Page 87 of Orc's Redemption

His jaw tightens. I can see the war within him. Zmaj pride clashing with the hard-won wisdom of a leader who has tasted too much death. And then, he lifts his arm.

“She is no longer our enemy,” the Al’fa proclaims, his voice like a blade slicing through the charged air. “She is our ally. My equal. She represents the future.”

The breath I take is sharp and stunned. Not just at the words, but at the silence that follows. It lasts a beat too long. My pulse thunders in my ears. Then the uproar begins again.

Not fury, or not only fury, and not just confusion. But amazement. Shock. A flicker of something even more dangerous to the status quo. Possibility.

I glance at Za’tan. His expression is unreadable, but I do not miss the narrowing of his eyes. Rosalind, across from him, exhales slowly and folds her arms across her chest, unreadable as always. Drogor watches with an inscrutable intensity, the way a dragon watches a candle, curious, but ready to snuff it out.

On the sands below the warrior who challenged kneels, not in submission, but in recognition. A fragile beginning. A promise, trembling like the air after the quake.

“If she stands with the Al’fa,” he says, “I do too. But I also wait and watch. I will not forget what has been done.”

“Nor should you,” I reply, louder than I expect. “But we must not let the past decide whether we live to see the future. Learn from the past, understand it, but do not let it alone shape what we do next.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment, then rises and steps back into the crowd. One by one, others follow. Not all kneel. Some nod. Some simply do not protest. That’s enough. We have not won them all, but we have begun. The Al’fa leans toward me, his voice a low rasp.

“That was the hardest part. And the easiest.”

“There will be more challenges,” I agree, glancing at him.

“But now they know where I stand. And where you do,” he says with a slight nod.

I could fall into this moment. Into the way he watches me, like I’ve stopped being just a symbol, and started becoming something more. But there’s too much still undone. Too many risks unspoken.

The crowd disperses and workers rush to assess the damage of the latest quake. One of the outer walls has split entirely down the middle. At the far end of the arena there a crevasse has formed and even from here, I see firelight flickering through it. The soft orange-red glow of lava. The Paluga isn’t just stirring, it’s cracking the surface.

“It’s happening faster than I expected,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone.

Rosalind hears me anyway.

“We need to evacuate the lowest tunnels. And we need to get Elara back.”

That name. A knife of worry cuts through the pride swelling in my chest.

“Has there been word?” I ask.

“Not yet. But if she’s near the fault… we have to assume she’s seen the worst of it,” she says, shaking her head.

“This alliance isn’t enough on its own. We have to act,” I say to the Al’fa.

“And we will,” he says. “But if I move too fast, the others will see it as weakness. As surrender to Urr’ki.”

“What you did just now, declaring me your equal, was seen as surrender by some of your people,” I say.

He doesn’t deny it. He steps closer instead.

“Let them see it. Let them question it. The ones who matter will feel what I feel.”

His fingers brush my hand. Just a ghost of contact. But I feel it in every part of me.

“You risk everything by standing beside me,” I whisper.

“I risk more by standing without you.”

Though, the tremors may have stopped nothing feels steady, not yet, but his touch anchors me.

This is not a declaration of love. This is something deeper. A root just beginning to take hold, growing in the ashes.

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