The guild hall turned command center smelled faintly of burnt parchment and sweat, the air thick with tension. Maps sprawled across the tables—edges curling, marked with red ink and chalk lines that divided the city into territories. The walls bore old guild crests, now half-scorched, their sigils overwritten with the symbols of the resistance.

  The White Lion sat at the heart of it, his white beard framing a mouth set in grim determination. He listened to reports with the patience of a man used to bad news. His eyes flicked toward Shale and Ariana as they entered, nodding for the scouts to finish.

  Shale’s mouth twitched into a faint smile as he stepped forward. “You’re still alive, old man. I half expected you'd be holed up in a cave somewhere by now.”

  The White Lion chuckled, rising briefly to clasp Shale’s forearm in greeting. “And I expected you to report back sooner, lieutenant. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten our little arrangement.”

  Shale’s expression darkened. “I had no intention of betraying my homeland. Not to people I thought were the enemy.” He shook his head, his voice roughening. “But now? Now I can scarcely think of anything else.”

  He released a breath and stepped closer, fists tightening. “The emperor’s a violent moron,” he snapped. “He’s unleashed psyad mageia on the streets, burning his own people alive. Someone needs to stop him.”

  The Lion didn’t rise. He leaned back, folding his arms, his gaze steady. “You’re complaining to the wrong ears, lieutenant.”

  Shale’s fists tightened. “What do you mean?”

  “This isn’t just any empire,” the Lion said, voice low, measured. “It’s an empire of the elves.”

  Shale frowned, but the Lion pressed on.

  “We humans call you nadics ‘elves.’ They see you all the same—pointy-eared, bug-eyed rulers who live five times as long as we do and see us as beneath you. Overlords. If I stand up and denounce the emperor, it’s just another Tuesday. Humans whining about nadic cruelty. The world turns.”

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, locking eyes with Shale. “But if you stand up—if a nadic calls him what he is—a butcher—the fa?ade cracks. The empire quakes.”

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  Shale opened his mouth, then closed it again, the weight of the Lion’s words settling heavy in his chest.

  “Get up on a podium,” the Lion continued. “Yell to the elves. Dryads, psyads, maenads. They need to see one of their own speak the truth.”

  “I’m no speaker,” Shale muttered, stepping back. “I’m a soldier. I don’t know how to sway a crowd.”

  The Lion stood at last, crossing to stand toe-to-toe with him. “You’ve stood on the walls of Solokhia. You’ve bled for this empire. That gives your voice weight they can’t ignore.”

  Shale’s jaw clenched, Hawthorn’s broken body swaying from the lamppost flashing behind his eyes. “What if I make it worse?”

  The Lion’s hand clapped onto his shoulder, firm but not unkind. “You’ve seen worse. Now do something about it.”

  Ariana stirred beside them, her eyes flicking between the two men. She crossed her arms, tail twitching, then glanced toward the far corner of the hall. A man lay there, half-curled beneath a threadbare blanket, his skin slick with fever-sweat, breath rattling shallow in his chest. No one spared him more than a passing glance.

  "While you two posture," she snapped, jerking her chin toward the man, "people are still bleeding out there—or dying slow deaths that a little maenad alchemy could mend."

  Both turned to her.

  “You people need proper medicine,” Ariana said, straightening. “There’s too much suffering here, and the people trying to help are idiots. They don’t even know the basic alchemical principles that maenad kittens learn before they’re weaned.”

  She gestured broadly toward the hall, her tail lashing with frustration. “I’m helping partly because it’s the right thing to do—but mostly because I can’t stand watching these people fumble around like they’re in the dark ages. Even the simplest maenad alchemy could ease this.” She exhaled sharply. “We’ve hoarded that knowledge too long, kept it to ourselves because we stayed away from settled places.”

  Her gaze hardened. “Maybe it’s time that changed.”

  The Lion nodded, approving. “The human quarter will welcome you. They need all the help they can get.”

  Ariana smirked faintly. “Good. Then I’ll stop drinking long enough to get some results.”

  Preparations began at once. Scouts spread word to the nadic districts—dryads, psyads, even curious maenads—calling them to a neutral square near the dryad quarter. A place where the Black Cloaks feared to tread.

  Shale stood at the square’s edge as dusk fell, his heart pounding, sweat prickling beneath his collar. Voices gathered, footsteps echoing off the stone. Banners fluttered—scrap-stitched imperial army standards mingling with merchant guild sigils and unadorned faces hardened by famine and fear.

  Dryads with bark-flaked skin, psyads with dulled mageia glinting in their eyes, maenads flicking their tails as they settled into the crowd. Even a few curious humans watched from the alleys, arms crossed.

  Shale swallowed the lump in his throat. His fingers trembled.

  The Lion’s words echoed in his mind: “You don’t need the perfect words. Just the truth.”

  The time had come to speak.

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