"That's where you're wrong," Jorghan said quietly, dangerously.

"My voice carries weight because I'm the one willing to fight for survival while you argue about tradition. The Nuwe'rak listen to me. The Nue'roka survivors listen to me. And your own clan warriors listen to me, whether you acknowledge it or not."

"You threaten my authority?"

"I don't need to threaten it," Jorghan replied.

"It's already irrelevant. When the Empire comes, your authority won't mean anything. Only power will matter. And I have that power."

The air in the room felt electric, violence hovering just beneath the surface. Korreth's massive frame was tense, his warrior's instincts clearly warring with the knowledge that attacking Jorghan would be extremely unwise.

Sigora stepped between them, her presence commanding despite being smaller than her husband.

"Enough. Both of you. We are family, whether blood or chosen, and family does not tear itself apart before battle."

She looked at Korreth.

"I respect your authority as patriarch. But Jorghan is right about one thing—survival requires adaptation. Our traditional ways have served us for centuries, but they may not serve us now."

Then she turned to Jorghan.

"And you—stop baiting him. I asked you to try, and you've done the opposite."

"He started it," Jorghan muttered, sounding younger than his years.

"I don't care who started it. I'm ending it."

Sigora's tone brooked no argument.

"The meeting begins in less than an hour. We are all going to attend, and we are all going to present a united front. Whatever personal disagreements exist, they stay in this house. Understood?"

Korreth was silent for a long moment, then nodded stiffly.

"As you say, wife."

Jorghan shrugged. "Fine. United front. I can do that."

"Can you?" Lira asked unexpectedly, his golden eyes fixed on him.

"Or will you antagonize every elder and patriarch the moment someone questions you?"

"That depends," Jorghan replied, meeting his gaze.

"Will they deserve it?"

"You are insufferable," Lira said, but there was something in his expression that might have been reluctant respect.

Morden finally spoke, his deep voice rumbling. "Sister Swana speaks highly of you. Says you saved her life multiple times. That carries weight, whatever Father thinks."

"Morden—" Korreth began.

"I speak only truth, Father," Morden interrupted, showing surprising spine.

"We all know what would have happened if Jorghan hadn't gone into that human base. Swana would be dead. Perhaps Scarlett too. That debt exists whether we acknowledge it or not."

They both hated Jorghan, but after knowing what happened in the forest, they changed their attitude towards Jorghan. They weren't aware of Lamorg's plan of taking his sister and hated themselves for joining hands with them.

Korreth's expression tightened, but he didn't contradict his son.

"The meeting," Sigora said firmly.

"We're leaving now. All of us. Together."

She moved toward the door, and after a moment, the others followed. The hierarchy was clear—Korreth might be the patriarch, but Sigora's will was the force that kept this family functioning.

-

The sun was setting as they left the Nor'vack floating island, its reddish light painting the desert in shades of crimson and gold. The island itself was a marvel—a massive piece of land held aloft by ancient magic, floating perhaps fifty feet above a river that cut through the desert like a silver ribbon.

Brown elves had always been masters of geomantic magic, and the floating islands were proof of their skill. The Nor'vack settlement covered several square miles of the island's surface, with buildings carved from the living stone and gardens that somehow flourished despite being airborne.

They descended via the main causeway—a magical construct that created stairs of hardened air, allowing passage between the island and the ground below. It was disorienting for anyone not used to it, walking on what appeared to be nothing, but the elves moved with practiced ease.

Jorghan walked beside Sigora, while Korreth led the way with Lira and Morden flanking him. The younger twins kept throwing glances back at Jorghan, their expressions thoughtful.

The river below was wide and slow-moving, its water sustaining the desert clans through the harsh dry seasons.

On either side of it, the settlements of the Nuwe'rak and Nue'roka clans spread across the sand—temporary structures designed for quick relocation, a stark contrast to the permanent magnificence of the Nor'vack floating island.

Red elves moved between the settlements in preparation for the meeting.

Jorghan could see warriors drilling, families gathering supplies, and scouts returning from patrols. Everyone knew something major was coming.

