Dawn broke silver over Ashen Hollow.
Mira stood in the war room, journal open on the table, watching Draven trace routes on the map. Brenn leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, while Mallrik Dorn stood perfectly still near the window—so motionless he might have been part of the stone itself.
"Three days," Draven said quietly. "We leave at first light, negotiate by midday tomorrow, and return before the week ends."
Brenn grunted. "Velra's Cross. Neutral ground built on old Dominion foundations. I don't trust it."
"You're not meant to," Dorn said without moving. His voice was calm, measured, like water over smooth stone. "Velra's Cross was a relay point during the war. The League rebuilt it as a gesture of peace, but the bones underneath are still Dominion."
He finally turned, pale eyes catching the light. "And according to my network, Dominion remnants have been bribing League envoys. Small payments. Quiet promises. Enough to turn curiosity into suspicion."
Mira's pen scratched across the page. We bring light to a table set in shadow.
Draven nodded once. "Then we go prepared. Mira, you'll document everything. Brenn, you handle security. Dorn..."
"I'll handle the shadows," Dorn finished. "As always."
Feyra padded into the room, her petals drifting faintly. She stopped near the center, ears forward, staring at the floor. A faint vibration rolled through the stone—so subtle even Draven barely felt it.
"Again," Mira whispered.
Feyra's tail twitched. The fox backed away slowly, eyes wide.
Draven pressed his hand to the ground. The pulse was distant, deep—something vast answering the Covenant's resonance. "The earth is listening."
"Then let's hope it approves," Brenn muttered.
The convoy left under silver dawn—twenty soldiers, six beasts, and four council members. No banners. No ceremony. Just steady movement along the northern road.
Velra's Cross rose from the hills like a scar.
The fortress was stone and steel, rebuilt atop foundations that still bore Dominion markings. Twin banners fluttered from the towers—silver for the League, gold for neutrality. Guards watched from the walls, their eyes tracking every step of the Covenant's approach.
The gates opened without fanfare.
Inside, the courtyard was clean, ordered, unnervingly silent. League soldiers stood in perfect formation, their beasts tethered nearby. No resonance. No bonds. Just discipline and distance.
A woman stepped forward—tall, silver hair tied back, armor scarred through with old League insignia. Her eyes were sharp, measuring, calm.
"Commander Lysara Valenne," she said. "Representing the League's border council."
Draven met her gaze. "Solen Draven. Representing the Bloomring Covenant."
Her lips curved slightly—not quite a smile. "So the rumors are true. The Chainbreaker builds nations now."
Brenn tensed. Mira's hand drifted toward her journal.
Dorn, however, simply tilted his head. His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—recognition.
Lysara noticed. Her gaze shifted to him. "Mallrik Dorn. I heard you'd disappeared after Kaelith fell."
"I found better work," Dorn replied evenly.
A pause. Then Lysara nodded once. "I see."
The air between them carried weight—history unspoken, shared campaigns, old respect tempered by new allegiances.
"Follow me," Lysara said. "The council is waiting."
The negotiation hall was circular, mirrors reflecting Stonecross's High Council chamber in unsettling ways. A round table dominated the center, ringed by League representatives on one side and empty seats on the other.
Draven sat without hesitation. Mira took the seat beside him, journal ready. Brenn stood behind them, one hand resting on his sword hilt. Dorn melted into the background—present but unnoticed.
The League speaker—a thin man with cold eyes—leaned forward. "Let's be direct. Your Covenant uses... methods we don't understand. Communication without sound. Coordination without signals. It looks like espionage."
Mira's pen stilled.
Draven's voice remained calm. "Bloomscript v2 works through light. It connects people who trust each other. Strangers can't intercept it. Enemies can't hear it. Our bonds cannot reach beyond those we've chosen."
"So you claim," the speaker said. "But how do we verify that? How do we know your 'light' doesn't carry secrets across our borders?"
Mira spoke before Draven could. "If trust is the lock, truth is the key. We're not hiding what we do. We're offering to show you."
The speaker scoffed. "Show us? You expect us to believe—"
"I believe them."
Every head turned.
Lysara stood, holding a small device—a photonic analyzer, League-made. "I've been monitoring their delegation since they arrived. No arcane signals. No resonance pulses. Just light—structured, intentional, and entirely dependent on pre-existing bonds."
