They all did.
Isshyr’s death had not destabilized him. It had reinforced him. In the old order, a Vykan losing control would shatter not only himself but the fragile equilibrium binding their world. But Kyrax had not lost control. He had acted with clarity, decisive force, and unbroken mind.
The chamber shifted subtly, as though the air itself recalibrated.
Kyrax stepped forward, towering at the center of their circle.
“I will take Isshyr’s domain,” he declared. “His fleets, his resources, his Bastion. His Saelori will fall under my protection. None will suffer for his failings.”
No one argued.
Of course they didn’t.
He was stronger than all of them now—venom potent, mind sharpened, bond complete. And his victory in battle had sealed it.
Saerith drew in a slow breath. “None shall challenge you, Kyrax. Not now.”
“One more thing,” Kyrax said, voice lowering. “My human—Morgan—stands not as captive, nor concubine, nor curiosity. She is my counterpart. My anchor. My equal.”
There was no dispute. Not anymore.
Vhalcor bowed his masked head first—sharp, abrupt, decisive. One by one, the others followed, each bending in a rare gesture of deference. Of acceptance.
Ofsubmission.
A current of power hummed through the chamber, acknowledging the shift in their hierarchy. The true resolution of an ancient fear.
“Yes, Vykan,” they said together, voices echoing. “The balance holds.”
Kyrax absorbed the words like an oath.
Itdidhold.
Because of her.
Because of them.
He stepped back from the dais, the projections dimming, the chamber lights shifting to a calmer hue. The faint pulse of Morgan’s presence brushed the edge of his consciousness again: steady, warm, always aware.
He turned toward the exit.
Their future waited beyond that door.
And for the first time since he was born beneath the thinning veil of the mist, the path ahead felt clear.
EPILOGUE
Kyrax stood on his private balcony with the mist of Vyranth moving in slow, luminous currents below, heavy over the canopy. Through gaps in the shroud, he could see the faint scatter of light from Saelori settlements—lanterns along walkways, the glow of bio-reactors, the occasional pulse of a transport skimming just above the forest. The sounds carried upward in muted threads: distant water, soft chimes, the quiet hum of shield lines.
Behind him, the chamber was dark and empty. Here, at the outermost edge of his domain, there were no attendants, no guards, no masks save his own set aside.
No one but her.
Morgan leaned against the rail beside him, wrapped in deep green fabric that moved gently in the cool air. Her hair lifted in the high-altitude breeze, catching the last trace of fading light. At this distance from others, with the wind dispersing his venom into harmless wisps, it was safe to be unmasked. His face was bare, the night air cool on skin that rarely knew it.
She turned her head, studying him with that keen, assessing gaze he had come to crave.
“You,” she said at last, voice dry with amusement, “are quite the troublemaker. Who would have thought?”
