Internal Comm — Black Nest Encrypted Channel // 05:23 A.M.

“Operation Veil Restoration confirmed. They’ll spin the aurora cover within the hour.”

Rue muted the transmission, watching the last violet ghosts fade from Aerthos’ clouds. Containment. Reassignment. Silence.

Always the same script.

Not this time.

---

The Summit’s last symposium gathered beneath the vaulted dome of Aerthos’ Council Hall. Light filtered down through the crystalline ceiling, scattering across robes, medals, and silks—every color of every world shimmering in the air.

Luma sat near the center table, Nyra at her side. Swan spoke for her, of course. He always did.

“She’s been an extraordinary representative,” he purred, feathers gleaming gold. “The Grove responded beautifully under her care. A true marvel, yes—but one that, I assure you, reflects the excellence of our House and training.”

His voice dripped with ownership. Each word polished, practiced, perfect.

Luma folded her hands in her lap, wishing she could sink through the floor. Their voices blurred together—praise, negotiation, profit—while her own name became a currency tossed between them.

“Miss Nova has certainly proven capable,” murmured one of the Solnyran delegates. “Her touch restored a section even our healers couldn’t stabilize.”

“She brings something different,” said another. “Organic resonance, not engineered. Remarkable.”

“She is grateful,” Swan cut in smoothly, the false humility grating. “House Swan is honored to provide her talents to the Summit as a living example of devotion through discipline.”

The words hit Luma like chains. Devotion through discipline.

Across the chamber, Amaya’s teacup clicked softly against its saucer. Prism’s tail swished once behind her chair. Both exchanged a look—then turned toward the Commander.

Rue sat still, hands clasped, violet eyes flickering with quiet stormlight. She’d read the directive twice that morning. Containment, reassignment, silence.

So she would give them all three—only with different meanings.

When Swan spoke again, her patience finally cracked.

“If her schedule is as full as House Swan insists,” Rue said evenly, her voice slicing through the room’s hum, “then perhaps the solution is diplomatic, not contractual.”

Dozens of eyes turned toward her.

She stood, every motion deliberate. “TBN has long held a vacant seat for Cultural Exchange—one meant to strengthen alliances between our systems. It seems only logical that Miss Nova, given her natural affinity, fulfill that role.”

Swan’s feathers bristled. “Commander, with respect—”

“Respect,” Rue repeated, quiet but sharp, “would mean allowing her to speak for herself.”

A ripple spread across the room. Luma’s ears twitched; for the first time, the silence belonged to her.

The elder of Aerthos rose slowly, her moss-and-crystal mantle glinting. “A diplomat of cultural exchange,” she said, smiling faintly. “A perfect idea. Three weeks during each cycle—each season—would honor our worlds beautifully.”

Swan’s smile faltered, his claws curling. “That’s not how House agreements are arranged—”

“Then perhaps,” the elder said kindly, “it is time they were rearranged.”

The chamber murmured with shifting interest. Delegates leaned in; some impressed, others calculating.

Prism elbowed Amaya under the table, whispering, “Can the Boss do that?”

Amaya sipped her tea without looking up. “Apparently, she just did.”

Another elder rose beside the first, voice firm. “Too often this Summit ends with words instead of action. Miss Nova, with respect—do you accept this arrangement?”

All eyes turned to her.

Luma’s breath caught. She looked to Nyra—who squeezed her hand, nodding—and then to Swan, whose feathers trembled with barely masked fury.

For a heartbeat, she thought she might faint. Then she felt it—like a quiet pulse through her ribs, steady and familiar. Rue’s resonance, faint but present somewhere in the vast chamber. Watching. Waiting.

Luma straightened, her glow faint but unwavering. “I accept, with gratitude and humility.”

The elders smiled, murmurs of approval echoing. Swan forced a laugh, feathers puffing. “Then we shall begin arrangements at once. I’ll handle the paperwork myself—”

“No need,” Rue said evenly, cutting across him. “Since this is a Council-sanctioned appointment, the process will fall under Black Nest authority—pending Council ratification, of course.”

Swan’s smile froze.

The Aerthian elder nodded approvingly. “Agreed. Efficiency and transparency will be best ensured by the Commander’s office.”

Rue inclined her head slightly. “As the Council wishes.”

Swan’s feathers lowered, his grin stiff and trembling. “Of course… as the Council wishes.”

Prism leaned toward Amaya, whispering behind her claw, “Ohhh, that was cold.”

Amaya smirked faintly into her tea. “That was politics.”

Across the room, Luma met Rue’s gaze for the briefest moment. Gratitude. Awe. A flicker of something she didn’t yet have words for.

And Rue—expression unreadable—simply dipped her wings once before turning to leave.

---

The council hall emptied in waves of rustling robes and murmured politics. Rue said nothing as she moved through the corridors, her steps measured, every feather of her coat catching the faint amber light.

Prism trailed behind her, arms crossed, trying to smother a grin. “You know, Boss, I almost feel bad for him. Almost.”

Amaya’s tone was mild. “He’ll recover his pride by morning. Or drown it in perfume and self-pity.”

Rue didn’t answer.

Her jaw was tight, eyes distant. The gold-glass windows reflected the shimmer of her wings—shadows laced with violet, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat she refused to feel.

When they reached the outer terrace, the night air hit cool and clean. Below, Aerthos stretched endless and alive, the city pulsing with light from the ongoing festival. Somewhere in that brightness, she knew Luma stood surrounded by too many hands, too many eyes.

Prism exhaled softly beside her. “You did good, Commander.”

Rue’s voice came quiet, almost a whisper. “It wasn’t charity.”

“I know,” Prism said. “Still looked like it.”

Amaya smirked. “That’s because it was mercy.”

Rue glanced toward the horizon—where silver clouds drifted over the twin moons—and murmured, “Mercy isn’t free.”

Her coat flared as she turned toward the docking lifts, shadows coiling in her wake. “Prep the ship. We leave during the second hue of Goldlight”

Prism groaned but followed, tail flicking. Amaya lingered for a moment longer, eyes lifting to the moons, her voice low.

“She’ll come back to Aerthos, Commander. They all do.”

Rue didn’t turn, didn’t slow, but her silhouette stiffened just enough for Amaya to notice.

“Maybe,” Rue said. “But next time—she comes back by choice.”