She set the device on the table. "This technology doesn't spy. It speaks. And it only speaks to those who've already chosen to listen."
The speaker's mouth opened, then closed.
Another councilor frowned. "And if we refuse recognition?"
Draven met his eyes. "Then we continue as we are. Building. Growing. Without your approval or your interference."
Silence stretched.
Lysara's voice cut through. "Or you recognize what's already happening. The Covenant exists. The question is whether you engage with it openly or watch it grow in shadow."
The League councilors exchanged glances. Suspicion hadn't vanished, but curiosity had taken root.
While the table debated, Dorn moved.
He slipped from the hall without a sound, descending into Velra's understructure—the old Dominion tunnels that still honeycombed the fortress. His steps were silent, breath measured, every motion precise.
The tunnels smelled of damp stone and rust. Faint carvings lined the walls—Soulsteel runes, dormant but intact. Dorn ignored them, following the faint scent of fresh metal.
He found them in a storage vault: three men in unmarked armor, planting a rune-charge against the foundation pillar. Echo-blind steel—no resonance signature, designed to detonate without warning.
Dorn drew his blade.
The first man died before he could shout. The second turned, weapon half-raised. Dorn's strike was single, clean, silent. The body dropped.
The third man froze, hands raised. "Wait—"
Dorn's blade pressed against his throat. "Who sent you?"
The man's eyes flickered to his chest, where a sigil was etched into his armor—Kaelith's fallen regiment.
Dorn took the sigil, then struck. The man crumpled.
He dismantled the rune-charge methodically, pocketing the components. Then he moved to the nearest shaft of light and angled his blade, reflecting coded signals upward—non-Bloomscript, pure geometry and timing.
Sabotage neutralized. Evidence secured.
Above, Mira's Bloomscript v2 flickered. She glanced at Draven, who nodded once.
The explosion came an hour later.
Not the foundation charge—that had been stopped. This was secondary, planted in the outer courtyard as a distraction. Fire bloomed, stone cracked, and panic swept through the League ranks.
Soldiers shouted. Beasts reared. Chaos spread.
But the Covenant didn't break.
Brenn's Bloomscript flickered. He focused on his squads. Hold formation. South wall secure. North clear.
Replies came instantly—no voices, just certainty.
Holding.
Stable.
Ready.
The League councilors watched in stunned silence as the Covenant soldiers moved with perfect coordination, no shouts, no confusion. Beasts and humans responded as one, extinguishing fires, securing perimeters, calming civilians.
Lysara stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise. "League forces, stand down! Covenant has the situation controlled!"
Within minutes, the chaos settled. The fires died. The wounded were already being tended.
The League speaker stared at Draven. "How...?"
"Trust," Draven said simply. "We don't need to shout when we already know each other's breath."
That night, Lysara found Draven on the battlements.
She stood beside him, watching the stars. For a long moment, neither spoke.
"If I cross your border," Lysara said quietly, "am I your tool or your equal?"
Draven didn't hesitate. "Neither. You're your own—if you choose to be."
She smiled faintly. "That's the right answer."
She turned to face him. "The League will sign the accord. Recognition, trade rights, mutual observation. You've earned it."
"And you?" Draven asked.
"I'll come north with you," Lysara said. "Someone needs to make sure your light doesn't burn out."
Three days later, the convoy returned to Ashen Hollow.
The Velra Accord was signed: Bloomring acknowledged as autonomous, trade lanes opened, observers welcomed on both sides.
Mira wrote in her journal: First they watched. Now they listen.
Dorn delivered Kaelith's sigil to Draven privately. "Proof of Dominion interference. They're not done with us."
Draven studied the sigil, then set it aside. "Neither are we."
That night, Lysara stood at the edge of the settlement, watching the glow spread across the valley—lanterns, fires, and the faint flicker of Bloomscript v2 passing between trusted souls.
"You've built something even silence cannot ignore," she said softly.
A faint tremor rolled through the earth.
Draven felt it. Mira felt it. Even Lysara paused, one hand pressing against the stone railing.
Something deep below answered.
And the Covenant, now recognized by the world, stood at the edge of something far older.