A delegate from a distant realm shot to his feet, his face flushed with indignation.
"Lady Nadia, regarding the geopolitical implications of this coalition on the outer realms—specifically Article Seven, Subsection Three..."
"...how can you guarantee that our sovereignty will not be compromised when your human corporations inevitably seek to exploit our resources?"
Before Nadia could answer, another voice cut in from across the aisle.
"And what about taxation?"
"The proposed tariff structure between realms is completely unbalanced! Our agricultural sector will be decimated if we’re forced to compete with human mass production!"
A third delegate stood, his tone more asured but no less aggressive.
"Cultural differences cannot be legislated away. How do you intend to protect the unique traditions of our worlds from being homogenized—or worse, erased—by closer integration with the human realm?"
Question after question. Accusation after accusation.
They ca from every direction, overlapping, piling on, each one designed to intimidate, to overwhelm, to break the composure of the woman at the front.
The conservative officials had transford.
The calm, collected diplomats of monts ago now barked and snarled like hounds straining at the leash.
They wanted blood. They wanted to see Nadia falter.
And honestly? The human side was rattled. Several of Nadia’s subordinates shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
One young aide wiped sweat from his brow.
Another clutched her docunts so tightly her knuckles went white.
This was the mont they had prepared for. A decade of work, condensed into a few hours of relentless questioning.
But Nadia...she did not flinch.
She pointed to the first delegate and quickly said,
"Article Seven, Subsection Three, addresses sovereignty protections in explicit detail."
"If you’ll turn to page forty-seven of your briefing packets, you’ll see that any corporation—human or otherwise—seeking to operate in an allied realm must first obtain approval from that realm’s governing body."
"There is no loophole. There is no exploitation clause. The protections were drafted by a joint committee of human and demi-human legal experts, and I can provide the nas of every mber for your verification."
She turned to the second delegate without pausing for breath.
"The tariff structure is front-loaded to protect vulnerable sectors. Agricultural imports from allied realms will face reduced tariffs for the first five years, with incrental increases thereafter."
"Basically your farrs will have half a decade to adapt before facing full competition."
"Additionally, a developnt fund has been established to subsidize modernization efforts in allied agricultural sectors."
She turned to the third.
"Cultural protections are outlined in Section Twelve."
"Each realm retains the right to restrict or prohibit foreign influence in designated cultural areas—language, education, religious practices, traditional ceremonies. The coalition does not, and will never, have the authority to override these protections."
One after another, she answered. Calmly. Precisely. With the weight of ten years of preparation behind every word.
Her subordinates worked frantically behind her, passing docunts, typing on computers, pulling up references.
They were sweating, breathing hard, their hearts pounding with the intensity of the exchange.
The conservatives also fired back. New questions. New angles. New attacks.
But Nadia answered them all.
No hesitation. No faltering. No cracks in her composure.
It was a war—not of weapons, but of words. Of legal precedence and economic modeling and cultural analysis.
Bullets of accusation flew across the hall; missiles of counter-argunt returned fire.
The air was thick with venom and desperation and the sheer force of clashing wills.
But Nadia stood her ground.
She was magnificent. Unshakeable. Everything they had feared she would be.
And yet, in the middle of the storm, her gaze drifted to the side.
To Mika.
He was still eating.
Didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge the chaos around him.
Just kept working through his mountain of food like this was a lazy afternoon at ho, not the most important diplomatic event in a generation.
Sothing warm blood in Nadia’s chest.
She knew with absolute certainty that she would not be this calm without him here. That his presence, his indifference to the frenzy around them, anchored her in ways she couldn’t explain.
Her hand found his thigh.
She rested it there, gently, and let her fingers trace small circles through the fabric of his trousers. A silent thank you. A quiet plea for him to stay.
A reminder that she was not alone.
Mika didn’t react. He just kept eating.
But his hand drifted down, briefly, and covered hers.
Just for a mont.
Then he went back to his food, and she went back to answering questions, and the war raged on.
But sothing had shifted.
Nadia was no longer just fighting for the coalition.
She was fighting with her son beside her.
And that made all the difference in the world.
The debate raged on.
Nadia answered question after question, and sothing remarkable happened—she stopped relying on her subordinates.
