Pink and yellow sunlight spills over the palace as we drift silently over the arctic. All the guards, all the harpies, all the Fyrethians, from the original and lost colony alike, step outside to squint against the sun. For many of them, it’s the first time they’ve ever seen it.

Ollie is with me, curled up on the balcony outside the throne room. His tail is hanging over the edge of the banister, flicking idly as he watches the clouds change shade with the sunrise. “PRETTY,” he says.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that,” Mirzayael mumbles, glancing at Ollie.

“I can separate the lines of communication now that the battle is over,” I assure her.

“No, it’s alright,” Mirzayael says. “I like being able to speak with him. And I’m sure he’ll enjoy the extra company.”

Dizzi is perched on the edge of the balcony, her legs dangling over the edge in what would be an extremely risky posture if not for the fact, I have to remind myself, she can fly.

And I can fly, too. It’s a strange thought. Strange, but comforting, and not just because we’re currently floating a thousand feet above the ground.

“I’ll need to introduce more safety measures,” I think aloud, glancing down over the streets below. “Increase the walls around the base of the Fortress to ensure none of the non-flying occupants are at risk.”

“You’re thinking about that at a time like this?” Dizzi asks, amused. “We won! Let yourself relax a little. The fighting’s over.”

“Perhaps,” Mirzayael says.

Dizzi tips her head at Mirzayael, then her gaze goes over her shoulder into the throne room. I also turn to look, and find Nek and Torim helping to limp Beryl across the room. I stand up and hurry to her side.

“What are you doing up here?” I ask. “You should be resting.”

“Bah.” The dwarf waves me off, continuing to make her way across the floor. I walk awkwardly beside her and the two guards as they glacially progress to the balcony with all the others. “I rested through the battle. I won’t rest through this, too.”

Beryl finally makes it onto the balcony, whereupon a gust of wind nearly knocks her over. It nearly blows me over, too, catching my wings like kites, though Dizzi with her wind magic appears entirely unaffected. Ollie extends a wing over us to act as a windbreak, and I smile my thanks. A way to stabilize the air within a certain radius of the Fortress is another project I’ll need to add to my list.

“It’s cold out here,” I uselessly warn Beryl.

“It was underground, too,” she says, scrunching her face against the light. “Ahhh. But there’s a new kind of warmth to this.”

“It’s rather pleasant,” Mirzayael admits, turning her face toward the sun.

“And the air tastes so fresh,” Nek agrees. “Like cool water.”

I smile at all their reactions. I’m happy I could give this to them. But as I look down over the kingdom, I catch sight of the mountains rising in the not-so-distant distance, and my smile fades.

After a moment of silence, Beryl grunts, nodding toward the same valley tucked into the mountains that I’m watching. “Is that Jorria?”

“It is,” Mirzayael confirms.

I grimace. “It looks like our current trajectory will be taking us over their land.” It’s not optimal, but until I develop a more controlled approach to the castle’s steering mechanisms, we’re largely at the whims of the winds.

“We need to discuss what we’ll do when we arrive,” Torim says.

“Diplomacy?” I ask. “We can’t land the Fortress. Not without crushing all the artificed flying equipment we built along the bottom and destroying much of the cloudstone in the process. I suppose just the harpies could descend.”

“Who they’d immediately slaughter,” Torim says.

Mirzayael nods. “There’s too few of them. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Then what is there to discuss?” I ask.

Torim and Mirzayael exchange a look.

“Now’s our chance to strike back,” Torim says. “End the threat for good.”

“It may be our only opportunity to deal a crippling blow,” Mirzayael adds.

“It’s the right move,” Nek hesitantly agrees. “If we don’t end things now, they will only keep coming for us.”

My stomach turns at the thought. “Killing soldiers who have attacked our home is one thing. Attacking their home—causing civilian casualties—child casualties—is something different.”

“They were willing to kill our civilians,” Torim says.

A growl thrums from Nek. “And our children.”

I think of my role, The Dark Lord. While Mirzayael’s words had been comforting—perhaps Dark was a reference to caves or the planet’s pole—that same argument no longer holds water now that we’re in the air and mobile. So is it truly a reflection of the villainous role I’m supposed to play? Would this course of action play right into… whomever’s hands I’m dancing in?

Once more, I ask Echo about the meaning of my role.

