Birdsong

“This is our birthright, I presume,” Elisa murmured.

She stood at the base of the weapon-tower—the one which fired a green missile straight at Kael. 

Also the one she now held the keys to. Turns out her people's blood wasn’t so ordinary after all. Thanks, Mom.

Beside her, Kael traced a clawed finger along the old etched stone. “The controls only responded when someone with... native Highcliff lineage touched them. You presume little.”

Elisa snorted. “We’re not exactly natives either.”

“True that,” Kael said. “Makes you wonder what happened to the ones who were.”

“The Dark."

Kael nodded. “And therein lies the problem...”

They both looked up at the tower—silent, coiled with power, like it was just waiting to wake.

“If they had this,” Kael said, “and still lost…” He shook his head. “As we are, we’re screwed.”

Elisa gave a quiet laugh. “Then it’s high time we built our strength.”

He turned to her, straightened his coat, and let out a slow breath.

“You ready for your speech?” Kael asked.

“With you? More than ready. Though I could use some words of encouragement. Perhaps whispering sweet nothings into my ear while you are at it...”

\\

Elisa and Kael were in the middle of an unhappy reunion. 

He was at the edge of the gathering and cloaked in dusk and smugness besides. Varzik was his actual name, as she had come to know.

The old demon who fled back to Blac’hil territory the moment things turned uncertain. He hadn’t lifted a hand to help during the collapse, and now he had the gall to come here in their land and rub it in? Elisa oughta—

"Calm, darling."

She steeled herself, relaxing a clenched fist. He was right.

“Didn’t expect to see you back in the mud with the rest of us, councilor,” Kael said coolly.

Varzik tilted his head. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. A historic unification… or a very public unraveling. Either way, it’ll be beautiful.”

“You came for the spectacle.”

Varzik shrugged, smiling. "You assume a lot of things, girl."

Elisa didn’t bite. She turned her back to him with all the finality of a slammed door.

Let him watch.

She had a speech to give.

\\

Elisa stood at the centre of the crest, wind tugging at the loose threads of her sleeves.

The plateau held its breath—elders, chiefs, commonfolk, demonkin—all beneath a sky split by cloud and sun under a bright summer day.

She took one step forward. Cleared her throat. “Chiefs. Elders. Friends.”

Her voice carried across the open stone.

“We welcome you to Vunna’s Rock—well, now I suppose, Vunna’s Crest. Courtesy of the towering gift our ancestors’ ancestors gave us… and poor Marcus’ house.”

A few chuckles rippled through the gathered crowd.

“Don’t worry,” she added. “We built him a new one.”

The laughter softened the tension, but only slightly. Her expression sobered.

“We don’t need to pretend we always stood together. We didn’t. Headhunting was common. Infant-slaying, even more. We were broken. Brutal. Proud.”

Her gaze swept across the assembled families, their ceremonial markings worn like echoes of battles long past.

“It wasn’t until the so-called civilized lands came for us—until we saw the banners on the hilltops and the smoke in our forests—that we remembered how to stand as one.”

She paused. The wind picked up, whistling between the ridges.

“And the same was true of the demonkin. They did not walk beside us because they liked us. They walked beside us because they had no choice.”

Silence settled.

“There will come a time—maybe at the end of our lives, maybe sooner—when we ask ourselves what all our dividing lines were for. What good did they do us? What were we trying to protect?”

Her voice dropped, warmer now.

“Sometimes it’s a broken bond with your child. Sometimes a fallout between friends. Sometimes it’s a whole people we shut out of our circles.”

She looked to the elders then—to the ones who had lost children in the fighting, to the demonkin who had buried their pride just to be allowed to stand here.

“Our circles are layered. Messy. Tiered. I’m only asking you to make room for one more layer.”

She swallowed.

“You don’t have to forget. Or forgive. But we cannot wall ourselves off forever.”

Another silence followed. This one deeper.

“When you finally step outside your own pain—when you see that they carry grief too—then we all come out clearer. Together.”

She stepped back.

Elisa hoped that the demons were reciprocal to an ancient Highcliffian tradition. It might sound silly coming from a human weaker than they are, sure. But she has yet to meet someone not roused by its fervor and heart.

A single voice called out—sharp, guttural, cracked. Another answered, then another, until dozens rose in unison.

They moved together. Chests struck by open palms. Feet hammering the earth. Eyes wide, mouths open.

“PART THE CLOUDS! PART THE SKIES! PART THE GATES WHERE GOOD SOULS LIE!!”

The rhythm was raw, imperfect, but no less alive than anything else in this sordid nation.

“GODS! GODS! HEAR OUR CRIES! LET THEM THROUGH OR YOU WILL DIE!”

Some joined without hesitation, others with clumsy, trembling limbs.

“GODS! GODS! HEAR OUR CRIES! LET THEM THROUGH OR YOU WILL DIE!!”

It didn’t matter. The mountain carried their voices. And if the Gods were still alive, all of them surely heard it.

By the time the final cry split the air, the Lycans in attendance were weeping. While by every metric, humans were weaker... they were equal in spirit.

Elisa would be lying if she didn’t tear up as well.