Clam's hands came together in a sharp, deliberate clap that cut through the tension like a blade. "That's enough, you two." A warm smile tugged at his lips, but the sound of his clap carried authority, not cheer. "You shouldn't be trying to kill each other while I stand here."
In a heartbeat, they stood frozen as shadow poured from Clam like ink seeping across the ground. It wrapped around Sealrix and the beastkin with a cold, silent hand, tightening until their muscles locked. The motion was clinical, and precise; the shadows didn't wound, they commanded.
Both combatants froze mid-lunge: Sealrix's fist hung a breath away from the beastkin's flank; and the beastkin's heavy paw was suspended an inch from Sealrix's jaw. Leaves drifted past them, unmoving as if time itself had been asked to pause.
Clam's voice resumed, calm and amused. "How about I introduce you to each other."
The shadow eased, and breath returned as if someone had opened a sealed window. Their lungs gulped air with a small, rattling sound and the fight's adrenaline left them in shallow, angry exhalations.
Sealrix's gaze never left the beastkin, wary and sharp. "You know him?" he asked Clam, barely lowering his gaze.
Clam nodded, the smile still softening his features. "Yes. He's Lamo. He can be friendly, if you're friendly to him… And dangerous if you ask for it. Trust me, you wouldn't want him as an enemy."
Lamo sniffed once, a rumbling sound from deep in his chest, then turned to pass them with the easy confidence of a creature that knew its own strength. As he walked by, he tossed a casual barb over his shoulder with a grin that showed too many teeth. "Such an idiot of a brother you have."
Sealrix bristled. "Now you associate with beastkins?" he snapped, irritation flaring. "He just met me and he's calling me an idiot! I would've beaten him if I were in my true form."
Lamo continued on, unconcerned, the green trail of his essence flicking in the air behind him as his tail swayed unpausing. Clam watched with an expression that mixed amusement and something like pity, while Sealrix's jaw clenched, pride and anger sitting heavy together.
Clam didn't answer his brother's complaint. Instead, he slipped one pale hand with dark nails, long and sharp into the folds of his robe, movements slow and deliberate. When his hand emerged, it held a book so thick and heavy it seemed impossible that he had concealed it there.
Its surface was weathered with age, the cover painted red – scarred and darkened by time. The faint scent of old parchment drifted into the damp forest air, carrying with it the weight of centuries.
The book wasn't paper, it was parchment, stitched together by hands long dead, and the leather binding groaned faintly as Clam shifted it in his palm. Etched symbols, nearly worn away, glimmered faintly in the dim light.
"You came for this, didn't you?" Clam's voice was low, and measured, as he extended the book toward Sealrix.
Sealrix's eyes sharpened as he slid his hand in the air, the movement making his weapon disappear, as he reached for it. His fingers brushed the aged cover, and even through his grip he could feel the weight of the knowledge it carried.
Clam did not let go immediately. His gaze bore into his brother's, yellow against yellow. "I know you're doing this because of that kid," he said, voice edged with both warning and curiosity. "But tell me, do you truly believe humans should get their hands on this information? You know as well as I do, every one of them will twist it, bend it, and find some way to misuse it."
Sealrix's jaw tightened, as he tugged the book free, his expression grim but resolute. "That is exactly why they should have it. They must understand the danger of desiring power beyond their control. They need to fully grasp what they are dealing with."
He pressed the tome against his chest, the weight of it grounding his words. "It would have been easier if I simply dictated the truth to them. But humans never believe without proof. And I won't risk them stumbling blindly, doing something reckless that will cost us Malgeds too."
The silence that followed was thick, the kind of silence that belonged to decisions too large for either brother alone.
Another sound stirred the forest, softer than before, yet clear enough to rattle the moment. Leaves brushed aside, branches whispered, and from the mist a human woman stepped into view.
She moved with caution, every footfall measured, as though afraid she might intrude. Her golden hair caught the pale light breaking through the canopy, strands lifted gently by the wind until they shimmered like woven sunlight.
Sealrix's eyes snapped toward her, narrowing to slits. His gaze darted briefly to Clam, suspicion hardening in his stare.
Beside the woman stood a boy. He was small, no older than eight, though his slight frame and timid stance made him look younger, perhaps four. He clung to her side, his small fists bunching into the fabric of her robes, peeking out from behind her with wide, uncertain eyes. Golden hair fell in soft locks over his brow, the same shade as hers.