The docunts they pushed toward her went untouched.
The whispered suggestions from her aides went unheard.
She was working entirely from her own mind now, and the speed at which she processed information, recalled precedents, and formulated responses left her own team struggling to keep up.
They sat behind her, frantically flipping through files, typing on laptops, trying to anticipate what she would need next.
But she was always three steps ahead.
By the ti they found the relevant clause she was citing, she had already finished her explanation and moved on to the next attack.
The conservative side felt it too—the shift in montum.
They ca prepared with hours of argunts, pages of objections, teams of experts feeding them data through earpieces.
And none of it was enough.
Sweat beaded on foreheads despite the aggressive air conditioning. Delegates shifted uncomfortably in their seats. So had to tap out entirely, their voices hoarse from shouting, replaced by fresher colleagues who stepped in to continue the assault.
In private corners of the hall, hushed conference calls connected to experts across multiple realms. New tactics were formulated on the fly. Different angles of attack were tested, discarded, replaced.
And still, Nadia answered.
Every question. Every objection. Every desperate attempt to find a crack in her armor.
The human side watched in awe. So of the younger aides had tears in their eyes—this was their leader, their champion, and she was magnificent.
They wanted to cheer, to applaud, to jump from their seats and celebrate.
But this was a diplomatic event, so they settled for exchanging glances of pure elation and whispering silent prayers of thanks.
Nadia felt the montum building. She was winning. Actually winning.
After years of preparation, of sleepless nights and endless negotiations, of compromises and setbacks and monts when she had doubted whether any of this would ever co to fruition—she was winning.
A rare feeling swelled in her chest. Pride. Not the cold satisfaction of a battle won, but sothing warr. Sothing that made her want to smile.
She allowed herself a mont to glance at Mika.
He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.
And sohow, that made her feel even stronger.
She turned back to face her opponents, ready for whatever they threw at her next.
But that was when she jinxed it.
A figure rose from the demi-human side—slowly, deliberately, in a way that drew every eye in the room.
He was tall, covered in scales that caught the light, with vertical pupils and a mouth that seed permanently set in a smirk.
A lizard-like being from one of the outer realms, one of the ones that had remained stubbornly neutral throughout the negotiations.
He had not spoken once during the entire debate.
Nadia had almost forgotten he was there.
"Lady Nadia..."
He said, his voice a low rasp that carried through the hall without effort.
"You’ve answered every question about economics, sovereignty, culture, and security with admirable precision. I don’t think anyone in this room can deny your preparation or your intellect."
He paused.
’A trick. A setup.’ Nadia’s instincts scread at her to be careful.
"But I have a different kind of question." He leaned forward, his reptilian eyes narrowing. "One that isn’t about trade tariffs or legal clauses."
The room went very quiet.
"You speak of trust between realms. Of cooperation and mutual benefit. Of a future where humans and demi-humans work together as equals."
His tail swished behind him.
"But how can any of us trust soone who cannot even maintain trust within her own family?"
Nadia’s blood went cold.
The lizard-man’s smirk widened.
"Your own daughter leads the Anti-Demi-Human Alliance. She has spent years fighting against the very integration you propose today. She has called for our deportation, our eradication, our complete removal from human territory."
He spread his scaled hands.
"And yet you stand here, asking us to believe that you want peace. That you want cooperation. That you see us as equals."
His voice dropped to a silky whisper that sohow filled every corner of the hall.
"How can we trust the mother, when the daughter has dedicated her life to our destruction?"
Silence.
Absolute, complete, devastating silence.
Nadia’s mouth opened.
Nothing ca out.
For the first ti in the entire debate—for the first ti in years—she had no answer.
Her mind raced. She could explain. Could justify.
Could point out that Astrid’s position was complex, that she was a product of trauma, that her personal feelings did not reflect official policy.
But the words wouldn’t co.
Because he was right.
Her daughter hated demi-humans. Wanted them gone. Had built an organization dedicated to making that happen.
And no amount of diplomatic language could change that ugly truth.
The conservatives stirred. They slled blood. The lizard-man had done what none of them could—he had found the crack in her armor.
And now they were all staring at her, waiting to see if she would crumble.
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