The Language of Terms

The Queen received the Council in the High Cave itself. Theron had ordered the negotiating table—a flat slab of polished, dark obsidian—to be brought in, flanked by two rough-hewn wooden benches for Saga and himself. This was meant to be an intimate display of Exile dominance, forcing the injured Queen to negotiate on their terms and in their space.
Kael stood rigidly behind the Queen's furs, his hand inches from his sword hilt, a portrait of focused, contained grief. Jerrick sat against the wall nearest the entrance, his bound arm resting conspicuously in his lap. He did not look at the negotiators. He was playing the part of the neutralized threat, allowing his silence and stillness to amplify the success of Theron's Seal of Submission.
Saga, the Elder, began immediately, her voice flat and formal. "Queen of the Dragon-kin, we have upheld our honor and accepted your payment for the Debt of the Shard. Now, we negotiate the terms of your protection. We demand the knowledge of the Cold Forges—the complete methods, runes, and schematics for harvesting and working moon-steel."
The Queen met Saga's cold gaze. "I understand your demand, Saga. But the Cold Forges are not merely a method of smithing. They are the foundation of my kingdom's economy and defense. To surrender them entirely is to commit suicide under your 'protection.' This is not negotiation; it is theft."
Theron, seated opposite, leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the still figure of Jerrick. "Do not mistake your current position, Your Grace. You have no leverage left. Your Shield is bound. Your family is secured. Your refusal will be seen as a violation of the spirit of the Debt."
The Queen smiled faintly, a painful but genuine expression that held no humor. "My leverage is not my Shield, Theron. My leverage is the Obsidian Gate. I gave you a fully provisioned fortress, worth decades of territorial conquest, purely on the good faith that the Exiles do not break their oaths. Do you intend to violate your honor over a set of blueprints?"
She pointed a thin finger at the dark rune on Jerrick's arm. "You have the Seal of Submission. You have bound the great beast. You have proven your superiority to Atlas. Do not lose that victory by being needlessly greedy."

The True Cost of Protection

The Queen paused, letting the weight of the Obsidian Gate settle over the negotiations. She knew the Exiles, starved for territory and recognition, found the fortress impossible to refuse.
"I will not surrender the Forges," the Queen stated firmly. "But I will provide the knowledge you truly need to thrive in the Wastes—knowledge that the Cold Forges were designed to protect."
Saga finally spoke, her voice laced with suspicion. "What knowledge do you speak of?"
"I speak of the Harvest of the Shadow-Veins," the Queen revealed. "The methods for locating, mining, and purifying the deep mineral deposits beneath the Wastes. The Cold Forges are useless without the raw material."
She continued quickly, preventing Theron from interrupting. "I will grant you the full, uncoded maps of the Shadow-Veins in the Northern Wastes—the locations of the largest, purest deposits of moon-steel ore that neither Atlas nor my own kingdom currently touch. This knowledge is not a blueprint; it is wealth. It will make the Obsidian Gate exponentially more valuable."
The Exiles looked at each other, the surprise palpable. The Queen was trading a future method (the Forges) for immediate, immense wealth (the raw material).
Theron, however, remained skeptical. He looked past the Queen to Jerrick. "This is another distraction. She gives us the material and keeps the method, guaranteeing that your kingdom remains technologically superior. We will not be satisfied."
"Then you misunderstand the terms of my protection," the Queen countered sharply. "I require security. You require dominance. I will give you the wealth to buy dominance in the Wastes, not the weapon to force it. A protracted war with Atlas will destroy your people, even with the Forges."

The Terms of Cession

The Queen leaned forward, pushing the advantage. She lowered her voice, making the argument sound like a collaboration, not a surrender.
"I propose a Treaty of Shared Sovereignty for the duration of my protection," she declared.
Cession of Resources: The Exiles gain immediate and sole rights to the Shadow-Vein maps of the Northern Wastes for the next ten years.

Technological Exchange: In exchange for that wealth, the Dragon-kin line retains the Cold Forges. However, we will provide you with the schematics for five lesser wards—protective runes that can be applied to your settlements to resist Atlas’s conventional magic.

Terms of the Seal: The Seal of Submission on my Captain will remain active. He will be incapacitated until the day my protection ends and we are free to leave your lands.
She had leveraged Jerrick's humiliation into a term of the agreement. Jerrick's visible bondage was now not just a sign of trust, but a guarantee of Dragon-kin non-aggression.
Theron stared at her, rage battling calculation. She was giving them unparalleled wealth and defensibility, yet still maintaining the ultimate, future leverage of the Cold Forges.
Saga, ever the pragmatist, raised a hand to silence Theron's building objection. She weighed the immediate, tangible gain of a fortress and vast mineral wealth against the uncertainty of the future technology.
"The Treaty of Shared Sovereignty," Saga recited, testing the phrase. "It grants us immense resources without bloodshed. And the Dragon Guard remains shackled, guaranteeing your compliance."
"It guarantees our survival, Elder," the Queen corrected. "If you break our compliance, the maps become useless, the wards fail, and the Obsidian Gate turns into a liability."
Saga nodded slowly. "We accept the terms of the Treaty."

The True Cost of Freedom

The negotiations lasted another hour, detailing the fine print and exchanging the first of the maps. Theron was livid, but the Seal of Submission and the overwhelming value of the Obsidian Gate and the Shadow-Veins had secured the deal.
As the Council prepared to leave, Theron paused before Jerrick. He did not speak to the Captain, but to the Queen.
"Your strategy is remarkable, Your Grace. You trade immense wealth to keep a secret, and you trade your Captain's freedom to ensure your own. You have earned our protection."
He looked down at Jerrick, a cold, dark satisfaction in his eyes. "But understand this, Captain. The Seal is only temporary. I will be monitoring its effect. When your family leaves, this knowledge—the knowledge of controlling the Elder God—will remain with the Exiles. You are a pawn sacrificed to guarantee your Queen's terms."
Theron and the Council left, leaving Jerrick and Kael in the ringing silence of the High Cave.
The Queen looked at Jerrick, her face etched with profound relief and exhaustion. "It is done, Jerrick. We have protection."
Jerrick pushed himself to his feet, feeling the crushing weight of the binding. "Protection, my Queen. But now we must live the lie. For how long do you estimate our protection lasts?"
The Queen closed her eyes, resting her head against the cold stone. "The Treaty is for ten years, Jerrick. We will be here, under their watch, until they believe the Northern Wastes are entirely secure. Ten years of the Seal, Jerrick. Ten years of the poisoned shackle."