The Empire's presence in the region, combined with Jorghan's massacre of the human forces, had created a sense of urgency that permeated everything.

"The meeting will be contentious," Sigora said quietly as they walked.

"All three clans have different ideas about how to proceed. The Nuwe'rak favor defensive strategies, the Nue'roka want revenge for their losses, and the Nor'vack—"

"Want to maintain tradition even if it kills them," Jorghan finished.

"I was going to say 'favor careful consideration,' but your version is more accurate," Sigora admitted with a slight smile.

"What do you think we should do, Mother?"

Sigora was quiet for a moment. "I think we should listen to you. Not because you're always right—you're not—but because your perspective is different. You see possibilities we don't because you're not bound by our cultural limitations."

"Korreth would have an aneurysm if he heard you say that."

"Then it's fortunate he's not listening," Sigora replied.

"But Jorghan—when we get to the meeting, let the elders speak first. Show respect, even if you don't feel it. They need to feel heard before they'll listen to alternatives."

"I can do that," Jorghan said, though his tone suggested he absolutely could not do that.

Sigora sighed.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you know me too well, Mother."

They reached the meeting grounds as the last light faded from the sky.

The council circle had been prepared in the neutral territory between settlements—a large cleared area with cushions arranged in concentric circles, the inner circle for clan leaders and their immediate advisors, and the outer circles for warriors and witnesses.

Already, elves were gathering.

Jorghan could see Sarhita arriving with the Nuwe'rak contingent, her mother beside her. The Nue'roka survivors clustered together, noticeably fewer in number after Lamorg's ill-fated revenge scheme.

And overhead, the stars were beginning to emerge, countless points of light that had witnessed centuries of elven history.

Tonight, they would witness decisions that might determine whether that history continued or ended.

Jorghan cracked his knuckles, earning a warning look from Sigora.

"What?" he said innocently.

"I'm just getting comfortable."

"You're preparing to argue with everyone."

"Can't I do both?"

Sigora shook her head in exasperation, but there was fondness in the gesture.

The meeting was about to begin.

And Jorghan had absolutely no intention of staying quiet.

-

Desert Council Grounds - Deep Night

The debate had been raging for hours when Sigora raised her hand, drawing attention away from yet another circular argument between Korreth and Vel'moth about resource allocation.

"There is someone else who should speak," she said, her voice cutting through the tension. "Someone with direct knowledge of the Empire's operations."

She gestured toward the outer circle, where a figure sat quietly in the shadows, unnoticed by most until now.

Jorghan stepped forward into the torchlight.

"Jorghan had fought with the empire multiple times," Sigora explained as the elf entered the inner circle.

"He is well familiar with the strange machines they use, and recently, he had slain a whole army of humans who took our children."

Murmurs rippled through the assembly. Some recognized the name—Jorghan Sol'vur of the Sol'vur clan, the strongest clan, which disappeared years ago.

"I fought with them, yes, and I know the system they work with."

Vel'moth furrowed his brows. "And?"

"I brought someone who had seen much more than what I know. He had been in their shelters and saw it firsthand."

Sigora was the only one who kept a straight face, and everyone was confused.

"Eben," Jorghan called out.

Right then, an elf entered the tents, drawing attention from everyone. He was not brown or red; he was ashen-skinned, belonging to another clan.

"He will tell you what you want to know."

Jorghan found him in one of the camps set by those imperial military in the forest. Jorghan was just watching them afar, and that's when he saw Eben and rescued him.

"What does he know?" asked one of them.

Eben's voice was rough, as if he'd spent too long screaming or not speaking at all.

"Everything. I know everything because I helped them. Not by choice," he added quickly, seeing anger flash across several faces.

"They have methods. Ways of extracting information that make resistance... difficult."

"What did you tell them?" Vel'moth demanded.

"Bloodline mechanics. Genetic markers that indicate strong magical potential. How to identify elves with rare abilities from physical characteristics alone."

Eben's expression was haunted. "I gave them the knowledge they needed to create the half-breeds. The abominations—they exist because of information I provided."

The silence was damning.

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