Ryn made the decision the next morning.

There was no announcement or discussion held for appearance's sake.

Khaz Vordun.

The dwarven kingdom lay east of their current trajectory. Land-locked and rigid in structure, infamous for internal conflicts that rarely spilled outward. Power moved there, not by authority, but by whoever held the most resources.

A king who owned nothing was weaker than a merchant who owned everything.

Ryn set the map down.

No one spoke.

The planning room was full, yet unusually quiet. Amelia stood near the wall, arms folded loosely.

Jay lingered by the far end of the table, eyes flicking over figures he wasn't really reading. Taylor sat with her hands clasped, posture straight, gaze lowered.

No one questioned the destination.

Not because they didn't have doubts.

But because they trusted the man who chose it…Especially after what happened.

Fritz was the only one who moved.

He stepped closer to the table, resting a hand against its edge. His expression was calm and serious, but not confrontational.

"…Khaz Vordun," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Ryn nodded once.

"It's a stable kingdom," he said. "With clear conflicts we can step into."

Fritz studied the map for a moment longer.

Then he looked up.

"Are you sure," he asked quietly, "this time?"

Ryn met his gaze.

"Yes," he said. "It has boundaries we won't cross."

Amelia nodded once and turned toward the door without a word. Taylor rose from her seat a moment later, smoothing her sleeves out of habit before following after her. Jay lingered just long enough to gather his notes, then slipped out as well, already calling out instructions to the crew beyond the corridor.

Fritz remained.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stepped closer to the table, close enough to see the markings clearly, close enough to see Ryn's hands resting against the wood.

Steady.

No tremor. No restless movement. No signs of strain beyond what had already been there before Dheam.

Fritz searched his face, not for guilt or grief, but for hesitation. For the kind of expression one would have when they were pushing forward simply to avoid standing still.

Ryn didn't look away.

"Questions?"

Fritz shook his head once.

"…One," he said. "About Kharvos."

Ryn waited.

"He said you were similar to him," Fritz continued. "Someone who'd seen the suffering of the world."

A pause.

"What did he mean by that?"

"He meant that suffering doesn't make you righteous," Ryn said. "It just makes you aware."

Fritz frowned slightly.

"And that's it?"

"That's all," Ryn replied. "Awareness doesn't excuse your actions."

Fritz studied him in silence.

What he said wasn't philosophical, not at all. It was more akin to an observation through a lens stripped of romance.

"…Alright," Fritz said after a moment. "I'll…keep that in mind."

He didn't linger this time.

The planning room emptied again, leaving Ryn alone with the maps and the quiet hum of the ship's dormant systems. For a few seconds, he remained where he was, staring down at ink lines—ones he'd drawn before they got to Dheam.

Then he sighed.

It slipped out before he could stop it.

Ryn pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly as he gathered himself. When he straightened, the room felt smaller than it had a moment ago.

He turned and left.

The plank was already down, extending from the airship's hull to the packed earth below. Ryn stepped onto it without hesitation, wood scratching just barely under his weight as he descended.

The air outside was warmer than usual.

Snow formed on the lowlands, still not completely rid of that metallic smell.

Ryn stopped at the base of the plank.

For a moment, he just stood there, letting the breeze wash over him.

"You should rest."

The voice came from behind him.

Ryn didn't turn.

"I will," he said. "Later."

The Moonlight Tribe Elder stepped up beside him, following his gaze across the quiet land.

They stood in silence for a bit.

The wind moved steadily across the plain, carrying warmth that felt almost out of place after everything Dheam had endured.

Somewhere in the distance, metal rang as the crew prepared the ship for departure.

Ryn said nothing.

The Moonlight Tribe Elder watched him for a long moment.

"You're not asking whether it was unavoidable," she said at last.

Ryn didn't respond.

"You've already decided that," she continued. "Or you wouldn't still be standing."

"You would've been looking for someone else to blame."

The wind passed between them again.

"You're asking how many lives that decision is allowed to cost before it becomes unforgivable."

Ryn's jaw tightened—just slightly.

The Elder didn't stop.

"You're wondering how many times you can be right before it stops mattering."

Silence stretched.

"…Can't you just let me stew for a bit?" Ryn said, glancing over at her. "In peace."

The Moonlight Tribe Elder was quiet for a while after that.

They walked a few steps together, boots pressing into the packed earth, the wind carrying warmth that felt undeserved.

"I knew," she said at last.

Ryn slowed, just slightly.

"At the summit," she continued. "I knew what would happen if things were allowed to run their course."

He didn't interrupt.

"I didn't know the exact shape it would take," she said. "But I knew blood would be spilled. That words alone wouldn't be enough. That someone would make a choice no one else wanted to."

Her gaze stayed forward.

"And when you offered the drug… I understood what you were really doing."

Ryn looked over at her.

She did the same.

"You weren't trying to force peace," the Elder said. "You just wanted to give us the right to choose."

Ryn exhaled slowly.

"You still took it," he said.

"Yes."

"I took it knowing what it meant," she said. "Knowing it would sharpen the edges. Knowing it would make violence more likely, not less."

The wind passed between them again.

"And I let you go through with it anyway."

"Because I believed that if blood was going to be spilled," she said quietly, "it was better for it to happen under someone who understood the cost… than under someone who didn't."

Ryn looked at her for a long moment.

"…You could've stopped me," he said.

"Yes," she replied. "I chose not to."

Silence settled between them.

"I don't regret that choice," the Elder said. "And I was prepared to die for it."

The Elder looked back out over the plain.

"Unfortunately," she said after a moment, "I survived."

There was no bitterness in it. No relief either.

"Blood is still on my hands," she continued. "And it will remain there, no matter how many seasons pass."

Ryn watched her profile as she spoke, the lines etched by years of leadership and loss. He didn't respond right away.

"…I thought," he said slowly, "that I'd dragged everyone into it."

The Elder turned toward him.

"You did," she said calmly. "And we chose to follow."

The words weren't comfort.

They weren't condemnation either.

"They are both true," she added.

Ryn exhaled.

Not a sigh this time, something steadier.

"I won't pretend that makes it easier," he said. "It's still on me."

"Yes," she replied. "But not only on you."

The sounds of preparation from the camp behind them had reminded him. Life continued, indifferent to how close it had come to breaking.

And it only reinforced the idea more.

He'd never let it happen again.

The Moonlight Tribe Elder was quiet for a long moment.

Then she turned fully toward him.

She placed one hand over her chest and bowed.

"For saving Dheam," she said simply.

Ryn didn't answer.

He held her gaze for a brief second, then inclined his head in return. Just once. No words, no acceptance spoken aloud.

It was enough.

Behind them, the low hum of the airship shifted pitch. Metal groaned softly as systems came fully online. The plank trembled beneath their feet as it began to retract.

The ship was ready.

Ryn turned and walked back toward it, boots steady against the wood as he ascended. He didn't look back.

Above, the airship waited—engines warm, course set, crew prepared to move on.

Dheam would have to stand on its own now.

And Ryn Eden Arctis carried its weight with him as the ship prepared to depart.

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