They did not climb like a delegation.
They climbed like those measuring ground for a burial.
Mukhar led the way.The staff did not set his pace.
It held him steady.
Behind him, the herd leaders moved stiffly, contained.They did not look at the summit with respect.
They looked at it the way one looks at something that has taken more than it should.
Lusian waited where the rock began to vibrate beneath the pulse of the Tree.
He carried no weapons.
He did not need them.
The ground beneath his feet did not respond the same way.
"We're not here to ask for asylum," Mukhar said.
His voice did not seek closeness.
It sought balance.
"We're here to speak plainly. The Lithaar have already descended.And they are not alone."
Lusian did not answer at once.
He looked out over the valley.
The dust in the distance was no longer wind.
It was movement.
"Alliances born of necessity don't last long," he said at last."When hunger changes… so do loyalties."
His gaze dropped to Mukhar.
"What guarantees me that when this is over, you won't decide my mountain is in your way?"
Mukhar did not hesitate.
"Nothing."
A subtle shift ran through those behind him.
Not disagreement.
Discomfort.
"I bring no promises," he added. "Only what is."
He planted the staff.
"If we leave, we die.If we stay below… we die as well."
He lifted his gaze.
"And if we fall, the Lithaar won't stop."
"Go back to the savanna," Lusian said.
It was not a suggestion.
It was a measure.
"If you remain here, you'll draw the direct strike against my roots."
The buffalo female stepped forward.
She did not raise her voice.
She didn't need to.
"If we go back, we disappear."
Silence.
"And when that happens…" she continued,"there will be nothing between them and you."
Her gaze shifted toward the Tree.
"We're not asking for protection.
We're giving you time."
Selvryn spoke then.
Her voice was not loud.
But it cut.
"This isn't an alliance.
It's a position."
A brief pause.
"You stay.You hold the line.
We… allow you to keep breathing."
Mukhar looked at her.
Then back at Lusian.
"We do not obey."
The words came dry.
"We are not yours."
"No," Lusian replied.
Without pause.
"And I don't need you to be."
A slight change in the air.
"Subjects are a burden.
You are useful."
Silence.
"As long as you hold the line… the flow will be yours."
"If you fail—"
He stopped.
Didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
Mukhar nodded.
Slowly.
"Then listen to me."
He drove the staff into a crack.
The sound was sharp.
"If this forest decides we are no longer useful…"
He lifted his gaze.
"we will tear it out."
It was not a threat.
It was calculation.
Lusian held his stare.
He did not smile.
But something in his eyes darkened.
"Try."
A faint pulse moved through the stone beneath his feet.
"If you can make it through."
No one spoke after that.
There was nothing left to say.
The herbivores descended without ceremony.
No agreements sealed.
No trust.
Only a shared certainty:
they had been pushed to the same edge.
The war to come did not unite them.
It only aligned them.
Because for now—
the enemy below
weighed more
than the hatred above.