49. Aryn
Aryn
Two days pass before we receive the Vaelor’s official summons.
From the moment we walk into the war room, the tension is so thick I’m not even sure a blade could slice through.
Ailynor sits with three of her generals, the head of her city watch—who also happens to be Rhael’s father—and two of her top strategists.
A few other new faces are sprinkled in, with open notebooks and readied pencils.
Galdren and Rhael smile as we settle into our chairs, but it does little to ease my nerves. Cato sits beside me, our hands linked under the table, while Ronan, Cameron, Lillith, and Taryn find open spots.
Ailynor introduces everyone, then jumps straight into business. “We’ve already discussed this at length, but it needs repeating. Everyone here needs to be on the same page.”
We rehash the story, from Sovran’s transfer of power to Zadeus to the eventual invasion of the human world. The generals snarl at every mention of his name, but no one interrupts. They don’t need convincing on this part. It’s written into their own history books as fact.
The shift in mood happens when we reach the later parts of the story.
Sovran’s fall from grace, the sealing of the veil, and the prophecy to reopen it.
How the worlds grew so deeply connected that shutting the veil was like severing a limb, and both sides have been slowly bleeding out for the past century.
The murmurs start low, then rise into overlapping whispers and open bickering as the generals argue among themselves in rapid Elyrian. Only fragments cut through the noise—broken commentary of fool’s magic, low curses damning the Fates, and several rounds of ‘How can we even trust them?’
I clear my throat loudly and wait for it to get quiet. The mistrust in their eyes is obvious, but they settle after a hard look from the Vaelor.
“You were around when your people were fighting Zadeus’s reign?” I ask.
The Nu’vak general named Khagra responds with a vague wave of his hand. “We were.”
“What do you remember about those times?”
He grimaces and sits back, arms crossed and fingers tapping against his biceps. “The entire damn world was at odds. Half of them supported him—”
“Out of fear,” Rhael’s father, Hycis, interrupts.
“Some of them, maybe,” Khagra says, mouth twisting.
“But others followed because that’s what people do.
They latch on to the strongest to get power for themselves.
The cities were divided. Villages were raided, people injured or killed left and right.
The army dragged off the greatest minds for his secret projects. ”
I nod. “Which we now know was about opening the divide between the worlds.” He tilts his head at me in reluctant agreement.
“That same power has been shaping our world for the last century. They came in, overtook our cities, killed anyone who resisted, and pulled in those with enough power to give them what they needed. They brought soldiers and scientists and forced us to learn their technologies and weapons. You think our kind is dangerous with a spear? Place a gun in our hands and see what happens.”
Khagra and Hycis exchange a glance before Khagra’s eyes return to me. “We’ve seen these human weapons. They need bullets, do they not? It's a weakness.”
“On this side, perhaps,” Ronan counters, “but not in the human world. Factories churn them out by the thousands every day.”
Ailynor gnaws on her bottom lip. “You said there were six High Commanders. Did Zadeus have control of them?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” Ronan admits. “As powerful as he was, I doubt he could influence them as easily as others. They earned those positions because they were strong.”
“And because they allied with him from the beginning,” I add.
“Mmm, true,” Ailynor muses. “They wouldn’t have followed him between worlds otherwise. Do you know anything about who remains now that he’s dead?”
“We don’t,” Ronan says, sitting back and drumming his fingertips on the table. “Even with my rank, their identities were need-to-know only.”
Her grimace deepens. “You’re telling me you know nothing about the leadership you expect us to fight?”
Ronan’s shoulders stiffen, one brow arching.
“You know how the chain of command works. You were a soldier yourself. Orders come down the line, and you don’t go around your superiors.
The only High Commander I ever met was years ago…
a Lu’Mite named Ursuz.” When Ailynor glances at Hycis, Ronan leans forward. “You know him?”
Hycis lets out a long sigh. “He was power-hungry even back then. He spoke out against Zadeus at first, but it doesn’t surprise me he was working with him.”
I bite at my lip, pulling up half-remembered whispers from within Ljómur. “There were rumors that some of the other High Commanders were fighting Zadeus.”
“Fighting how?” Hycis demands.
“They were aligned with the invasion at first,” I say. “They wanted the human lands for themselves. But none of them expected the portals to close. They wanted to come home as much as the rest of us.”
Ailynor’s gaze sharpens. “But Zadeus never intended to reopen the portals.”
I nod. “From what I know, that’s correct. He didn’t.”
“Then why was he hunting for answers? Why not let it go?”
“In my opinion? He wanted to find the solution first so he could control it. If he was the only one who knew how to open them, he could make sure they stayed closed.”
“And the others disagreed?”
