The fortress no longer slept.
Since dawn, torches burned in every corridor, banners of black and crimson hung from the half-restored towers, and the air buzzed with a strange equilibrium — half sanctuary, half battlefield in waiting.
From the parapets, the mountain trails gleamed with approaching light. Dozens of riders wound through the mist, banners hidden, their armor too fine for mercenaries. They came not as conquerors, but as envoys — the kind that carried poisoned words behind gilded smiles.
Selene watched their ascent beside Balerion. The wind pulled at her hair; the faint scent of rain hid the sharper smell of steel.
"They'll call this diplomacy," she said quietly. "But I see daggers under their tongues."
"Let them speak," he replied. "Words cut slower. That gives us time to bleed on our own terms."
They received the visitors in the grand hall — newly rebuilt, still veined with glowing red runes. The Reborn lined the balconies, silent and watchful. At the center stood Balerion and Selene, framed by the carved dragons behind them.
The delegation entered with a clatter of polished boots. Cloaks of midnight velvet trailed behind them, jeweled sigils glittering faintly. At their head, an elder with pale hair and a smile carved from diplomacy bowed low.
"Lord Balerion of the Reborn," he said smoothly. "I am Envoy Cather of the High Concord. We come on behalf of the Houses and the Zenith alike."
"You come because you fear what you don't understand," Balerion said.
A ripple of unease passed through the delegation. Cather only inclined his head. "Fear can coexist with respect, my lord. The world changes quickly, and even gods prefer to keep their balance intact."
Selene's hand rested lightly on her sword. "You mean their chains."
He smiled faintly. "Semantics, Lady Valeria."
That name dropped like a stone into still water. The hall murmured; a few Reborn hissed.
Selene met Balerion's gaze, then squared her shoulders. "Yes. I was born to House Valeria. I stand here by choice."
Cather studied her. "Then you understand what is at stake. Your family's safety. The Houses' stability. The thin peace between divinity and mortality."
He turned to Balerion. "We offer truce. Sanctuary within the order of the Zenith. Recognition of your fortress as a neutral territory — if you submit your allegiance to the Balance Goddess."
Balerion's laugh echoed like breaking glass. "Submit? You want the Draconyric to kneel before the same divinity that tried to erase it?"
"You mistake erasure for preservation," Cather said. "The gods contain what would devour the world. You, my lord, are both savior and threat."
"And you," Balerion said softly, "are both messenger and weapon."
His eyes flashed crimson-gold. The torches dimmed; the air turned heavy. The envoys' shadows twisted against the floor, shapes shifting under them.
Cather faltered. "This is a negotiation—"
"No," Balerion said. "This is honesty. Something your gods have forgotten."
Selene laid a hand on his arm. "Don't."
For a heartbeat, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then Balerion stepped back. The pressure eased. The envoys exhaled as if released from deep water.
Cather straightened his cloak, regaining composure. "Then the truce is refused."
"Unless it's rewritten," Balerion said. "In blood that belongs to no god."
The envoy hesitated — long enough for a new voice to enter the room.
"You sound like your mother."
The words froze Balerion mid-step. A figure stepped out from the back of the envoy ranks — cloaked in white, face veiled. Every Reborn tensed. Selene's sword sang an inch free.
The veil fell. A woman's face, older than mortal years but untouched by time. Silver hair bound with crimson thread, eyes like molten garnet.
Balerion's throat went dry. "Mother."
The hall erupted in whispers.
Lady Arashira Drakmor — the Dragon of the Blood Dawn, once said to have burned cities in defense of her kin, long vanished into exile — stood before him. She looked unchanged from the memories that weren't quite his own.
"Why are you here?" Balerion demanded.
"Because you built what we could not," she said. "A place the gods can't define."
"Then join us."
She shook her head slowly. "You think I came as ally? I came as warning. Your father made a pact with the divine architect when you were born — to seal the Draconic and Vampiric cores from consuming you. But the seal breaks with each act of defiance. The gods will not allow another Ascendant."
Balerion's jaw tightened. "Then let them try to stop it."
Arashira's gaze softened. "You sound like him, too."
The elder envoy cleared his throat. "Lady Drakmor speaks truth. The Architect's law was clear: if the Draconyric awakens fully, the balance collapses."
Selene stepped forward. "Balance for whom? For those above, or those they keep beneath?"
Cather ignored her. "You will submit to containment. Or—"
Balerion raised his hand. "Or what?"
Cather hesitated, then snapped his fingers.
The nearest envoy moved—too fast. His cloak dropped, revealing a blade humming with runes of nullification. An assassin, not a diplomat. He lunged.
Selene was faster. Her sword intercepted mid-strike, sparks cutting the dim. Two more cloaked figures struck from behind the columns, silent, precise. The Reborn erupted from the balconies. Steel clashed against steel. Chaos swallowed the hall.
Balerion's mother stood unmoving, watching. Her eyes glowed faintly, unreadable.
Balerion tore through the air like a storm. His arm flared in molten light, claws of energy raking across marble. The assassins dissolved into ash.
"Enough!" he roared.
The word cracked like thunder. Every flame froze; the air itself went still. The hall obeyed him.
Only Cather remained standing. His face twisted into something that wasn't human. The skin shimmered, peeled away — revealing a figure of light and shadow intertwined. Divine puppet.
Selene hissed. "He's possessed."
Balerion's core pulsed. "No. He is divine."
Cather's voice changed, layered with a thousand tones. "The Architect gave chance for peace. You answer with rebellion."
"Rebellion?" Balerion said. "No. Evolution."
The divine puppet raised its hand. "Then let the experiment end."
Light exploded.
Selene dove, dragging the child under cover. Balerion caught the blast head-on — the world turned white, his skin splitting with radiant heat. The Draconic and Vampiric cores screamed in harmony.
When the light faded, smoke filled the hall. The envoy's divine shell flickered, half-dissolved. Balerion stood amid ruin, his shadow cast on every wall, crowned in twin halos of flame and blood.
Cather's body crumpled. The divine voice lingered. "The Architect sees you."
"Then it sees a mistake it can't erase," Balerion said.
He crushed the fading light in his palm. The hall plunged into darkness, lit only by the red glow of the runes.
Later, as healers tended the wounded, Selene found him on the balcony, staring into the storm rolling over the mountains. Lightning illuminated his face — too calm, too still.
"Your mother left with them," she said quietly.
"I know."
"She might come back with an army."
"She'll come back with a choice," he murmured. "That's all she ever brings."
Selene stepped closer. "And what about me? If my family sends me the same choice?"
He turned, eyes softening for the first time that night. "Then I'll trust you to make it — even if it kills me."
The wind howled through the halls of the reborn fortress, carrying whispers of new wars and old blood. Lightning split the sky, carving the symbol of two suns into the clouds.
Far above, in the Astral Zenith, the Architect finally spoke — not to the gods, but to the world itself:
"The Draconyric has remembered its name. Now let us see who remembers theirs."