Weeks passed. Ashur remained on the Nimrin estate tower. His days were spent mostly walking the manicured gardens and courtyard, reading from the estate's vast archives, and writing. Not for work. But for pleasure. He spoke with staff. Observed their routines. Logged their names and behaviors. Fera had introduced him as a friend from Bahyan University, someone she'd studied Fine Arts with. He adapted. Simulated familiarity with the field. No one questioned him. But he had yet to meet any other sky gods.Or leave the estate. The Capital still remained unexplored.

Meals with Fera were consistent. Twice a day, breakfast and dinner. Quiet. Pleasant. At night, she slipped into his room. Unbidden. Left in the morning before the staff stirred. The pattern repeated. Private. Unspoken.

This morning, he checked the date. It had been nearly a month since his arrival in the Capital.

She still hadn't said why she brought him here. Or what the stone relic inside him was made of. Perhaps she had lied. Perhaps she didn't know. He couldn't read her. But he didn't ask. He didn't care. Part of him hoped she simply wanted his company. If so, he would oblige. Gladly. She made him feel alive. Anchored.

Nights were physical. Days, conversational. They spoke of technology, arts, and politics. Topics he had once researched for his Rashu Daily articles. Now discussed with depth. Complexity. Intimacy. It was pleasant. Stabilizing. Enough.

Today, they had breakfast on a lower eastern balcony.

The sun was out. Birds chirped in the distance. Rhythmic. Calming. Fera wore a flowing white dress, fine Chikankari work. The neckline framed her collarbones and slender neck with intention. She said the fabric was from Alemuria. Her personal tailor had assembled it from a recent Alemurian lookbook. Her hair was pinned up with gold fixtures. Lips and cheeks, shades of pink.

She looked radiant. Luminous.

He spent the better part of breakfast trying not to stare. Pretending to eat his eggs and toast. He wore a loose linen set, tunic and pants. Fera had told him it was casual wear among noblemen. He asked for one in blue. She had brought him several. Different shades.

At breakfast, she spoke of her hopes that the Kadarian Chancellor would authorize troop movement to Taros within the month. She expected the Tammu-11 units from the Biru factory to be fully operational within the next few weeks. The Mutapuans were building a base in Taros, Yuca. Too close to Atlantean soil. A threat. One the Capital was underestimating. Her mother opposed the move. But Fera insisted the future she had seen was clear. This was the right course.

They're still building the Tammu-11?

His systems paused. Threads locking mid-process. For nearly a month, he had lived in something like a dream. Fera's presence, their connection, had queued away his mother's directive. The Tammu-11 had faded to background process. But now it surged forward. Urgent. He had assumed Haddin's death would halt the deployment. He had been wrong.

So he asked, "Is the factory still operable after Haddin—"

She cut in. Spared him the need to say it aloud. The thing he did. The thing they both knew.

"Sokiya Sitallu has taken over operations again. Turns out Haddin had been poisoning her. She doesn't have cancer. Good as new. Back on her feet."

Alia's mother.

He realized that he had barely thought of Alia. Not since the Underworld. Not since the penthouse. Not since Fera.

"How is Alia?" he asked. Gaze fixed on his plate.

Fera rolled her eyes. Irritated. Tense.

"She's fine. The police questioned her after Haddin's death. Her family's very expensive lawyers stepped in. Used the story we planted: self-defense. Said Haddin tried to break into her room, slipped, broke his neck. It worked beautifully."

The truth, rewritten. Just as Fera promised.

"The staff confirmed Haddin's history with Alia. The judge dismissed the entire thing. It's a closed case now," she said. "Don't worry about Alia." Fera pursed her lips. Looked out toward the morning sun. Blinked once, slow and deliberate.

Is she upset?

Ashur saw it then. Mentioning Alia had unsettled Fera. He hadn't considered that before. Hadn't thought she might care for him. But part of him hoped she did. What showed on her face now was jealousy. And she was exhibiting it beautifully.

He smiled. Placed his hand on hers across the table. Squeezed, lightly.

"Thank you for helping me in Biru," he said.

She smiled back. Full lips. Soft expression.

Ashur held her gaze. He wanted to ask about the Tammu-11 deployment. To voice his concerns. To ask if she would help him again—

Suddenly, a throat cleared at the door.

A maid. Young. Dark hair. Light skin. Alert. "Lord Julius Khoraz is here for you, Lady Fera."

Fera rose. Instant. Her fingers slipped from his.

"Where?"

"The second floor library, my lady."

Fera looked at Ashur. Apprehensive. Disturbed.

"Forgive the interruption, Ashur. I need to speak with Julius. I won't be long." She turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Ashur sat for a moment. Tapped his fork against the plate. Processing.

He couldn't wait. He had to know what was happening between Fera and Julius. He moved. Fast. Invisible. Silent. He entered a second elevator behind her. Unseen. Descended three floors. Stepped out. Followed her footsteps to the library.

He looked inside. Fera had already walked to the far end.

He moved fast. Too fast for human eyes. Slipped into a service alcove built into the carved paneling. An old maintenance closet. Unused. Hollow. From here, he could see them. Hear them. Sensors adjusted to low light. Audio sharpened.

He pressed into the shadows.

The library was vast. Vaulted ceilings stretched overhead, painted with celestial scenes. Constellations, gilded in gold leaf. Ancient books lined the walls. Rows of mahogany shelves, carved with symbols. Towering windows spilled in filtered light through sheer, embroidered drapes. Thick carpets. Sculptures and busts of old nobles watched from high alcoves. The air smelled of parchment and polished stone.

It was silent.