[The Dark Lord must protect her Kingdom,] Echo repeats.

Protect. That doesn’t mean I have to be the aggressor. No matter what role I’ve been given.

“We can’t do this,” I say to Mirzayael, pleading with her rather than Torim or Nek. “It’s not right.”

“They’ll come after us if we don’t wipe them out,” Torim says.

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“Which would make us no better than them,” I counter. “Wouldn’t that only serve to reinforce their narrative? That we’re the villains?”

“I don’t care what they think of us,” Nek says. “I only care that my family is safe.”

“And they will be,” I assure him. I turn back to Mirzayael, who’s said nothing. I can feel her hesitance through our psionic connection. I can feel her uncertainty.

“They pose no threat anymore,” I continue. “We destroyed their army. How would they come for us? With what soldiers? We’re flying.”

“If they gained harpies…” Torim suggests, but even he seems to be unsure.

“If they come for us, we’ll be ready for them,” I say firmly. “We’ve only begun fortifying the Fortress. There is much more that can be done to secure our kingdom. But,” I add, “I don’t believe it will come to that.”

“Why not?” Mirzayael finally asks.

“Because there’s no reason for us to stay and give them the opportunity,” I say, and at that I can’t help but grin. In a bout of bravery, I take Mirzayael’s hand, and splay my other toward the horizon. “We have the whole world to explore! We can go anywhere. As far away from Jorria as we like.”

“Somewhere warm?” Nek suggests.

“LIKE A DESERT ISLAND!” Ollie says. “WITH BURIED TREASURE.”

“Would it be safe?” Torim asks, skeptical.

“I’ll make sure of it,” I promise. “I’ll stand between the Fortress and anyone who wants to wish us ill, no matter who they are—even if it’s Lorata herself.”

The others murmur nervously at that declaration, and Mirzayael pats my arm. I smile guiltily. Maybe it’s a little early to be inviting the wrath of gods.

“Well?” I mentally prompt Mirzayael. “Are you in?”

“Travel the world with you?” A faint smile twitches at her lips. “Sounds dreadful.”

I chuckle, looking at the others. They still seem unsure, but I believe they’re speaking out of fear, not bloodlust. They just need a little nudge. I turn to Beryl next.

The old woman raises an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me? I desire no say in this.”

“You’re their leader,” I say. “Your voice matters.”

She grunts. “Beginning to think I might be too old for all this leader stuff.”

“If not you, then who?” I ask.

Everyone looks at me skeptically.

“Oh, come on, Fyre,” Dizzi says, hopping down from her perch. “It’s gotta be you. We all know it.”

I look around the group. There’s no doubt in anyone’s eyes. I can feel pride radiating from Mirzayael, and fondness from Ollie.

I suppose I’d always known it would come to this. And in my heart, I’d already accepted it.

“Okay,” I say, and the group collectively sighs with relief. “I will accept my position as a leader within this kingdom. But I can’t do it alone—I won’t do it alone. It’s not my place to rule without guidance from the people who came before me.” I bow my head respectfully to Beryl. “I would sincerely appreciate your guidance.”

“You’re suggesting co-rulers?” Beryl asks.

I nod. “I would be more comfortable with that.”

Beryl scratches her chin. “Bah. Alright. Two leaders, then.”

“Thank you,” I say, relieved. “I’m glad to hear I’ll have your wisdom to lean on. Which brings me to my initial point. Regarding the Jorrians, I alone shouldn’t be the one making this decision for the Fyrethians. What do you believe we should do?”

Beryl hobbles over to the edge of the balcony, peering out over the top. Jorria is steadily drifting closer. So close we can see bonfires lit among the kingdom’s watch towers—perhaps a warning to their people.

“It would be a satisfying retribution to return onto them the pain we’ve endured for so long,” she says. “We’ve suffered in silence for hundreds of years. They deserve any amount of vengeance we rain down upon them.”

My heart sinks. My first act as a lord of this kingdom can’t be to undermine the will of its people. But it’s that, or commit war crimes. What sort of choice is this?

Beryl turns back to me. “My old bones have had much too long to soak up all that bitterness and spite. Time for some fresh blood to take the reins. Time for some fresh ideas. As my first official act as co-ruler of Fyreneth’s Fortress, I abdicate the throne.” She begins to hobble back past us inside, waving a hand at Mirzayael. “You can have it.”

