Chapter 2
KORR
The council tent is quieter than the camp outside, but only just.
This isn’t the full council. Everyone here knows that. This is the spine of it—the people whose presence makes decisions whether the others like it or not.
Rosalind sits at the head of the table, posture composed, expression unreadable.
Padraig and Drosdan flank her, human and Zmaj authority balanced by long habit rather than comfort.
Elmer sits opposite them, jaw tight, hands braced on the table like he’s ready for a fight he’s already decided to lose.
Sabrina and Annabel stand near the back, close enough to speak, far enough to observe.
Jolie, Calista, and Amara remain together, silent but unmistakably present. Mothers first. Everything else second.
The Urr’ki Queen stands apart from the table, regal and still, her presence unofficial and impossible to ignore. Beside her, the Cavern Z’maj Al’fa has claimed space without asking, massive arms folded, his attention fixed on Rosalind. He is not council, but neither is he optional.
Korr remains near the tent entrance, half-turned toward the outside world, exactly where someone like him belongs. Rosalind’s gaze locks onto me.
“Tell us what happened,” she orders and it’s clearly not a request.
So I do.
I explain Rverre’s behavior, the way it’s been building for a while and specifically what I saw before she ran.
The way her agitation built the longer she stayed confined.
I describe what I see as overload and how the sensory pressure of the camp adds to the problem.
And the way movement soothed her where restraint failed.
“She wasn’t trying to leave us,” I say finally. “She was responding to the land. And keeping her here like this is making it worse.”
Elmer exhales sharply. “Or she’s dangerous.”
Jolie’s eyes narrow sharply. She grits her teeth so hard I hear them grind. Calista and Amara put their hands on her and I’m not sure if it’s to hold her in place or soothe her.
“She’s a child,” Jolie says, voice steady and sharp as a blade. “And she’s not your excuse.”
“Enough.” Rosalind says, lifting a hand to stop it before it can escalate further. She returns her attention to me. “You’re certain this will continue?”
“Yes,” I say, though I’m anything but sure. I hesitate before continuing but if I don’t tell them then they’ll find out anyway. “I do believe so. She’s… not the only one.”
“Who else?” Rosalind asks.
“Zoe,” I say. “She’s… talked about the City that will be. She hasn’t been… drawn… not like Rverre. But… it is similar.”
Zoe’s name lands differently, as if adding her name brings a new weight to Rverre’s actions. Zoe has been known for her strange pronouncements that almost always come to pass. She may be younger than Rverre but her connection to Tajss is every bit as undeniable.
Drosdan’s head lifts slightly, eyes narrowing as if something old has just been nudged awake. Annabel glances toward Sabrina, who gives a slow, uneasy nod. Even Elmer looks unsettled, his certainty cracking just enough to let doubt seep in.
“Explain,” Rosalind says, clearly not unaware of what is happening around her but not giving it credence either.
“She says things,” I continue carefully. “Not predictions. Not exactly. More like… observations that don’t make sense until later.”
Padraig sighs heavily. He’s huge, even by Zmaj standards, and his heavy exhale feels like it fills the tent. As if the fabric should lift and flap in reaction.
“Tajss speaks in many voices,” he rumbles, his voice so deep it rattles in my bones. “Not all of them shout.”
“And this child hears her?” the Urr’ki Queen asks, tilting her head.
“Yes,” I say, “I believe they both do. All of the… children… are connected to Tajss in ways we do not understand. Those born here, even the non-hybrids, they’re… part of it.”
Rosalind’s fingers tap against the table. A thinking sound.
“So we are not discussing a single child in distress,” she says. “We are discussing a pattern.”
Elmer scoffs, but the edge is gone. “Or we’re projecting meaning onto frightened kids.”
Amara steps forward, looking at each of those seated in turn.
“Frightened? You think they are afraid? Rverre was running into the desert. Alone. Empty handed. Following the guidance of whatever is inside of her. Where i=n that do you see fear Elmer?”
That silences him. Padraig leans over the table, placing two massive hands, each of them as big as my head.
“How many?” he asks.
“Enough,” I say honestly. “Not all of them, at least not in the same way, but enough that I can’t dismiss it.”
“And you believe this… City that will be is the connection?” Rosalind asks.
“I believe the land is,” I reply. “The city may simply be… where it’s loudest.”
The Cavern Z’maj Al’fa nods once, rattling his breastplate which is made up of ivory bones.
“Stone remembers,” he says in a rumble.
The Urr’ki Queen’s gaze goes to Rosalind.
“If the children are listening, then delay is no longer caution. It is negligence.”
That’s the word that shifts the room. Rosalind straightens.
“This will go before the full council,” she says. “Every voice will be heard. Every concern recorded.” Elmer opens his mouth and Rosalind cuts him off with a raised hand before he can speak. “But, we will not wait for permission to confirm what Tajss itself is telling us.”
“No,” Jolie snaps. “No way Rosalind. You can’t—”
Rosalind doesn’t visibly react, only turning her steely gaze on Jolie who cuts off mid-sentence.
“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” Amara says, storming over the top of anything further Rosalind might say. “You can’t send children into the desert!”
Amara’s words hang in the air, sharp and undeniable. No one speaks for a long moment.
Jolie looks like she might explode, fury and fear tangled so tight I can practically see it vibrating beneath her skin. Calista shifts closer to her, a steadying presence, murmuring something I can’t quite hear.
