The morning sun pierced through the dense canopy, spilling golden light across the lush jungle village. A soft mist curled around the roots of great trees molded into homes, and birds with shimmering feathers darted through the sky, their cries foreign and beautiful.
The Aelorian travelers walked slowly through the village, shadowed by curious, distant eyes. The shadowkin did not speak to them, but neither did they bare hostility. There was only silence, only fear.
Selena and Ariwin sat together under the shade of a great violet-leaved tree. Ariwin, her silvery hair braided with tiny blue stones, wore a soft smile as her eyes rested on Selena's belly.
"You carry peace," she said gently, "even when your world chases war."
Selena smiled. "I could say the same of you. This little one…" she paused, laying a hand on her stomach, "is a spark of hope. The world will try to snuff it out, but I'll protect it with everything I have."
Ariwin looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, they weren't shadowkin or human—they were mothers, kindred spirits. "You remind me of our old stories," she whispered. "Of a silver-eyed star that would fall from the heavens to light the darkest days."
Stormclaw purred softly at Kael's side as he napped beneath a canopy, twitching in his sleep. Kael muttered to him, almost as if speaking to a brother. "You hear that, Stormclaw? A land full of stories. Of people who glow with magic and fear humans like we're monsters…"
Luther watched them quietly, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He didn't like the silence of the village. The way it listened. The way it held its breath.
⸻
Later that afternoon, Anikin led them to the central platform, a terrace overlooking the glacier at the heart of the city—the Icehart. The massive structure gleamed with an inner light, ethereal and cold. It pulsed slowly, like a slumbering heart. No one dared go near.
Anikin spoke in a soft, respectful tone. "That is the source of our gifts. It is ancient—older than our memory, perhaps older than this world."
"I've never seen anything like it," Selena whispered. "It's not just ice, it's… alive."
"It is," Anikin confirmed. "And we protect it, not because we own it, but because we are part of it. And it, us."
Before anyone could respond, Farakin stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at Luther. "And that is why you should not be here."
The tension shattered the peace like glass.
Luther frowned. "We didn't come here to harm your people. We're running. We're being hunted, just like you."
Farakin's lip curled. "But you are human. And it is your kind that is the reason our people live in fear. The Northern Kingdoms—your neighbors—capture our kin. They chain us, bleed us, experiment on us."
Luther's hand went to the hilt of his blade. "That's not who we are."
"But it's who they are!" Farakin snapped, pointing toward the jungle. "And when they discover you're here, when they come—they will come—what do you think we'll do? We do not wage war, Aelorian. We do not crave conquest. But we will defend what is ours. To the last shadowkin, if we must."
Stormclaw growled low.
Arya stepped between them, voice calm but firm. "We are not your enemy, Farakin. We've bled to protect each other. We've left everything behind."
Farakin looked away, jaw clenched. "If you mean no harm, prove it. Stay away from the Icehart. Touch it, and no one—not even Anikin—will protect you."
The group stood in silence, the cold presence of the Icehart looming behind them.
Anikin sighed, old and tired. "We've seen enough death to last lifetimes. Let us not bring more into this land."
⸻
As the sun set behind the jungle, painting the glacier in hues of rose and gold, the group returned to Anikin's home. No one spoke for a long time. The trees whispered with the wind, and the Icehart pulsed on.
The shadowkin watched from the shadows, uncertain of what had arrived on their shores—or what storms might follow in its wake.