Aboard the Red Radiant
The Red Radiant's medbay pulsed softly with low lights and humming machines.
Jaxen lay still —
fever worse, breaths shallow.
Aerin hovered above him,
hands glowing faintly, weaving ancient Dawnroot healing spells.
Her autumn red hair shimmered in the soft light.
Her tribal tattoos glowed faintly across her arms and collarbone, responding to the cosmic pulse of the ship.
Her face was a mask of deep concentration — warmth and determination battling fear.
Zaraya stood by, arms crossed, silent but watchful.
Plo fidgeted nervously.
Kaelen leaned against the far wall, shadowed but present.
Iselyra stood guard at the door, face unreadable.
The Healing
Aerin placed her palms over Jaxen's heart and forehead.
She whispered in the old tongue of the Dawnroot:
"Earth mend thee.
Sky cleanse thee.
Star awaken thee."
Golden-green light flared —
and something black and vicious writhed up out of Jaxen's body —
a fragment of cursed magic, wriggling like smoke.
Aerin pressed harder —
chanting faster.
Roots snaked up from the floor around the medbay table, wrapping the dark mist —
dragging it down into nothingness.
Jaxen gasped —
a ragged, painful breath —
but his skin immediately lost its feverish flush.
His vitals stabilized.
He was still unconscious —
but he would live.
Aftermath: The Offer
The crew gathered in the Radiant's lounge later that night —
a rare moment of peace.
Zaraya clapped Aerin on the back with a broad grin.
"You saved him. You're amazing."
Aerin blushed furiously, looking down at her hands.
"It… it was nothing," she murmured.
Plo jumped in, bouncing slightly atop Drex's back.
"It was not nothing! Your spellwork was extraordinary!"
Even Kaelen inclined his head — a rare show of respect.
Iselyra simply nodded once — the Frostborne equivalent of shouting praise.
Zaraya smiled wider, leaning forward.
"So… why don't you stay with us?"
"We could use someone like you.
Family like you."
After Jaxen's Healing
The Red Radiant's medbay fell into a rare, sacred silence.
Jaxen was stable —
alive —
breathing peacefully.
The crew gathered around Aerin in the lounge later, the starlight filtering through the ship's wide windows.
For a moment, there was only quiet gratitude —
and something more.
Trust.
Family.
Aerin Speaks
But Aerin's expression remained troubled.
She twisted her staff nervously between her hands before finally speaking:
"There's more," she said, voice trembling slightly.
The crew leaned closer.
Aerin's amber eyes glowed faintly as she spoke:
"My people — the Dawnroot — we are hunted.
The Velvaran legions seized our sacred lands.
We live under their boot, our traditions crushed, our voices silenced."
Her voice hardened, a flicker of fire rising:
"I wanted to fight.
But my father forbade it — afraid it would bring worse upon us.*"
A shadow crossed her features.
"I… I cannot leave them to suffer while I chase dreams among the stars."
Zaraya's Decision
Zaraya stood —
cosmic light crackling softly around her fists —
eyes burning with fierce purpose.
"Then we help."
"We liberate your people."
Aerin's head snapped up, stunned.
"You would risk yourselves — for us?" she whispered.
Zaraya grinned, wild and bright.
"Damn right we would."
"Liberastra doesn't leave people in chains."
Kaelen gave a rare nod of approval.
Iselyra simply smiled — a cold, sharp thing aimed entirely at the Velvarans.
Plo cheered and Drex barked excitedly.
Jaxen, still half-conscious, slurred something like "smash 'em good…" from his bed.
The decision was made.
They were Dawnbreakers.
They didn't run from chains.
They broke them.
Meeting the Chieftain
Two days later, after secret crossings and daring maneuvers through Velvaran patrols,
the Dawnbreakers stood before the heart of the Dawnroot Tribe —
hidden deep in the last untouched forests of Elvara Prime.
There, atop an ancient root-throne carved from a fallen star-tree,
sat Chieftain Theron of the Dawnroot —
Aerin's father.
Old.
Weathered.
Power coiled tight beneath layers of sorrow and caution.
He studied Zaraya long and hard.
At first, suspicion clouded his face —
memories of broken promises and bloody betrayals from outsiders past.
But then he spoke, low and rough:
"I have heard the name Liberastra," he rumbled.
"The Dawnbreakers. The ones who defy empires.
The ones who do not break their oaths."
He looked around —
at Kaelen's silent strength,
at Plo's bright determination,
at Iselyra's icy fire,
at Drex's loyal defiance.
Finally, he looked at Aerin —
the daughter he loved more than anything.
And he saw the hope rekindling in her eyes.
Chieftain Theron stood.
And he bowed —
low and solemn.
"If you would stand with us," he said, voice trembling, "then we will stand with you."
Aerin's Blessing
After the Velvaran occupation was shattered —
after the forests sang free again —
after new fires burned in the hearts of her people —
Chieftain Theron called Aerin to his side.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, pride and sorrow warring on his face.
"Go, daughter of Dawnroot," he said.
"The world needs you.
The stars need you.
And when you are ready — bring back stories that will make the heavens weep with joy."
Aerin bowed her head, tears shining in her golden eyes.
And with her tribe's blessing,
with her people's hopes soaring like reborn phoenixes,
Aerin of the Dawnroot Tribe joined the Dawnbreakers.
Not as a guest.
Not as a favor.
As one of them.
As family.