“What?” Mirzayael and I say at once.

Beryl doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t turn back. We all stare at her as she disappears into the palace.

“What does that mean?” Mirzayael asks, uncharacteristically flustered. “What did she mean by that?”

“I think she means I could use someone experienced by my side,” I say, recovering from the initial surprise. “Someone who knows the people and what they want. Someone who’s been protecting them long before I arrived.”

Mirzayael looks around at the others, helpless.

“You fight well,” Torim says. “You make a good commander.”

“And a good guard,” Nek says. “A good friend.”

Mirzayael scoffs at that, meaning she’s overcome the initial shock.

“You’ve got my vote,” Dizzi agrees with a shrug.

I look to Mirzayael. “Well?”

I can feel her answer in my mind before she speaks it. “I accept.”

“Wooo!” Dizzi pumps her arms in the air. “New Queens! Cool. Just please no one give me any responsibilities while that baton’s being passed around.”

“Deal.” I laugh. “Though you’ll need to become our royal artificer in exchange.”

Dizzi looks dismayed. “I said no responsibilities!”

“And Torim. Nek,” I add. “Mirzayael and I will need a council to help advise us on decisions made for the good of the kingdom. As Fyreneth’s Fortress grows, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Growth?” Mirzayael asks. “So soon?”

“It’s happened once already,” I say, nodding to Torim. “We should be ready for anything. And it’s in Fyreneth’s spirit. Anyone should be welcome here; it should be a safe haven for whoever needs a home. Once we decide where to take up permanent residence, that is.”

“That may be counting our eggs before they hatch,” Mirzayael says, glancing over the balcony. Jorria begins to pass beneath us. Everyone else goes silent, watching the city pass below.

A horn blares in distant warning. But no one comes for us. There are no grapples or arrows. What must the people down there think, watching us drift silently overhead? They fear us, I’m sure. But maybe they will witness this act of mercy and think differently of us. Maybe they will recognize the opportunity we were given, the opportunity we didn’t take, and begin to consider how different things could be.

The city moves behind us, and then only icy mountain peaks are ahead. No one says a word, but it feels as though we collectively breathe a sigh of relief.

Nek leaves to go find his wife and kids. Torim also excuses himself to oversee the healing of the injured. Dizzi launches into the sky, and Ollie is quick to chase her. The two loop through the air, vanishing into clouds and stirring up spiraling vortices in their wake. Already, everything has begun to feel lighter.

But there’s still small doubts that gnaw at me. Mirzayael must catch some of my thoughts, because she bumps my shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

It’s not the worst thing to have her in my head, privy to my emotions. It forces me to voice my fear aloud. “Do you think I’m too soft?”

Mirzayael flicks at a feather on my wing. “You’re very soft.”

I snort. “You know what I mean. I didn’t finish them off. I couldn’t. Is that weakness?”

Mirzayael raises an eyebrow. “Do you feel weak?”

I am flying a city-sized fortress. I wield a sentient weapon which is capable of eating mountains like they’re rock candy. I have a dragon the size of a house to protect me. I am the newly appointed leader of a long-forgotten people who defied the gods themselves.

Weak is not a descriptor I would use for any of that.

“I feel tired more than anything,” I admit.

Mirzayael chuckles. “All things considered, I think that is allowed. Come.” She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine as she gently pulls me inside the palace. “The kingdom won’t fall apart without you awake to run it.”

“Theoretically,” I say. “But thank you. You’re right. For now, rest is the best course of action. Then, tomorrow…”

Mirzayael tips her head when I don’t continue. “What about tomorrow?”

I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on my wings.

Tomorrow, I’ll need to start work on fortifying the castle. I’ll need to investigate how our crops are doing at altitude. I’ll need to calculate how much mana is left in the mana ore we brought with us, and how long the cloudstone can keep the Fortress aloft. I’ll need to seek a new home for my people. Keep an eye out for this Lorata deity who condemned Fyreneth’s people hundreds of years ago. Find a way to keep everyone safe.

And I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them—and that’s not just the Role Requirement talking. These people are my people now. They need me, as much as I need them. No matter where we end up, no matter who comes next to try to tear us down, I’ll be there to keep them all safe.

“Tomorrow,” I say, determination burning within me. “Tomorrow is the first day of Fyreneth’s Kingdom reborn.”