Lydia stood at the entrance of the hall, her golden eyes calm, unreadable. The kind of expression a queen might wear before stepping into a war council.
Behind her, the hall lood—larger and sturdier than anything Dragontown had managed to build. Thick beams arched over the ceiling, the scent of fresh-cut wood still lingering in the air. Rough banners hung from the walls, so featuring symbols that were clearly unfinished, while others were more refined, their craftsmanship leagues ahead of anything we could manage.
It was impressive. Too impressive.
Lydia's gaze swept over us—not just our group, but also the other human leaders who had traveled with us from Seatown. She gave a short nod before turning on her heel.
"Follow ."
We entered together.
And the mont we did, I felt the silence.
Not an ordinary silence. This was deliberate. Heavy. The kind that settled over a room when people had already decided sothing about you—and you were the last to know.
At the center of the hall stood a massive round table. The surface was polished dark wood, almost unnatural in its sheen. The chairs around it were occupied by representatives from every major faction.
The humans were seated together. Seatown's leader sat stiffly, his broad fra and sun-worn skin giving him the appearance of an old soldier. Behind him, Nikita stood at attention, his stance sharp, disciplined. Delunia's leader, a wiry man with a perpetual calculating expression, drumd his fingers against the wood. Gynsk's leader, a woman with a face carved by hardship, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between the others.
And then—the Elves.
At their center, the Elven King.
He was tall, unnaturally so, even for an elf. His robes were deep erald, lined with gray, his long golden hair cascading over his shoulders like flowing silk. His face was impossibly sharp, elegant, the kind of beauty that didn't belong to normal mortals.
Vaelion stood behind him, slightly to his right, his golden eyes gleaming with amusent. Seris stood on the other side, her dark gaze wary, cautious.
Further down, the dwarves. Their leader was a thick-browed man with a silver-streaked beard, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression already one of mild impatience.
Beyond them, the other races. Orcs. Reptilian beings. A few I didn't even recognize—so humanoid, so barely so.
And then there was us. The Dragontown group.
The air shifted the mont we stepped forward. The Elven King's gaze barely flicked toward us. Vaelion didn't even bother to hide his smirk. The dwarven leader exhaled slowly through his nose, as if he had already made up his mind about us.
Lydia took her seat. Then, without preamble, she spoke.
"Dragontown."
That was it. No introduction. No formal welco. Just one word. Like we were an afterthought.Carn didn't let it shake her. She pulled out her chair and sat, her expression smooth, composed.
"Thank you for having us," she said, her voice steady.
She started strong. She spoke of Dragontown's growth. How we had built hos, organized defenses, started trade. How people had co together in the face of nothing, creating sothing that wasn't just survival—it was progress.
She was good. Too good.
Which is why the first laugh hit like a knife to the stomach.It wasn't loud. Just a slow exhale of amusent. Then another. A ripple of chuckles.
And then—the Elven King finally looked at us.
"Children."
The word landed like a stone. Not an insult. Just a fact.
Carn's jaw tensed.
The dwarven leader let out a short breath, his thick fingers tapping the table. "A city run by teenagers," he mused. "Impressive." The sarcasm was undeniable.
Vaelion chuckled softly. "I fail to see why we are here," he said smoothly. "It is one thing to discuss alliances between established cities. It is another to entertain a settlent that is, at best, a temporary camp."
Carn refused to falter. "We're not asking for permission to exist."
The Elven King tilted his head slightly.
"No," he said, "but you are asking to be taken seriously."
The words cut through the air like a blade.
Silence.
Then—they tore us apart.
They dissected everything. The lack of political structure. The inexperience of our leadership. The unstable economy. The weak military force. The simple fact that every single one of us was under eighteen.
It wasn't an argunt. It was a demolition.
And the worst part?
They weren't wrong.
It had all felt too easy. The founding of Dragontown. The way people fell in line. The sense that we were actually building sothing real—
But the mont we stepped into the wider world, it collapsed.
A pit ford in my stomach. The air around thickened, pressing against my lungs. The walls felt closer, the voices louder, the room tighter.
My pulse slamd against my ribs. I couldn't breathe.
Carn was still speaking. Soone was still laughing.
The walls were closing in.
I barely rember leaving the eting hall.
One second, I was sitting there, feeling the walls close in, the voices hamring down on us like a relentless tide. The next, I was outside, moving blindly, the night air pressing against my skin like sothing tangible, sothing heavy. The world felt muted—like I was walking underwater, every sound distant, every movent sluggish.
Sowhere behind , I could hear the others gathering around the fire. Their voices were quiet, subdued. No one was celebrating. No one was even talking much. The air was thick, suffocating.
I didn't sit with them.
"I… I need a break," I muttered, barely recognizing my own voice.