The woman's gaze flicked nervously from one brother to the other, her shyness plain, as though she knew she did not belong in the storm gathering between them.
Sealrix's lips curled into a sneer, venom lacing his tone. "Oh, I see now. So you were crossing into this side long before the catastrophe. And here you are, settled, family and all." His eyes flicked to the boy, then back to Clam. "Are they the reason you abandoned your throne? The reason you ran?"
The insult hung in the air like a blade.
Clam's jaw tightened but he didn't answer, and he didn't need to. Sealrix could already read the truth written plainly before him. Even as the child bore almost none of Clam's features, blood recognizes its own. This was Clam's son.
"How about you quit yapping and pay your respects?" Clam said, his tone light, almost playful, though there was a knowing edge beneath it. It wasn't a real request, more like confirmation that Sealrix had guessed correctly.
Sealrix's sneer deepened. "You just shut up and don't give me that crap. I don't take orders from you." His words were low, muttered, but the venom carried. Without sparing his brother another glance, he turned, his long strides carrying him toward the woman.
The boy at her side stiffened, pressing closer to her robes, though his wide, sparkling eyes betrayed a mix of fear and awe. His jaw had gone slack as he watched the imposing man approach, as though caught between wanting to hide and wanting to stare forever.
Sealrix stopped just before them. For a moment it looked as though he would bypass her entirely, yet instead he reached for her hand. The woman flinched, startled, but before she could recoil, his fingers wrapped gently around hers.
He paused, holding her hand with a surprising delicacy. Then, with slow, deliberate motion, he lowered his head and pressed his lips softly against the back of her palm. His forehead touched it next, his breath warm against her skin as he held still for a heartbeat.
"Nice to meet you, my Lady," he murmured, his tone carrying an unexpected reverence.
Her breath caught in her throat, her body frozen, as the moment lingered like an unexpected spell, but Sealrix didn't have the time to wait for her reply.
He released her hand, stepped past, and as he moved, his other hand brushed lightly over the boy's golden head; a fleeting gesture, neither tender nor dismissive, but something in between.
Then he walked on, leaving mother and child staring silently after him, the weight of the encounter settling into the air like smoke.
A faint smile tugged at Clam's lips as his eyes lingered on Sealrix's retreating back. "Maybe, you really have grown to understand everything. Let's hope you succeed in convincing those humans to peace with the truth." He murmured under his breath, the words carrying more hope than certainty,
The gesture had surprised him. Sealrix, who never spared his tongue from scorn, who never lowered his pride – had paid his respects to Clam's wife as though she were a queen in her own right. Not only that, but a human.
Clam had almost expected his brother to sneer at her blood, to remind him that she was not of their kind. Instead, Sealrix had treated her with a reverence that belonged to royalty, not disdain.
It amused Clam, though in a way that eased something heavy in his chest. His younger brother was full of barbs and fire, but perhaps beneath the venom lay a man who could still see beyond the boundaries of race.
Sealrix, for his part, gave no indication of what he thought. His shoulders stayed straight, his pace steady, his expression unreadable.
If Clam had hoped for a glimpse of approval or even disapproval, he would find none. Sealrix's silence said everything: he had greater battles ahead, far heavier concerns than the life his brother had chosen. And Clam knew it.
This wasn't something new though. Many Malgeds had long since chosen to settle among humans. Some did it for love, others for survival, and others simply to escape the endless conflicts of their own kind.
But most wore masks; human bodies woven from mimicry, hiding their true nature from the very people they lived beside. It was the only way to blend in, to keep from drawing blades and suspicion.
Not all could manage such disguises, of course. The beastkins were the most obvious; their animalistic traits bled through no matter how much they tried. Claws and horns didn't vanish just because one willed them to.
Yet as Sealrix glanced back at the woman and her son, he noticed the small, telling details. The woman's startled flinch at his touch, and the child's wide-eyed awe. These weren't the reactions of humans who had been deceived, living beside a hidden monster.
These were the signs of people who had seen Clam's true self, who had lived with him in his real form and accepted it.
Clam hadn't hidden himself from them. Not his towering frame, not his Malged blood, not the shadows that clung to him. He had given them the truth.
And judging by the way his brother's son leaned into him, unafraid… they had embraced it.