I was a twitching mess of nerves and tail flicks, barely holding it together as Gilbud and his crew worked diligently on the party space, hanging garlands between the branches and setting out stone-etched tables. They were doing their best to keep things festive. To keep things normal.

  We were building a party center.

  In our base.

  While Jalkra's top commanders roamed freely, as though this was a sightseeing stop between invasions.

  I rubbed my temples, ears twitching.

  What the hell am I doing? I should've known better than to let them through the border. But I did.

  I told myself it was temporary. I told myself it was safe. I lied.

  His elites moved through the Crystal Shelter's clearing with the ease of seasoned predators in borrowed territory. Gamuikaze hovered lazily in his cyclone, smirking like he was two seconds from turning everything into a dust storm. Biscuit lounged belly-up across a clothed table beside the food trays, tail flicking idly, as if she hadn't threatened to "test my worth" earlier that day with her claws bared.

  Across the field, Whirlkool chewed a fishbone beside the koi pond, grumbling about the drinks. Ume's webs hung like ribbons in the trees; she watched from above, every blink of her too-many-eyes impossible to interpret.

  Then there was Pzion. He was off under the trees with GamaGen, the two of them exchanging deliberate pleasantries just outside the central clearing, as if nothing was off at all.

  It felt like a peace offering. Or a trap dressed in streamers.

  I scanned the glade again, every color too bright, every laugh too loud. Guilt coiled in my stomach. I was the one who let them in. I was the one who decided we could try… coexisting. And for Denji's sake. And for Liozel's first attempt at a birthday. I wanted today to be perfect.

  I wanted joy. Laughter. A rare moment where no one was trying to rip anyone apart.

  But the image of Biscuit's claws and that almost-feral gleam in her eye from earlier was still etched behind my vision. She'd nearly pounced on me hours ago. For sport, she said. Then she'd purred at me like we were old friends. Her idea of a truce was a duel. A "pawsitive" game, she'd called it.

  And now here she was, curled up like a guest of honor beside the snacks.

  And Jalkra was nowhere to be seen, of course. But his wife had given birth just a few hours ago, and the moment the word Denji had left Diantha's lips, every one of Jalkra's Pillars seemed to decide: Today we are harmless. Today we party.

  Sure. No big deal. Just the deadliest monsters in the realm passing hors d'oeuvres near my crystal stockpile.

  Gamuikaze floated by in his personal tornado, muttering commentary about punch flavors like an aloof food critic. Ume descended from the trees like a doll-shaped spider princess, joining up with Biscuit and Whirlkool. Now all three were fluttering between decorations, party prep, and baby-viewing rotations as if this was some kind of diplomatic mixer instead of a powder keg wrapped in streamers.

  I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for it all to snap. For someone to say the wrong thing. For Biscuit to decide today's game involved claws again. Thankfully, Biscuit had locked horns—well, paws—with her natural foil: Skadi, the pint-sized pink whirlwind of unfiltered energy, who had taken one sniff of the lounging commander and promptly launched into a mock battle of flailing paws and chirping taunts. It was chaos. Ridiculous, harmless chaos. And maybe the only thing keeping Biscuit from hunting something less cheerful.

  I tightened the straps around a tablecloth and stepped back to look at our handiwork. Moss-stitched garlands, dyed paper lanterns, a table already being looted by kobolbos sampling cake. It all looked surreal.

  Maybe that was fine. Maybe peace was surreal.

  I let myself breathe. Let this be one day without claws. One day for the children.

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  Behind me, I heard Ume's voice floating in from the clinic, soft and thoughtful:

  "Let this child be the first of many to remind us of what we stand to protect."

  It looked like a celebration. Sounded like one. But it was also a performance. And I was the lead actress trying not to flinch while balancing a sword on my throat. I couldn't shake the thought however, that Jalkra didn't need to be here. He'd already made his point.

  His child had been born in our shelter. His Pillars were feasting in our garden. And we hadn't so much as lifted a blade against them.

  Diplomacy through dominance.

  He hadn't won through war. He'd walked in through the front door, and I had held it open.

  "Smart," I murmured, nearly choking on the word. It wasn't a compliment. But I could see the brilliance in the move. Make us complicit. Make us hosts.

  Make us wonder what side we stood on.

  I folded my arms and tried to look composed. Liozel's birthday was today too. Emma, of all days… what would you have thought? My mentor used to say, "Peace is real in the moments we choose to protect it." I wasn't sure if today counted. But Liozel deserved it.