No one questioned it. Not Carn, not Nikita, not Amina. Daisuke glanced up, but for once, he didn't say anything.
They let go.
I walked.
And kept walking.
I wasn't going anywhere, not really. Just away. Away from them, from the fire, from the city. Away from everything. My feet carried toward the treeline, the darkened mass of the forest swallowing whole. The mont I was inside, the sounds of the camp faded, replaced by the distant rustling of leaves, the occasional snap of a branch. The air slled damp, earthy, fresh—like the world didn't give a damn about the eting, about Dragontown, about .
I stopped.
And then, finally—I broke.
The breath left my lungs in a sharp, ragged gasp, my shoulders heaving, my legs suddenly too weak to hold . I staggered forward and caught myself against a tree, my fingers digging into the rough bark. My head spun. My vision swam.
It was never real.
The thought hit like a punch to the gut.
It was all a lie.
Dragontown. The way everything had co together so easily. The way people had fallen in line, as if we were actually building sothing real, sothing that mattered.
But it didn't.
Because they were right.
We were just kids playing in the sand, pretending we belonged.
I pressed my forehead against the tree, squeezing my eyes shut. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. I could still hear them—the laughter, the condescension, the way they had dismissed us so completely, so effortlessly.
They were right.
It wasn't just Dragontown. It was everything.
I never processed any of it.
The war. The invasion. The destruction. The way the sky had split open, the way the world had been swallowed whole. The way I had stood there, watching as my ho—my life—was erased.
Mom. Dad.
I couldn't even picture their faces anymore. Just blurred images, voices already fading.
Because I hadn't let myself think about them. Not once.
Not when we ran. Not when we arrived in this world. Not when we started building.
I had kept moving, kept pretending like none of it mattered.
Like I was fine.
But I wasn't.
I never had been.
I gasped for air, but my chest felt tight, like sothing was crushing from the inside. My pulse pounded in my skull, too fast, too erratic. The world tilted.
I can't breathe.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms—and then I swung.
My knuckles slamd into the tree, sending a sharp jolt of pain up my arm.
It wasn't enough.
I hit it again. Harder.
Again.
Again.
The bark split under my fists, rough and unforgiving, biting into my skin. Warmth trickled down my fingers, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
I just wanted to feel sothing real.
Sothing solid.
Sothing that wasn't slipping through my fingers.
I kept swinging, even as my breath ca in ragged, uneven gasps, even as my arms trembled from exhaustion. My vision blurred. My knees buckled.
I was so tired.
So tired.
I wanted to stop.
I wanted to let go.
But I couldn't.
Because if I stopped now—I'd have to face it.
All of it.
The truth.
That I wasn't strong. That I wasn't so leader. That I wasn't anything.
That I was just so kid who had lost everything, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.
I pressed my forehead against the tree again, breath hitching, blood dripping from my knuckles. The world felt like it was caving in, pressing down on , suffocating .
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I just wanted it to stop.
"…Aleks."
I tensed.
The voice was quiet. asured. Familiar.
I turned my head, and through the haze of exhaustion, of pain, I saw him.
Caelith.
He stood a few feet away, watching with those unreadable silver eyes. His white hair shimred faintly in the dim moonlight, his face as expressionless as ever. But there was sothing different in the way he looked at .
Sothing almost… careful.
I wiped at my face with the back of my sleeve. "What do you want?" My voice ca out hoarse, raw.
Caelith didn't answer imdiately. He stepped closer, his movents deliberate, calculated, as if approaching a wounded animal.
Then, finally—
"I have not properly thanked you."
I blinked. My brain barely processed the words. "What?"
He sat down beside , his posture eerily perfect, like he was carved from stone. He didn't look at . Instead, his gaze remained forward, unfocused, as if looking at sothing only he could see.
"I have never thanked you," he continued, his tone flat, almost chanical. "For taking in."
I let out a weak, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. You never seed the type."
Caelith was silent for a long mont. Then—
"I was afraid."
My breath caught.
I turned to look at him, but he still wasn't eting my gaze. His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled slightly, like he was holding sothing invisible.
"I have always been afraid," he said. "But I did not understand what it was."
His voice was steady, but there was sothing beneath it. Sothing fragile.
"I was born unwanted. A mistake. A Rein-Elf is not ant to exist. Our births are accidents, anomalies. Our parents do not wish for us. Our people do not claim us."
A muscle in his jaw tightened.
"My mother did not want ."
He said it like it was nothing. Like it was a fact, not a wound.
"But she kept long enough to teach one thing," he continued. "That emotions are weaknesses. That I should not have them. That I should not be able to feel them."
He exhaled slowly.
"She was wrong."
The words hung in the air between us.
Caelith finally turned his head, eting my gaze for the first ti.