“Most of this is hearsay and speculation,” I say after a moment’s hesitation, “but I believe the High Commanders were divided. Some had grown fond of the humans and their technology. They wanted to keep them around—as servants, at the very least. Others sided with Zadeus and thought they should be wiped out.”
“But we don’t know who believes what?” the Vaelor asks.
I shake my head, dipping my chin respectfully. “No, I’m afraid we don’t.”
“And Zadeus never cracked the code?” Hycis presses. “He never figured out how to open the portals?”
I shake my head. “None of us ever solved it definitively, and the one who came closest kept his theories to himself. The answer is as simple as it is complicated.”
“And what is the answer?”
“According to Sovran, everything lies in the mates and their intentions. They have to want to reopen the divide with the genuine desire to help, not harm—just like we did to cross here. But to do anything more than cause a momentary flicker, thousands have to be working together. Otherwise, any opening we create will close again almost immediately.”
Ailynor thinks for a moment before meeting my eyes. “And you say this feels impossible?”
“Yes. Mates are imprisoned or killed if they’re discovered. If they somehow escape, they stay in hiding. Unless the current powers are overthrown, too few mates will feel safe enough to step forward.”
One of the older generals, a Ramves with extra-sharp teeth and deep scars across his jawline, slams a hand on the table.
“And why exactly is this our war? We have our own problems. We’re dealing with rebellion, food shortages, and this damned cold.
Now you want us to send our warriors to die for someone else’s cause? ”
Murmurs of agreement ripple around the table as Cameron leans forward. “I don’t know if you picked up on this or not, but your world is dying the same as ours.”
“According to someone we’ve never met.”
“He isn’t just someone, he’s one of the Fates,” I argue. “He’s seen what happens if we do nothing.”
“Right,” the Ramves says, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “He’s seen it. Convenient no one else has.”
I gesture around at our group, losing my grip on my patience.
“What possible reason could he have for sending us here otherwise? If the veil stays closed and the prophecy fails, Elyra will keep getting colder and darker until nothing grows. You think it’s bad now?
You’ll be begging for this once you’re living in a damn ice age. ”
The arguments ignite fast. Generals talk over one another, shouting every reason they oppose our request for help. One accuses us of exaggeration, while another demands proof the plan will work.
The Ramves general stands abruptly, jabbing a sharp finger at Ronan.
“This is convenient, isn’t it? You find your long-lost mother and suddenly we’re expected to risk everything for a world we have never seen.
Did you know who she was? Is this some manipulation you’ve planned to gather her armies for yourself? ”
Ronan bristles, but before he can answer, Ailynor rises from her seat. Her three tails lash once. “Enough,” she says, voice slicing through the chaos as the room falls silent. “You believe me to be so gullible? So easily deceived and manipulated?”
The Ramves’s face pales as he shakes his head, “No, Vaelor—”
“We are not children squabbling over toys. Sit down.”
The general slowly sinks back into his chair.
Ailynor’s eyes lock on his for a moment before sweeping the table.
“We will not fight among ourselves. This is bigger than any of us, and already we have lost too much. Pride and fear have no place at this table. We will listen. We will debate. But we will do it with respect.”
A mumble of apologies spreads through the room as eyes drop submissively. Ailynor sits again, her tail twitching with agitation, and looks between me and Ronan with her lips pursed.
“He has a point,” she finally says.
“And that is?” Ronan asks, casting the Ramves general a wary glance.
“I cannot ask my armies to fight in a war for people they’ve never met and a world they’ve only heard about in stories.”
Ronan heaves an annoyed grunt. “But—”
Ailynor cuts him off with another harsh glare. “Do not interrupt me.” He dips his head, and Cato squeezes my hand under the table, no doubt amused by how quickly Ronan folded. “We cannot fight a war we know nothing about,” she continues, her voice softening. “To attempt it would be suicide.”
“What does that mean, then?” I ask. “Where do we go from here?”
She shifts those intense brown eyes to me, hard with a nearly manic determination. “We go to your world.”
“We?” I repeat.
Her chin lifts in challenge. “If I’m going to fight for a cause because the Fates proclaim it, I’m damn well going to meet the one who sealed my future and doomed my people. I’ve got a thing or two I’d like to say to this Sovran.”
My lips twitch, but expressions around the room vary—some cautious, others excited, a few outright alarmed.
“Vaelor—” Hycis starts.
She holds up a hand to stop him. “None of us leave this room until we’ve come up with a plan, and we will come up with a plan. The worlds depend on it.” He looks like he might argue further, but her cutting glare stops the words before they form.
“Yes, Vaelor,” he finally says, dipping his chin.
She holds his gaze for a long stretch before assessing everyone at the table. “Now that’s settled, which of you is going to be in charge while I’m gone?”