  The little tyranno-kitten had practically leapt onto Oath's back and declared himself a warlord of snacks. He deserved joy. He deserved a world not shaped by schemers and warlords playing games above his head.

  But that's what this was: a game. One with many players, and no one willing to admit whose turn it was. I wasn't sure if I was a piece… or the board.

  I glanced toward the clinic. Diantha was inside, still recovering. Whatever love she bore for Jalkra, it hadn't made her blind. I remembered her voice earlier: insistent, strained, and urgent. She wanted Mina to see the child. She had sought her half-sister back to this realm, as if hoping blood would soften what legacy had hardened.

  Maybe that was why the Pillars hadn't been ordered to attack. Maybe that was the only thing keeping them civil.

  I took a breath that didn't settle in my lungs. My claws flexed against my sleeves, as I watched Biscuit yawn and roll onto her side beside Skadi. A low conversation flared between Whirlkool and Ume. Gamuikaze let his vortex rise, just slightly. Testing our air currents. Our reactions.

  I hadn't missed the way Gamuikaze's eyes occasionally drifted to the watchtower. Or how Ume's silks seemed strategically webbed near our supply storage. Or how Pzion had politely asked questions that even I knew were too specific to be casual.

  Not one of them acted like a subordinate waiting for orders. They acted like royalty assessing a gift.

  My people were the gift. Or the collateral.

  I turned on my heel before the weight of it cracked my composure. I needed to check on the decorations. I needed something to do with my hands. I needed to remind myself that I still had control—if only barely.

  We're celebrating life today, I told myself again. Not surrender.

  But even as I said it, I knew: the only way this ended peacefully… was if Jalkra allowed it. And that was the thought that chilled me more than any enemy at my gates.

  I was halfway through checking the garlands when I felt it. The tug. Not a physical one. Just that… prickle. That sense of being watched by someone who didn't intend harm, but knew too much.

  "You wear your dread well."

  The voice was soft. Melodic. Like water brushing against silk.

  My freaking goodness. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Ume was descending from the upper limbs of the tree, her gossamer threads catching faint light. Her bell-lined hair swayed in the breeze… so delicate I might have mistaken her for part of the decor.

  ??? ??? // ??? ???

  Creature: Ume the Joroguant

  — Species: Jorogumo

  — Faux Nym: [Ume]

  — APU: [10,000] Particle Units

  ??? ??? // ??? ???

  "I'm told that's not a compliment," I said, masking surprise with dry humor to mask the shudder crawling up my spine.

  Ume smiled faintly. "In our line of work, it might be the closest thing to honesty we're permitted."

  She stepped beside me, not too close, but enough to remind me this wasn't a casual chat.

  "I wanted a word with you, KiAera," she said, all of her many eyes blinking in slow sequence. "Away from the noise. The others are… celebrating. I am observing."

  Observing, she says. I hesitated, then nodded. "Of course."

  She motioned with a lower limb, gesturing off toward the shade, away from the party-goers and streamers. We walked in silence past the glitter of crystal lanterns, past Scarbol barking out orders to the kobolbos hanging windchimes. I caught distant laughter in the background. Biscuit, Skadi, Rox, probably ganging up on Viz again about his outfit.

  But this… this was different.

  When we were far enough, Ume stopped and turned to face me. She startled me by conjuring a translucent cocoon of webs around us, muffling the world outside.

  "I wanted a moment without the audience," she said softly. "I imagine you understand."

  I folded my arms, searching her expression. "You mean without Biscuit's shouting or Gamuikaze's wind tricks."

  She smiled faintly, but her many eyes didn't blink. "Precisely."

  A silence bloomed between us. "You don't seem like the others," I said finally. "You… actually feel like someone I can talk to."

  "I take that as a compliment," she replied. "Though I wonder if that makes me the most dangerous of the three."

  I didn't smile.

  She stepped closer, hands folding in a gesture too graceful to be casual. Her voice dropped.

  "You've brought my sisters into your den. That is no small thing. Whirlkool and Biscuit may be unpredictable, but we protect Diantha. That is our first oath. Our only one."

  I looked at her carefully, trying to read between her words. "Then why come here? Why take the risk? Why let us see you as threats?"

  Her smile returned, softer this time. "Yes. Though perhaps not the way you think."

  I shifted, uneasy. "Then what—"

  "She is the future of this realm," Ume said. "And her child is the first step toward a legacy not shaped by war. I hope you can see that, KiAera."