The pyres stood in rows—twenty-two total. One for each Beast Speaker who died freeing others.
Dawn broke cold. Mist clung to ground like grief made visible. 2,200 bodies had been recovered, buried over three days. But these twenty-two? They burned at sunrise, witnessed by everyone.
Draven stood before Senna's pyre—youngest volunteer, sixteen years old. Her scarred hound lay beside the wood, refusing to leave even now.
Brenn approached quietly. "The hound won't eat. Won't move. It's been three days."
Draven knelt beside the hound, placed his hand on its head. "She freed six beasts. Your bond was real. But she'd want you to live. Honor her by choosing life."
The hound whined. Long, broken sound. Then: nuzzled Draven's hand. Small acceptance.
Across the field: families gathered. Parents who lost children. Children who lost parents. Beasts who lost bonded companions. Silent vigil, waiting.
Feyra stood at the center of memorial ground, Lightfield pulsing softly. She would light the pyres—King to heroes, proper honor.
Feyra's glow intensified. Golden light flowed from her, touched each pyre simultaneously. Twenty-two fires ignited at once, flames pure gold—not orange, blessed fire, Bloomscript resonance.
The crowd watched in silence.
Then: singing began. Not planned. Spontaneous.
Old song, pre-displacement era. Melody Sylvara taught them—"Walk beyond the veil, brave souls, where chains no longer bind."
Two thousand voices joined. Humans and freed beasts alike, harmony imperfect but heartfelt.
Draven's throat closed. Tried to sing, couldn't. Just stood, tears falling, watching smoke rise.
Mira beside him, journal closed for once. "They died so others could choose. That's... that's worth remembering."
"Every name," Draven whispered. "Every face. I won't forget."
The fires burned for hours. By noon, only ash remained.
But something else grew: resolve. Not vengeance. Purpose.
They hadn't died for nothing. Their sacrifice bought freedom for 1,200 souls. That truth settled like foundation stone—heavy, but capable of bearing weight.
The medical district was chaos organized by desperate efficiency.
Four thousand eight hundred wounded overwhelmed the healers. Supplies running low. Infections spreading despite best efforts.
Joran found Thea in the third warehouse-turned-hospital, wrapping a soldier's leg wound with the last clean bandage they had.
"We need a solution. Fast."
She looked up, exhausted. "Unless you can conjure medicine from air—"
"Ashen Hollow. The Heart Stone. Feyra's resonance amplifies healing there, remember? Two times faster recovery."
Thea's eyes widened. "Transport the critical patients. But that's fifty kilometers—"
"Sylvara can escort. Terys anchors. We move two hundred critical cases first, cycle through the rest over the next week."
They brought the proposal to Draven. He approved immediately.
By afternoon, the first convoy departed—200 wounded, 20 healers, supply wagons. Sylvara led with an Eternal Grove bubble of protection. Terys walked at the center, mobile fortress, shell glowing with patient heat.
The journey would take two days. But once there, wounds that would take a week to heal would close in three or four days. Lives saved through knowledge applied.
Three hundred freed beasts remained in Bloomring Hold. Nine hundred had fled to the wilds—their choice, respected and honored. But these three hundred stayed.
Housing them strained infrastructure. And trust... trust was harder than logistics.
Ryl led integration efforts, creating "mixed zones" where humans and beasts shared spaces, worked together rebuilding damaged districts.
One freed Servitor—Stonehide named Krag—refused to work. Just sat, staring at nothing. Traumatized by years of chains, suddenly gone, leaving void where commands used to be.
Ryl sat beside him. Didn't speak. Just presence.
After an hour: Krag stood, picked up timber, joined construction. Small step.
Beast Speakers acted as liaisons throughout the city. Bonded pairs demonstrated trust through action. Slowly, freed beasts observed: these humans don't force, they ask.
By evening: eighty percent of freed beasts participated in rebuilding. Twenty percent remained withdrawn—acceptable, given trauma.
Then: three freed beasts approached Draven directly. They wanted to leave. Not flee—politely request departure.
Draven didn't hesitate. "You're free. That means freedom to go."
They left peacefully. Word spread fast: Covenant keeps promises. Freedom is real.
The twenty percent who'd been withdrawn? Half of them started participating the next day.
Three envoys arrived at noon—representatives from neutral kingdoms watching the war.
Envoy 1: Kingdom of Vendar (agricultural power, cautious)
Envoy 2: Free Cities Alliance (mercantile coalition, pragmatic)
Envoy 3: Northern Clans (warrior culture, respect strength)
Lysara hosted with Brenn in the council chambers. Draven joined late—deliberately. Let them wait. Establish he's busy leading, not courting favor.
Vendar Envoy, Lord Thalen, spoke first. "Impressive victory. But can you sustain it? Dominion will return with larger force."
Brenn's voice was steady. "We'll be ready."
"Optimism isn't strategy. What assurances can you provide that alliance with Covenant won't drag us into unwinnable war?"
Lysara leaned forward. "The same assurance we gave ourselves: we fight for something worth dying for. You fight for... what? Neutrality? Safety purchased by others' chains?"
Silence. Thalen's face tightened.
Free Cities Envoy, Magistrate Selene, shifted tactics. "Pragmatically: what do you need? Supplies? Trade routes? We're merchants—we deal in value. What's your offer?"
Draven entered then, still in dusty armor from the memorial. Didn't apologize for lateness.
"Our offer: freedom. We'll share severance tool knowledge. Any enslaved beast in your territories—we'll help free them. No cost. No strings."
Selene blinked. "You're... giving away military advantage?"