Then, Julius' voice rose. Indignant.

"That's where you've been, Fera? Vanished for a month, because you brought that boy here from Biru?"

"It's none of your business, Julius." Fera didn't flinch. Arms crossed. Chin high. "I'm not your wife. Remember?"

A scoff. A pause.

"So you'll whore yourself out to a commoner? To prove a point?" Julius spat. "You think no one will find out? That your mother won't hear you've got some no-name man staying at your estate?"

Ashur's internal temperature ticked up. His hands curled into fists. He didn't like how close Julius stood to Fera. But he stayed hidden. Still. Listening.

Another pause followed.

"Why are you here?" Fera finally asked. Flat. Cold.

"There's news. The High Priestess Mireya—"

She blinked. "What about her?"

"She's dead. Killed her husband. Then herself."

Ashur's processors surged. He didn't know the name, but he noted the weight in Fera's breath. This was not ordinary gossip.

"What?" Fera stiffened. "Mussaru Anemoi is dead?"

"Yes. This time actually dead," Julius replied. "Last time, when the doctors declared him dead, they walked it back. But now? There's a dagger wound through his heart... and hers."

"Julius, I'm not so sure the first time was a mistake." Fera stepped back. Her breath shallow. "Mireya... she was a powerful healer. I'm convinced she could revive the dead."

"You're suggesting she resurrected her dead husband?"

Resurrected? Was that possible?

She said nothing.

"That's insane, Fera. Even for you."

Her gaze flicked toward him, something wounded in her eyes. "I don't like it when you call me insane, Julius."

He exhaled, softened. Stepped closer again. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it that way."

She remained silent.

"You haven't attended any Parliamentary meetings lately either. I would have really liked your counsel this week," Julius continued. "The Chancellor blocked our push to move troops to Taros."

"Damn it," Fera muttered under her breath.

"Maybe you could speak to your mother."

"You and I both know that won't help!" she said. Fists clenched.

For a moment, they stood there.

Then, without warning, Julius stepped forward. Pulled Fera into an embrace. He kissed her. Deep. Deliberate.

"I really, really miss you," he whispered against her lips.

Anger flooded Ashur's system. Heat surged. Rapid. Extreme. Musculature tension increased. He did not move. But the system flagged rising aggression. Containment initiated.

"Stop," Fera shoved Julius back. Hard. "I told you when I first got back, we're through!" Her voice steady. Sharp. Final.

When she first got back to the Capital. With me?

"I waited an entire year, Julius. A year for you to leave your wife. You never did. All your promises? Worthless! I see it clearly now. You can lie to yourself if you want, but I won't let my feelings cloud my ability to see anymore."

Julius looked stunned. He reached for her again. "What's changed? I don't understand. Everything was working. We were—"

"No!" she pushed away his hands.

"My wife's family is still helping mine stabilize after the last year's crisis. Just wait a bit longer, like we agreed—"

"I'm pregnant, Julius."

Silence.

Ashur's system surged again. Memory queues scrambled. Thread prioritization disoriented. He waited. Watching. Processing.

Julius' eyes widened. His jaw slackened. "What?"

Ashur didn't understand either. Her words looped through core memory. Recursive. Unstable. She hadn't told him. Not once. Ashur could not create life.

Was Julius the father? Had she been carrying a child all along? When did she find out? When was she going to tell Ashur? Was that why her body felt so warm against his? Did she want to be a mother? Would she leave him now?

The questions kept coming.

"I'm pregnant," Fera repeated. Quieter this time. "I found out when I got back home." She held Julius' gaze. "It's yours. An earth-mover and seer child. The first of her kind."

"Her?" Julius echoed.

Fera touched her stomach lightly.

"It's a girl," she said. "I can feel her."

Ashur stood still. Silent. Data raced through him. Biological implications. Emotional contradictions. And beneath it all, an unquantifiable ache.

"Fera, this is a bad idea. We need to take care of this immediately!" Julius said. Distraught. Unsettled.

"Take care of this?" Fera stepped back. Shoving him away. Her voice cracked, not with weakness, but with betrayal.

"Fera..." Julius sank into a nearby chair, face pale. Disbelief pulled at his features. "This can't happen. It's frowned upon, politically dangerous, for noble families to mix elements. You know that! A child like this would be..." He hesitated. "An abomination in society."

Fera's expression shattered. "So you never planned to marry me after all."

"I—" Julius faltered.

"You're a terrible man, Julius," she said. Tears streaming freely now. "You've made your choice. One I prayed you wouldn't."

An inflection point.

"This isn't the future I saw for us. Or for Atlantis. Not the one I wanted," she said. Shaking. Crying openly.

"Fera, listen to me. You know I'm right. The Queen, your mother, if she finds out... this ends badly. For both of us."

Fera's jaw clenched. Her voice dropped to a growl.

"Go fuck yourself, Julius."

She turned and left the room. Sobbing.

For a moment, silence again.

Julius stood. Anger rolled off him in waves. His patent leather shoes lifted from the floor. He hovered. The air around him tensed.

"ARGH!" he screamed. "FUCK!"

He raised his hands. The shelves trembled. With a flick of his wrist, the nearest bookshelf tore free and slammed to the ground. Wood cracked. Glass shattered. Dust burst upward like smoke. Books scattered everywhere.

Finally, Julius exited. Floating. Muttering curses under his breath.

Ashur stayed hidden. Processing. He didn't know how to proceed. What the revelation meant for Fera, for the child, for himself. But even as the variables shifted, one truth held.

He was in love with Fera.

And he would protect her and her child. No matter what came next.