Rosalind waits. She doesn’t rush to defend herself. She waits with the patience of one long experienced in dealing with hard choices. She was the Lady General on the Generation ship. Now she is… somehow… more. On the ship she was a force of nature. Here she has become… a legend.
“I am not sending children into the desert,” Rosalind says at last, her voice even. “I am acknowledging that the desert is already reaching for them.”
“That’s not better,” Amara snaps.
“No,” Rosalind agrees. “It isn’t.”
She turns back to me.
“If we do nothing—if we keep them here, compressed and contained—what happens?”
I swallow. This is the part no one wants to say out loud.
“I see no other answer than that these events will escalate,” I answer. “There will be more incidents and unless I miss my guess, more of the children will respond. Likely in ways we can’t predict. I have no doubt that in the end someone gets hurt.”
Elmer shifts in his seat, lips pressed thin.
“And if we move?” Rosalind asks.
“At the bare minimum… we reduce the pressure,” I say carefully. “I don’t think we will eliminate it, but we can give it somewhere to go.”
“Pressure trapped becomes rupture,” Padraig straightens slowly, withdrawing his massive hands from the table. He rumbles. “Pressure guided becomes force.”
The Cavern Z’maj Al’fa inclines his head. “This is true. The tunnels taught us that.”
Jolie shakes her head, a harsh, broken sound escaping her.
“You’re talking like this is inevitable. Like it’s already been decided. This is my child! She cannot go into the desert. Not… not alone.”
Rosalind meets her gaze without flinching. “Yes, we are.”
Silence crashes down—heavier, weighted with the understanding that no amount of arguing will change that truth.
“What you’re proposing,” Annabel says quietly, deftly avoiding Jolie’s gaze, “is not a journey. It’s an assessment.”
“Yes,” Rosalind replies. “We are not relocating. We are listening.”
“And if the city exists?” Sabrina asks.
“Then we will know whether it can hold us,” Rosalind says. “Before the camp fails first.”
Amara drags a hand through her hair, breathing hard.
“You haven’t explained how children fit into this without putting them at risk. The desert is dangerous. Any fool knows that.”
Rosalind arches one eyebrow, meeting Amara’s glare. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes wrinkle, deepening as she frowns.
“I do not propose a march or an exodus. It should be small. Controlled. A small group that Rverre can lead who will then report their findings back.”
“Fine,” Jolie says. “If you insist on this madness I’ll go. Sverre and I will take the risk.”
“No,” Rosalind says. “We cannot risk you or Calista.”
“I’m not staying here while you send my daughter into—”
“Jolie,” Rosalind says. She doesn’t raise her voice, if anything she lowers it. Soft and filled with the understanding only another mother could have. “You and Calista are our best hope of solving the food crisis. The work that Lia brought back has only just begun.”
Jolie’s face drains of color. She shakes her head. Dark hair swinging across her face with the force of it. Her almond shaped eyes clenching tight.
“No,” Jolie whispers.
She looks to Calista, gripping both of her shoulders. Amara closes in from behind her. I hear her sob and my throat clenches tight. I feel her pain. The children may not be mine, but the thought of anything happening one of them… I cannot even bear to consider it.
Rosalind shifts her gaze to me then she speaks in her normal, authoritarian tone.
“You,” she pronounces. “You will not be sent because you are expendable. Far from it. You will be sent because you are stabilizing. You understand what calms her. What overwhelms her. What she needs when the world pulls too hard.”
My chest tightens, but I don’t argue. I feel the decision settling, solid and unavoidable.
“And security?” Padraig asks.
Korr moves then, just a step forward from the entrance.
“She can’t go,” he says.
“I do not see any other options,” Rosalind says, jaw tight.
“No,” Korr says.
“You do not have rights to speak—” Padraig says, heaving his massive size up and onto his feet, clearly ready so settle this with his fists, but Rosalind stops him with one raised hand. He harumphs and drops into his chair which miraculously holds under his bulk.
Korr, for his part, doesn’t seem in the least bit disturbed by the threat, real or perceived.
“No one else can work with Rverre,” Rosalind says. “She goes.”
Jolie makes a strangled sound but before she can speak Amara and Calista pull her back, whispering amongst themselves. Korr stares at Rosalind, frowning deep enough that his tusks tilt until they almost touch his nose.
“No one?” he asks, darting a glance at me.
What is his problem with me?
“No,” Rosalind answer.
Korr nods slowly. Thoughtfully.
“I go,” he says simply.
It isn’t a declaration so much as a statement of fact.
Rosalind looks him up and down, studying him.
Before she acknowledge his words she looks at the Urr’ki Queen.
The Queen is short for one of her species, a delicate looking woman in ornate dress that complements the green of her skin.
She nods to Rosalind, a silent signal of support.
Rosalind inclines her head then looks at Korr.
“Yes, you will,” Rosalind says.
Jolie opens her mouth again, then closes it, hands clenched at her sides. The fight drains out of her, leaving something quieter and more dangerous behind.
“This is not over,” she says.
“No,” Rosalind agrees. “It’s beginning.”
She looks around the tent, meeting each gaze in turn.
“This discussion will be reported to the full council. Adjustments will be made. Safeguards debated, but the direction is set.”
Her eyes return to me.
“You go to investigate,” she says. “Find what is there. See. Listen. Return to us with as much information as you can safely gather. First and foremost survive. Second, verify if this city that will be exists and we can be led there.”
No one argues. The tension doesn’t vanish, but it does settle. Reshaping itself into something harder and more deliberate. A plan is forming. And whether we’re ready or not, Tajss is no longer waiting.