A Storm Before Peace

Back in camp, the storm rolled in with heavy rain and thunder like cannon fire.

The wounded were treated. The dead were burned.

And Aria sat beside Xander's cot, unable to sleep.

"You've changed," he said softly.

She looked up. "I'm trying to survive."

"No," he murmured. "You're trying to lead."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain. The weight of everything settled between them—the losses, the betrayal, the lies.

She took his hand. "I didn't want this."

"But you're still here."

"And that has to mean something, right?"

Xander nodded. "It does."

There was a beat of quiet, then Aria whispered, "I'm scared, Xander."

He squeezed her fingers. "Me too."

Before they could speak more, Kell burst into the tent.

"They sent a message," he said, out of breath. "A ceasefire. They want to talk."

Aria stood, her face unreadable. "Talk?"

"Not surrender. Just… talk. With you. Alone."

Rael entered behind him. "It's a trap."

"Maybe," Aria said. "But maybe it's the first sign they're afraid."

She stared at the rain cascading down the canvas. The wind howled like it knew something was coming.

"I'll go," she said. "But not as a victim. As their equal."

Xander looked up at her. "Then make them listen."

And as she walked out into the storm, cloak whipping behind her like wings, Aria knew one thing:

The ice inside her was melting.

But the fire?

It was just beginning to burn.