The Flats were still settling when Tiamat crooked a finger at me and Lyra. No speech, no flourish—just a small motion that meant follow. We did.
She led us to a low rock outcrop at the edge of the grid, half-shadowed by a parked rig. Behind us, engineers were coiling cables and folding tents the way you handle something that behaved and you want it to behave again. The sky had that late-gold calm you only get after a good day.
Tiamat watched me for a long beat, like she was weighing more than the moment. "You keep carrying questions you don't speak," she said. "Today you earned one answer. Maybe two."
Lyra kept her eyes on the field a heartbeat longer, then turned. "If we do this," she said, "we do it cleanly. No riddles."
"Cleanly," Tiamat agreed. She looked back to me. "You remember the power behind the Heavenly Demon."
"The Demon Overlord," I said. "The one that gave him power in the first place."
Lyra nodded. "That title is right."
