A PACIFICATION MEASURE
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
The fortress is at maximum alert. The alarms are pulsing, red lights around every doorway, and warriors are everywhere.
Despite my occasional stumble as I take in what’s happening, Drenz’s boots strike the corridor stones with metronome certainty.
He walks fast, but he slows when I slow, careful to keep me close.
I’m terrified enough to run, but my limbs are sluggish. It’s an aftereffect of straining for the connection to Sophia and Rythar.
Drenz made it clear that we wouldn’t speak until we reach the command center. Inside, half a dozen officers occupy their stations, but the center chair is empty until Drenz takes it. The warriors accept Drenz’s orders, but Rythar’s absence goes right to my heart.
The door hisses open. Three males step in, escorted by three of Rythar’s warriors.
Their uniforms are a deep gray, collars stiff, and their movements are not combat military.
I know the uniforms from the data feeds Rythar let me watch.
The faces are new. I get a good look at them as they scan the room.
I know they see me because they skillfully avoid looking directly at me.
One carries a hard case, another a handheld tablet, and the last carries nothing.
All keep their hands visible, their movements slow.
Drenz doesn’t bow or make introductions. He acknowledges them with the bare minimum of Xytheos civility. “You arrive unannounced.”
“Precedent allows intervention in a systemwide threat,” says the lead. His voice is flat, precise. “The Green Reach has a vulnerability.”
Drenz’s face is a study in tension. “You were expected to coordinate with the Warlord, not bypass protocol.”
“We received his message. We are following emergency protocols.” The man flicks his gaze to me. “The preservation of a Starfallen female requires it.”
He sets his case on the table, opens it, and projects a topographic map of Xytheos. Red marks blossom across the Green Reach. Drenz’s jaw tightens. I scan the image. The red marks aren’t enemy positions—they’re civilian settlements.
“We received no distress message,” Drenz says.
The second delegate speaks, voice pitched lower. “When Warlord Rythar was unable to contact his command, he routed a distress message to the Concord Council. All subsequent attempts to reach him have failed.”
“Explain,” Drenz orders them.
The first delegate continues. “His last known position is in Reach’s End, across the perimeter of his home biome. A high probability exists that his strike force has been disabled, either through violence or a biowarfare event.”
The word biowarfare lands with a thud. I know instantly what they mean. Serpent-panther venom. The thing I can cure, the thing that’s now my signature on this planet.
Rythar should have had the antivenom with him.
“Contact him now,” I say to Drenz.
Drenz glances at me. I catch the flicker in his eyes—a warning. He doesn’t want them to know that he’s already tried, and failed, to contact Rythar.
“You did not enter the Green Reach merely to deliver a status report,” Drenz says to the delegates.
“Elena must come with us,” says the lead delegate, “to administer the antivenom, and for safekeeping. She will be under the personal protection of the High Lord. That is the last standing order from your Warlord.”
The chill that creeps into my bones isn’t fear. It’s the same wrongness as before, crystallizing now.
“Show me Rythar’s message,” I say.
The lead delegate inclines his head, as if this is a minor concession. He taps the tablet. The room fills with static, then Rythar’s voice.
The message is clipped. Barely more than a growl. “The woman must go to the High Lord immediately for safekeeping.”
That’s it. No context, no sign-off. He would never have called me “the woman.”
The lead delegate steps toward me. “We have a secure shuttle waiting. There will be no delay.”
I want to stall, to buy time, but the red marks on the map gnaw at me.
If this is real—if the children in the settlements are at risk, if Rythar is at risk—then there’s no argument.
If it’s a trick, I’ll go to the High Lord and face him on my own.
Or with Maya. She’s with him already. By order of the Concord Stone.
And Maya is sick—sick in a way Xythean medicine might not be enough to fix.
If they take me to the Astral Spire, they take me to her.
I could see with my own eyes what the Stone’s gifts are doing to her. I might be able to help her.
Drenz plants his feet, squares his jaw. “I invoke Warlord Rythar’s standing order,” Drenz says. “Elena is not to depart from the fortress during the Warlord’s absence. This is an absolute directive, not subject to override without a personally delivered command.”
The lead Concord man inclines his head. “Exactly. This is why I am personally delivering the command. This comes straight from the Council.”
