The Extra's Rise

Stella hit me like a warm comet and squeezed hard enough to dent armor. I dropped to one knee so she didn't have to reach. She buried her face in my chest like she used to when she was small. The strawberry shampoo was the same. The voice wasn't.

"You're late," she said into my jacket, trying to sound stern and failing.

"I was busy punching a snake the size of a castle," I said. "It took a minute."

She pulled back to look up at me. Twelve now, long dark hair in a loose braid, eyes bright and sharp the way they get when she's quietly measuring a room. More legs, more confidence, same kid.

"You're not funny," she said, but her mouth curved anyway. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I said, and meant it. "How was the ride?"

"Fast. Bumpy over the ridge," she said, then straightened like she was about to brief a general. "Reika wouldn't let me hang out the window."

"I like Reika already," I said.

Reika appeared the way only Reika can—quiet, sure, already scanning exits before I even saw her. Violet hair tied up, travel jacket cut for movement, the familiar curve of knives under her coat that palace security pretends not to notice because it makes their job easier.

She bowed just enough to be polite. The worry in her eyes didn't bow at all. "You faced a Calamity alone," she said. No accusation, just a fact.

"I didn't," I said. "Marcus, Ian, the choir, half the South. And me."

"I watched the footage," she said. "The part where you told the breath to be rain instead and it listened. The part where you walked through its spine like you were correcting a math problem. You were alone for those parts."

"I've been worse alone," I said, softer. "I'm okay."

She let out a breath she'd been holding since the first alert hit the feeds. "I knew you would win," she said, looking away for a heartbeat. "Because you're you. And also because you sent me a message that said 'I'm fine' before you were fine."

"That was Valeria," I said.

"Of course it was." Reika's mouth twitched. She stepped in and laid her forehead briefly to mine, the quick, fierce gesture that means I'm glad you're alive in her language. Then she gently pried Stella off my ribs. "Let him breathe."

"No," Stella said, but she slid into my side and stayed there like a cat that now owned the spot. "I'm keeping him."

"You can keep him if he drinks water," Reika said, already handing me a bottle she had somehow produced out of nowhere. I drank. She watched to make sure I didn't cheat. Some things don't change.

We took a balcony path that looked over Valdris. Staff crossed courtyards with purpose—engineers pacing archways, florists measuring rails, drones mapping flight paths. The palace had already shifted from crisis to preparation. Lanterns lay in neat stacks. Cables ran like vines.

"When's the ball?" Stella asked, tracking a team raising light poles on the lower terrace.

"Three days," I said. "Tonight we plan. Tomorrow we announce."

"Can I help?" Stella asked at once.

"Yes," Reika and I said together.

Stella brightened. "What do I do?"

"First job," I said. "Make sure we don't forget the people who stood today. Warders, fence crews, medics. They go first. Talk to Luna. She's already making the list."

"On it," Stella said. "Second job?"

"Stay within two steps of me or Reika when you're not with Luna," Reika said. "There will be important guests and noisy reporters. You don't have to be polite to rude people."

"I'm not a baby," Stella said, but she moved even closer anyway.

We cut into the planning chamber. A wall of glass gave us the city. Inside, a long table was already buried in slates, paper briefs, and empty cups. Marcus stood straight-backed with a map under his hand. Lyralei signed documents while answering two people at once. Ian leaned on a chair with his usual energy barely bottled. Tiamat stood by the windows without a sound, presence steady as mountain bone.

"We'll need three tracks," Lyralei said, not wasting a breath. "Security, relief, and recognition."

Marcus nodded. "Security first. If the Abyssal Kin try another push, it'll be noise, not a Basilisk. We reinforce the western slope, lay traps in the dry ravines, double patrols through dawn."

Ian flicked items from his slate to the table. "Storm-Griffon pairs shadow the wardhouse shuttles for forty-eight hours. If a priest even thinks about beating a drum, a wing shows up and adjusts his mood."

I added our piece. "Erebus left Redeemers where your chiefs want them. Valeria has a fatigue map for the Aetherite posts. Three get swapped tonight, five need rest cycles. We're handling it."

Tiamat's gaze swept the table, then me. "Good. Now the part people pretend is easy when they're tired. Celebration."

Ian grinned. "I was hoping we'd get to that."

Lyralei's eyes softened. "Our people will want it. Our allies deserve it. And the world needs to see what an answer looks like."

"I'm not against a dance," I said. "I just don't want the choir shoved into a corner once the music starts."

"They won't be," Luna said from the far side, golden eyes bright. She had slipped in without me noticing, amethyst hair caught back, sleeves rolled to the elbow. "I have a list."

A woman in slate-gray stepped in, bowed to Lyralei, then to the room. "Master of Ceremonies Yara," Lyralei said. "She builds impossible things on short notice."