"I do not know what my emotions are," he admitted. "But I know what fear is. I have felt it all my life."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
He looked back at the trees.
"But when you took in, the fear lessened." He tilted his head slightly. "That is why I thank you."
I stared at him, my thoughts tangled, raw.
For a long mont, neither of us spoke.
Then, finally—I exhaled.
The tension in my chest loosened, just slightly.
I wasn't okay.
Not yet.
But maybe… maybe I didn't have to be.
Not alone.
I pushed myself up, my limbs sore, my hands aching. "Co on," I muttered, nodding toward the camp. "Let's go back."
Caelith studied for a second, then stood.
We walked back in silence.
The campfire flickered in the distance, a warm glow against the darkness. The quiet hum of voices drifted through the air—soft, subdued, nothing like the energy that had once filled our group. I slowed as we neared the clearing, my heartbeat steady but my mind still raw from everything that had happened.
Caelith walked beside in his usual silence, his expression unreadable as ever, but for once, it didn't bother .
Because I knew now.
He felt more than he let on.
He was just like , in his own way.
I swallowed, steeling myself before stepping back into the firelight.
Carn sat on a log, arms folded, staring into the flas like they owed her money. Nikita stood with his hands on his hips, tense and quiet. Amina sat with her legs crossed, sharpening a crude knife against a flat stone, her movents slow and thodical. Daisuke had his head tilted back, staring at the night sky as if it would give him answers.
No one spoke.
Not until they saw .
Carn was the first to react.
Her head snapped toward , her brown eyes narrowing. In one smooth motion, she stood, crossed the space between us, and grabbed my wrists.
Her grip was firm—not crushing, not aggressive, just steady.
But then her fingers tightened.
I didn't realize what she was doing until I followed her gaze.
Her expression changed the mont she saw my hands. The skin on my knuckles was raw, torn open in so places, dried blood caking my fingers. So of it had sared onto my sleeves.
"What the hell did you do?"
Her voice was quiet—too quiet.
I pulled my hands back instinctively, but she didn't let go.
Carn never looked worried. Annoyed? Sure. Pissed off? Always. But right now, the crease between her brows wasn't irritation—it was sothing else.
Sothing that made my throat tighten.
I opened my mouth, unsure of what excuse I was about to pull out of my ass, but she was already moving.
She pulled a strip of cloth from her belt—probably ant for bandages—and wrapped it around my hands without a word.
Her fingers were warm against my skin. Precise. Careful.
I could have pulled away. I should have.
But I didn't.
She tied the knot a little too tight and exhaled, shaking her head.
"You're a fucking idiot," she muttered, but her voice wasn't sharp.
I forced out a weak laugh. "You're not the first person to tell that today."
Carn didn't smile.
She just held onto my hands for a second longer, her thumb brushing over the edge of the bandage.
Then she let go.
Nikita sighed, shaking his head. "Holy shit, man. You look like you got into a fight with a tree and lost."
I snorted. "It was a close match, but I think I won on points."
"Sure." He rolled his eyes but didn't push further.
Amina flicked her gaze toward , her expression neutral. "You know you don't have to deal with everything alone, right?"
Sothing in my chest twisted, but I didn't know what to say.
Daisuke, who had been unusually quiet, finally lowered his head from staring at the sky. He adjusted his glasses. "There are, better ways to handle stress than punching inanimate objects."
I groaned. "Daisuke, I swear to God—"
"—I'm just saying."
I shook my head, exhaling. The tension in my shoulders eased, just a little.
Carn sat back down, stretching her legs toward the fire. She didn't look at when she spoke.
"Next ti you need to hit sothing, let know."
I raised an eyebrow. "…You volunteering to get punched?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, dumbass. I an, if you wanna throw punches, train properly. Not whatever self-destructive bullshit you just pulled."
I stared at her, but she just threw another stick into the fire and leaned back against her elbows.
The flas crackled, sending embers into the sky.
For a long mont, no one spoke.
The weight in my chest hadn't disappeared. The exhaustion still clawed at , the doubts still whispered in the back of my mind.
But for the first ti in what felt like forever, I wasn't drowning in it.
I glanced around the fire—at Nikita, who had sohow beco one of the strongest warriors in Seatown. At Amina, who always kept her cool no matter what. At Daisuke, who annoyed the hell out of but still sohow made things feel normal. At Carn, whose presence was like a fire itself—burning, untad, but warm when you stood close enough.
And finally—at Caelith, who sat slightly apart from the rest, his silver eyes reflecting the firelight, his expression unreadable.
We were all different. ssed up in our own ways.
But we were here.
Together.
I exhaled, my fingers brushing over the bandages Carn had wrapped around my hands.
For the first ti in a long, long while—
I felt it.
A beautiful emotion.
Nad love.
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