Page 147 of Aryn

“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.