Yara gave me a quick, professional smile. "Lord Nightingale. Lady Luna." Her gaze flicked down to Stella and warmed. "Princess Stella."

"I'm not a princess," Stella said, polite but firm. "But how can I help?"

Yara slid a smaller slate across to her. "We'll read names during the honors. Choir first, as promised. Then medics, fence crews, unit leads. Can you help Lady Luna sort the order and mark names to highlight?"

"Yes," Stella said, already pulling a chair next to Luna. She read the template once, frowned in thought, then started rearranging rows with fast fingers. "If we do five names per card and keep the distance from the dais to the left stairs clear, the line won't block the medics. Also don't put two people from the same unit too far apart, or their families will have to keep getting up and down."

Yara's eyebrows rose. "Very good."

Stella's brain has always loved patterns. Numbers are her favorite game. She tapped the screen again. "If the reading speed is two seconds per name and applause hits every tenth, that's about ninety seconds a card. If we have sixty cards, that's ninety minutes. Too long. We should split medics and fence crews with a song between, so people can breathe. The orchestra can play under the names to smooth the clapping and keep the pace."

Luna stared at her like she was watching a flower bloom under snow. "Yes," she said softly. "We can do that."

Marcus spoke practical. "Three days from now. Not tonight. People sleep first."

"Three days gives us time to secure routes," Ian said. "Also time for the band to rehearse and for me to remember how to waltz."

Tiamat looked amused. "You will step on fewer feet if you sleep."

"Noted," Ian said, grimacing.

We sketched the shape. Throne Hall of Scales for the main event. Both side galleries for overflow. Dancing floor at center, dais in front of the tapestries. Extra support under the chandeliers if we add projectors. The Hall of Ancestors becomes the reception corridor. Dragonbone stairs will bottleneck; we stagger arrivals.

"Security?" Marcus asked.

"Layered," Yara said. "Royal Guard at gates and dais. Nyx Tigers in the galleries. Viper sappers at the undercroft with drones. Storm-Griffons on the roofline. Loud shields along the balcony so the press can stare without falling in. Medics in north and south vestibules and one team by catering, where injuries always happen."

"Trays are heavy," Ian said.

"And knives are sharp," Yara said, already writing it down.

Stella tugged Luna's sleeve. "Can we make a kids' corner?"

"A what?" Luna asked, caught.

"A place for soldiers' kids and warders' kids if they come," Stella said, gesturing with both hands. "With food that isn't scary, a screen with dragons, and a quiet spot to sit. Also someone to help if they get lost."

Luna's smile started small and then grew. "Yes. We will."

Yara moved three colored sticks on the plan. "North gallery. Quiet zone. Two staff from the palace school. One medic team and one Redeemer, if Lord Erebus approves. We'll run a kid-friendly camera feed so they can watch the honors without the press crowd."

"Erebus will approve," I said. "He likes kids. He hides it badly."

Guests came next. "Invites go across all continents," Ian said. "Ouroboros will help manage arrivals so we don't clog our air corridors."

"I'll have Valeria work with traffic ops," I said. "Staggered approach lanes. Mountain pads as overflow. No flights over wardhouses after midnight."

Yara checked a list. "Confirmed in principle: Mount Hua delegation led by Princess Seraphina; Slatemark Empire senior envoys; Western Council sends a Grand Marshal; Northern royal envoy; academies and beast-bloodline houses; media from all four continents."

Reika spoke without looking up from her map. "Foreign security attaches will crowd their VIPs. Mark zones. No weapons bigger than sidearms inside the Hall. Everyone checks blades at the door, including ours."

"Even mine?" Ian said.

"Especially yours," Reika said.

Stella, head down, kept sorting names. "If we seat warder families along the right aisle, they can reach the dais fast. The left aisle can be medics and engineers, because their groups are bigger and they'll need wider paths." She made a face. "Also please don't put the kids near the dessert tables. The tables will lose."

Yara actually laughed. "We'll rope the sweets until after speeches."

Tiamat's voice cut soft and sure through the room. "Add a moment of silence. Early. Not at the end. Let people laugh after they cry."

"Yes," Lyralei said, writing it herself.

We kept going until the map looked like a living thing. When the lists started to repeat and the same questions came back dressed as new ones, Tiamat drew a line under it.

"Enough," she said. "Sleep makes plans brave."

The room exhaled like it had been balancing a plate. We stepped into the corridor's cooler air. Staff voices drifted from down the hall. Stella slid her slate under her arm and took my hand.

"You'll dance with me," she said, not a question.

"Always," I said.

"And you'll smile when people say thank you," she added, narrowing her eyes like a tiny general. "Even if your face doesn't know how."

"I'll try," I said.

"It's easy," she said. "Think about pancakes."

"I'll practice," I said, and she squeezed my hand like a promise.

We walked toward the balcony. The city below looked like it was breathing. Three days. A hall to fill with the people who held the line. A world that needed to see them.