"Freedom isn't advantage to be hoarded. It's right to be shared. Dominion builds empire on chains. We build coalition on choice. Choose which future you want."
Northern Clans Envoy—Warchief Kerra—slammed her fist on table. Approval, not anger. "THAT is answer! Strength offered freely is true strength! Northern Clans will send warriors. Not alliance—but aid. You fight with honor."
Vendar Envoy remained skeptical. "Pretty words. We'll watch. If you survive Dominion's next assault, we reconsider."
Free Cities Envoy nodded. "We'll open trade routes. Supplies, medicine, food. But if you fall, don't expect us to fight your war."
Draven accepted it. "Fair. We don't demand martyrs. Just witnesses. Watch what we build. Decide if it's worth protecting."
Zor sat on the highest tower, wings folded. Lightning flickered uncontrollably across his feathers. Trying to suppress it—afraid of hurting someone.
Lord-tier power was overwhelming. He felt every storm across Theia now. Responsibility crushing.
Draven climbed the tower. Sat beside him, respectful distance.
"You're holding back."
"Power too great. Cannot control. Might hurt allies."
"Then don't control it. Direct it."
"What difference?"
"Control is restraint. Direction is choice. You're not dangerous because you're strong. You're dangerous if you're afraid of your strength."
Zor considered. Then: spread wings. Let lightning flow freely—not suppressed, channeled. Arcs danced between wingtips, harmless display, beautiful.
"This... feels right."
"That's because it is. You're not weapon to be controlled. You're storm choosing where to rain."
Varyn stood on the northern ridge, looking south toward the wilds.
Freedom there. No obligations. Just hunt, rest, exist.
He looked back at Bloomring. Saw construction. Heard singing from the memorial grounds. Felt: belonging.
Not bond. Not ownership. Choice to stay.
He walked back down the ridge toward the city.
Mira saw him approach, smiled. "Thought you might leave."
Mental image sent: Pack. Choose to walk beside, not behind.
She understood. "Welcome back. Permanently?"
Not permanent. Just... now.
She laughed. "Now's enough."
Late evening, Draven's quarters. Maps spread across the table. Anomaly zone locations marked. Planning next explorations.
Mira entered with Chronicle Sphere notes. "If we're exploring ruins, we need recording device. Chronicle Sphere from old texts—stores memories, projects knowledge. Crystal Caverns might have one."
Draven studied her notes. "Memory storage. We could preserve Beast Speaker training. Scale education across territories."
"Or Dominion could use it for propaganda." Mira's face was serious. "It's weapon, Draven. Knowledge always is."
"Then we find it first. Use it for truth, not control."
Brenn entered. "You're leaving again? We just survived apocalypse."
"Which is why we can't stop. Dominion's regrouping. We need advantages."
Lysara joined, making it a full council. "Northern Clans sending 500 warriors. Arrive in two weeks. We'll have breathing room."
"Two weeks. Then I explore Crystal Caverns. Find Chronicle Sphere, bring back whatever else is there."
Joran: "I'm coming. Engineering perspective needed."
Thea: "Me too. Someone has to keep Joran from exploding things."
Ryl: "Terys and I will anchor. Someone needs to keep all of you alive."
Draven looked at his council. Exhausted. Wounded. Unbroken.
"Two weeks. We rest, rebuild, prepare. Then we dive deeper. Ruins hold answers. We're going to find them."
Dusk of the Third Day
Medical District: First convoy reached Ashen Hollow. Wounded placed near Heart Stone. Feyra's resonance channeled through crystal—healing accelerating visibly. Hope rekindled.
Construction Zones: Humans and freed beasts working side-by-side. Laughter heard for first time in days. One freed Stonehide lifted timber beam solo—others cheered. Small joy, but real.
Memorial Grounds: Ash from pyres collected, mixed with soil. Planted twenty-two trees—one per fallen Speaker. Mira carved names into stone markers. "They grow with us. Roots deep. Memory deeper."
Council Chambers: Maps updated. Trade routes marked. Northern Clans warriors expected. Dominion movements tracked—rebuilding, three to six months before next assault possible.
Tower Roost: Zor and Draven sitting together. Lightning dancing harmlessly between wingtips. Storm in balance.
"Bearer. We won battle. War continues."
"Always does. But we're stronger now. And we're not alone."
"Never alone. Pack."
"Pack."
Thunder rolled gently. Not threat. Promise.
Notes:
Casualties Memorial: 22 Beast Speakers honored at dawn (blessed flames, trees planted); 2,200 total Covenant dead buried over 3 days; Senna's hound begins healing.
Medical Crisis: 4,800 wounded; 200 critical sent to Ashen Hollow (2x healing via Heart Stone); convoy system established.
Freed Beast Integration: 300 staying (900 fled to wilds); 80% participating in rebuilding; 3 left peacefully (proves freedom real); trust building through shared labor.
Political Developments:
Vendar: Watching, uncommitted (skeptical)
Free Cities: Trade routes opened (pragmatic support)
Northern Clans: 500 warriors incoming (respect-based aid)
Dominion: 42,000 survivors retreating, 3-6 months to regroup
Character Arcs:
Zor: Learning direction vs control; accepting Lord responsibility
Varyn: Chooses to stay (pack mentality); freedom includes community
Draven: Balances grief with leadership; plans next expedition
Council: Operating independently; structure resilient
Next Expedition: Crystal Caverns in 2 weeks; Chronicle Sphere (memory storage device); Team: Draven, Joran, Thea, Ryl + Terys, possibly Mira.
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