to do in her homeland.”

“Can’t she do important work here too?”

The question hung in the air with devastating simplicity. From a child’s perspective, it was perfectly logical—if someone had important work to do, they could do it anywhere. The artificial boundaries that adults created seemed meaningless when viewed through eyes unclouded by political complexity.

“Maybe,” Akoro said carefully.

“I hope she stays,” Nnimi announced confidently, in her little world just stating an obvious truth. “She makes you happy. And she makes the best growling sounds when we play sea monster.”

Despite everything, Akoro found himself smiling. “She does make good sea monster sounds.”

“The best,” Nnimi agreed solemnly.

When Oppo finally left with his daughter for the evening meal, Akoro was left alone with the child’s artwork and her innocent questions echoing in his mind. Are you going to marry Princess Naya? Can’t she do important work here too?

From the mouths of children came the wisdom that adults spent their lifetimes trying to rediscover. Love was simple. Family was simple. The complications were all artificial constructs that existed only because people allowed them to.

As the sun set beyond his windows, painting his chambers in shades of fire and gold, Akoro studied the stick figure drawing his niece had created. Five people, together and happy. No impossible choices, no competing duties—just love, rendered in a child’s honest strokes.

Maybe it really could be that simple.