He touches the tablet. Light gathers above the table and resolves into a seated figure who rests on nothing.
The High Lord. The officers drop to one knee.
Drenz lowers his head, jaw rigid. I brace for the storm-feeling, the pressure that found me in my dream and filled Rythar’s command center before the light even finished forming.
It doesn’t come. The light is right. The stillness is right.
The voice, when it speaks, is the High Lord’s voice.
“Ex O Drenz. The Starfallen of the Green Reach passes to Concord Council custody, under my protection, until her Warlord is recovered.”
Still, nothing presses against my mind. No gathering air. “This doesn’t feel right,” I whisper to Drenz. “Ask him to explain.”
“It’s a recording. Not a live transmission,” the Concord representative says. “The High Lord has many duties.” The projection thins and is gone.
Drenz rises slowly. His gaze is hard.
I bite my lip. Rythar has explained in several ways how the rulers keep each biome secure. Stable. This feels like a coordinated strike, designed to undermine that. And it’s working. I’m just not sure who’s on our side.
“I don’t have any more antivenom,” I lie. I won’t hand it over to them.
The Concord delegate looks at Drenz. “It will be a tragedy to all of Xytheos if female or child lives are lost due to the venom.”
“Then I will hope that Rythar’s efforts are successful,” replies Drenz.
“What happens if I go with you now?” I ask the Concord delegates.
The third delegate, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, answers.
“You’ll be under the personal protection of the High Lord.
No harm will come to you. Your mate will be notified the moment communications are restored that his last orders were followed.
” His eyes flick to Drenz. “This is the safest option for all parties.”
Drenz motions me aside, into a side room, while the lead Concord delegate studies his tablet, apparently unbothered.
Once the door closes, Drenz is bothered.
“This smells wrong. The timing. The way they sidestepped all protocol. If there was a real attack, why would they not go straight to the last known position and extract the victims? Bring them straight to you for treatment. And the last known position for Rythar is odd. They said he crossed into Reach’s End?
He would never do that just to chase prey. ”
“What about the message from Rythar? The command? Do you think it’s legit?”
Drenz frowns. “It’s his voice signature. My scanner verified it. It’s logged in my system as a command from the Warlord Rythar. But the High Lord himself is rumored to have developed the ability to affect communications. I don’t like any of this.”
“And the projection of the High Lord? Could that be faked?”
“Forging a warlord’s voice is treason. Forging the High Lord is something I do not have a word for.” His jaw works. “If that recording was false, we are dealing with someone who fears nothing on this planet.”
“So it’s a trap,” I say.
Drenz nods, almost imperceptibly. “I think so. But I can’t guarantee it. And if what they’re saying is true, and I refuse to obey a logged command, it’s treason.” The words come out flat, but the tension in his neck tells a different story.
I swallow. "And if I go with them? They won’t hurt me. I've been a protected class since I was twelve. Xytheos takes that to the extreme. What's the worst that happens?”
Drenz gives me a level gaze. "Rythar will kill everyone on this planet to get you back. Every ruler on Xytheos knows that." His words sound like Rythar's.
See how many I would kill to keep you alive.
"So my choices are war, or war. Just like old times," I sigh.
“And my choices are disobey orders, or disobey orders.” His face is grim. “I still say this is a trap.”
I try again to sense anything through the bond.
I blink once and the room seems to tilt, just slightly, as if I’ve risen too fast. The thread that should run warm and steady from the ring mark on my finger is thin.
Still muted. And where Sophia’s presence ought to press at the edge of me, there’s only a hollow.
The muted bond could even explain why I didn’t feel anything from the High Lord’s hologram.
"It feels like a trap. I agree. But the Concord Council won't hurt me. I'm going."
Drenz nods once. “I’m going with you.”
We re-enter the main room, and Drenz addresses the Concord delegates. “I will accompany the warlord’s Starfallen Bride.”
The lead Concord man pauses, then nods. “Accepted.”
Drenz takes the long route to the landing field. Neither of us speaks. The shuttle waits at the edge of the landing field. Its lights cast an eerie glow on the grass below.
The Concord delegates near the shuttle first and begin boarding. To them, this is a mundane routine. I follow with Drenz at my side and two warriors flanking me, their bodies coiled tight. Their hands hover close to weapons that I hope they don’t have to use. More warriors follow behind us.