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The murmurs began again, this time tinged with unease. Jo’Nay turned his gaze to the audience, his voice cutting through their whispered conversations.

“You call it a crime to undo what should never have been done in the first place. You robbed me of my agency, of my right to determine my own existence. And now you condemn me for reclaiming it?”

The Head Councilor’s expression darkened, his voice rising. “Your genetics were altered to ensure your strength, your resilience, your capacity to serve. It was necessary.”

“Necessary for whom?” Jo’Nay shot back, his voice a thunderclap. “For you? For your Council? For the system that values warriors only as tools? Necessary is not the same as just. Necessary does not make it right.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping the chamber once more. The audience was riveted now, their faces a tapestry of shock, anger, and reluctant understanding. Jo’Nay took a deep breath and addressed the final charge.

“And now we come to the Final Flight,” he said, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “The ultimate sacrifice. The law that demands every warrior’s death at the age of four hundred. Alaw that is upheld without question, without reason, without mercy. Tell me, Councilors, why must we die?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Jo’Nay pressed on, his voice growing louder with each word. “You claim it is for balance. For renewal. But that is a lie. The truth is, you fear us. You fear what we might become if we are allowed to live beyond our service. You fear the knowledge we carry, the strength we possess. You fear that we might demand more than the scraps you offer us. And so you created the Final Flight. Ahideous death sentence disguised as a rite of passage.”

The chamber erupted into chaos. Voices clashed, some shouting in agreement, others in vehement opposition. The Councilors struggled to regain control, their authority slipping like sand through their fingers. Jo’Nay stood tall amidst the turmoil, his presence a beacon of defiance.

“We are not your tools,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise. “We are not expendable. We are not disposable. Weare warriors, yes, but we are also individuals. We have given you everything. And we deserve more than death in return.”

He turned to the audience, locking eyes with as many faces as he could. “Think of your brothers, your sisters, your children. How many of them have been sacrificed on the altar of balance? How many lives have been cut short, not because it was necessary, but because it was convenient? The Final Flight is not balance. It is betrayal.”

The Head Councilor slammed his black stone against the wooden bench, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. The room fell silent, but the tension remained palpable. Jo’Nay’s chest heaved with the force of his words, his gaze locked onto the Councilors.

“This Council will deliberate,” the Head Councilor said, his voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. “Until then, the accused will remain under guard.”

This time, the enforcers didn’t lead him away and Jo’Nay cast a glance at the audience. Among the faces, he saw fear, anger, and something else—something that gave him hope. Understanding. Compassion. The seeds of change.

He met Winn’s gaze, her eyes shining with pride and determination. Whatever the Council decided, Jo’Nay knew one thing: he had spoken the truth. And the truth had power. This was not the end. This was only the beginning.

Chapter 22

WINN’S HEARTclenched as everything she had just witnessed—Jo’Nay’s defiance, the Council’s rage, and the audience’s divided reactions—pressed down on her. She gripped her mate’s hand for support, her knuckles white.

Then, like a thunderclap, avoice broke through the tension. “Wait!”

Winn’s head snapped toward the sound. Atall figure rose from the audience, his voice carrying with an authority that demanded attention. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, awave of curiosity and confusion rippling through the chamber.

The Head Councilor paused mid-stride, his irritation palpable even from a distance. “Who dares interrupt these proceedings?”

The figure stepped forward into the light, revealing himself to be a Vettian male, his robe shimmering with an intricate weave of gold and silver threads. His presence was commanding,and Winn could feel the shift in the room, the collective intake of breath as everyone waited to see what would happennext.

“I am Val’Ander, emissary of the Vettian Historical Archives,” the man announced, his tone calm yet forceful. “And I have evidence that this Council has suppressed for centuries. Maybe a millennium.”

Winn’s heart raced. Evidence? Suppressed for a thousand years? She looked toward the Councilors, whose composed façades had begun to crack. Their eyes darted between Val’Ander and each other, unspoken panic written in the tension of their shoulders.

The Head Councilor’s voice cut through the growing murmurs. “This is highly irregular. You cannot simply disrupt these proceedings with baseless claims.”

Val’Ander’s expression remained serene, but his voice carried an edge. “These claims are not baseless. They are rooted in documents this Council has deliberately hidden from the people of Vetta. Documents that reveal the true purpose of the Primes.”

The room erupted into chaos. Winn flinched at the noise, the cacophony of shouts and gasps rising to a fever pitch. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Val’Ander, whose calm demeanor remained unshaken. Jo’Nay, still flanked by enforcers, fixed his gaze on the emissary with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

The Head Councilor slammed his weighted black stone against the bench, the sharp sound demanding silence. “Order!”

The noise subsided, though the tension remained electric. The Head Councilor turned his glare on Val’Ander. “Whatnonsense is this? The Primes are warriors, nothing more. To suggest otherwise is an insult to our history and our laws.”

Val’Ander’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Is it nonsense? Or is it an inconvenient truth? The Primes were never meant to be mere warriors. They were meant to be rulers. Counselors. Guides for our people. The genetic modifications you imposed on them were not to enhance their ability to protect but to ensure their subjugation and to prevent them from reaching their full potential.”

Winn’s breath caught. The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and dangerous. The audience erupted again, louder this time, the chaos barely contained by the Councilor’s repeated strikes of his stone. Winn’s grip tightened on Jo’Nay as she tried to process what she’d just heard.

“Lies!” one of the Councilors hissed, rising to her feet. “You sully the legacy of the Primes with these baseless accusations.”

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