Location: Excavation Camp – Interior Utility Tent
The lantern buzzed above them, its flicker casting jittery shadows across canvas walls.
Human.
The word didn't echo.
It didn't shatter the room.
It didn't need to.
It settled.
Like dust after a collapse.
Thall didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He didn't even blink.
He stood there locked in place—like a brace had snapped tight in his chest. His face wasn't anger. Not yet. It was math. Recalculation. Every moment they'd shared, every meal, drill, joke—dragged through some internal filter and shredded for clues. His jaw flexed once. That was it.
Horn didn't stand still.
His boots scraped forward.
Just half a step. But it was enough.
He leaned in like the floor had tilted toward her. Not cautious. Not careful. His shoulders rolled forward, and his hands curled until the bones in his knuckles pressed white under his skin.
He wasn't looking at her eyes.
He was watching her throat.
Tracking the proof of her breath.
Of her being alive. Here. Breathing the same air as the ones he buried.
"Niri," Ronan said, voice too casual—strained.
"I don't think now's the time for jokes."
Qiri turned her head. Just that.
Her gaze landed on him like a slap.
She didn't need to say anything. The weight in her eyes was enough to freeze him mid-step. Not from fear. From shame.
Ronan looked at Niri again.
She hadn't moved. Not once.
His mouth opened. Then closed.
Then—
Laughter.
Short. High-pitched. Cracked like something inside him just broke sideways.
"No… no, no, no. This isn't real." His voice twisted mid-breath. "It's a trick. It's another test, right? You're not—"
"You."
Horn's voice hit like metal.
"You. Your kind. Made us bleed. You burned our fleet."
Spit hit the dirt. His fists shook.
"You stand here in our uniform. Our food. Our camp. After what they did."
His boot slid forward.
Instinct. Not thought.
Niri didn't move.
Didn't blink.
She was too still.
Qiri moved first.
She stepped in front of her—not fast, but solid. A barrier made of silence and control. Her arms stayed down. Her feet planted wide. But the message was clear.
"Don't," Qiri said.
"Move," Horn growled. "Not your business."
"It is now."
Thall shifted.
Not a full step. Not yet. But his body edged toward Horn like gravity was pulling them into alignment.
Niri still hadn't moved.
But her shoulders squared.
Her hands flexed—small. Quiet. Controlled.
Her left foot turned, just enough. Her weight dropped lower.
She was ready to fight.
Qiri felt it. Her arm went out, subtle but firm—pressing back against Niri's stomach.
"Don't," Qiri whispered under her breath. "Not unless he touches first."
Niri didn't speak. But her eyes were locked on Horn now. And there was something in them that didn't match her size, her voice, or her frame.
She looked like she didn't care if she lost.
She just needed one excuse.
Ronan, still pale, looked between them like he couldn't figure out who was the threat anymore.
"I… I need to sit," he muttered, stumbling back against the tent wall.
Then the flap opened.
Professor Lu'Ka stepped inside.
He didn't shout. Didn't ask.
His voice was calm—but it carried.
"Enough."
Everything froze.
Even Horn stopped breathing for a moment.
Lu'Ka's gaze cut straight to him.
"Step back, Mr. Horn. You too, Mr. Thall."
Horn didn't move.
Thall did.
He stepped between them—not to fight. To block.
He faced Horn, not Niri.
"Back down," Thall said. His voice was level. Flat.
Horn didn't answer. His eyes locked on Thall for three breaths. Then his jaw cracked. His fists unclenched—slow, like it hurt.
He stepped back. One step. Two.
Lu'Ka nodded once. "Good."
Lu'Ka's voice held. Measured. Firm.
No raised tone. No anger.
But it cut like a blade through fog.
"Mr. Horn," he said, stepping forward once, "may I ask you a question?"
Horn didn't respond. His jaw was locked. Breathing shallow. Still wired.
Lu'Ka didn't wait for permission.
"When Cadet Porl assaulted Niri outside the gates… did she judge your species for his actions?"
The silence stretched.
No one spoke.
Lu'Ka continued, gaze unwavering.
"Did she blame the Grounx for what one cadet did? Did she assume all of you were violent because one of your own raised a hand against her?"
Horn's throat twitched, but still—no answer.
"And yet," Lu'Ka said, voice cooling even more, "you stand here, accusing her of being no different than whatever ghosts may or may not still pilot that warship."
He turned slightly.
Let the words breathe.
"Why is it," he said slowly, "that you believe you deserve the right to be seen as an individual… and she does not?"
Horn's fists balled again—but it wasn't the same. This was slower. Resentful. His shoulders weren't ready to strike. They were holding weight.
"She's Gateborn," he growled finally. "She's dangerous. You've seen what their ships can do, Professor."
Lu'Ka stepped closer.
Not threatening. But absolute.
"No. What I've seen," he said carefully, "is a girl—frightened, alone, hiding from a universe that has no room for her."
He looked toward Niri.
"And when I judge actions, Mr. Horn—not species—what I've seen tells me she's far more in control than you are."
That landed.
Horn's breath caught. His eyes burned—not with fury, but something closer to shame. It didn't show fully. Not yet. But Qiri saw it. So did Thall.
Niri didn't look up.
She hadn't moved in minutes. Not really. But her hands were no longer fists.
Not yet relaxed. But unclenched.
Qiri stepped back half a pace—just enough to give her space again.
No need to protect her right now. She'd held the line.
Thall exhaled slowly through his nose, turning away from Horn to face Niri directly.
"I don't know what to do with this," he admitted. "But I don't think you're lying."
Niri's voice came, quiet, but steady.
"I'm not."
"Not only that, Mr. Horn," Professor Lu'Ka said, voice cold and sharp, "I was there. I was present when she warned us—me and the Chancellor—not to approach the site."
He took a slow step forward, gaze locked on Horn.
"She didn't hide her fear. She didn't wait until it was too late. Every single person here saw it. Felt it. You all know she tried to stop this."
Horn's fists clenched again, jaw twitching.
Lu'Ka didn't stop.
If you want someone to blame, Mr. Horn, I suggest you start with the ones who ignored her. Start with the Council. Start with the professors. Start with me."
No one spoke.
Even Ronan—still pale and stunned in the corner—held his breath.
"She was terrified," Lu'Ka said, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier. "Not because she knew what that ship would do—but because she didn't. She warned us out of instinct. Fear. Gut. And we overruled her."
His eyes narrowed.
"So if you're looking to point a finger, I'll make it easy for you."
He stepped forward again, close enough now that Horn could see the tightness in his eyes.
"Point it at me."
Horn's jaw trembled. His fists were half-raised again—but they didn't close this time.
The tent had gone still.
Qiri stood beside Niri like a wall. Thall hadn't moved. And Ronan looked like he'd just been punched through every layer of belief he had.
Lu'Ka looked at them all now.
"She didn't come here to hurt us," he said. "She's been trying not to hurt anyone since the day she arrived."
His voice lowered even further.
"But if we keep pushing her like this—if we keep treating her like an enemy… one day, we might make her one."
He let the silence stretch.
Then, looking back at Horn, his tone hardened one last time.
"You want justice? You want revenge? Take it to the Council chambers. File your reports. But in this tent, right now—you follow my orders."
Horn stood frozen. His breath came slow, ragged. His eyes flicked between Lu'Ka… and Niri.
He didn't answer.
But this time, he stepped back.
And didn't step forward again.,