The cell door hung open, its green lock flickering like a dying star. I stood frozen, my heart slamming against my ribs, the air thick with rust and something new—freedom, maybe, or a trap. Daria Vale faced me, her silver hair catching the bulb's weak glow, her blue eyes sharp in the dark. She was small, barely my shoulder, but she stood like she owned the prison, her voice steady when she'd said, "Asher Wolfe, you're coming with me." Ten years in Iron Hollow had taught me to trust nothing, especially not strangers with witch's hair, but those eyes held something—Clara's fire, or close enough. I didn't want her, didn't need her, but my vow burned too hot to stay."Who are you?" I rasped, my voice rough from years of silence. My hands flexed, cuffs long gone—I'd melted them in year eight, hid the scars—but they itched for a fight. The cell smelled of mold and blood, my cot's springs creaking behind me, and I felt the walls watching, like Nova Rhea's drones were already closing in."No time," she said, glancing down the hall. Her cloak shifted, showing a knife strapped to her hip, its blade glinting.
"They're coming. Move, or we're both dead."Dead. I'd been dead a decade, locked in this stone-and-steel coffin, dreaming of Clara's blood. The Coalition thought they'd broken me, thought Iron Hollow's shocks and starvation would snuff my spark. They were wrong. I stepped forward, boots grinding grit, and felt it—heat in my veins, magic waking after years of scraps. "Lead," I said, low, like a blade drawn slow.She nodded, slipping into the hall, and I followed, my pulse loud in my ears. Iron Hollow's corridors were a maze, gray and damp, lit by flickering strips that buzzed like flies. The air tasted sour, heavy with sweat and fear, and every step echoed, too loud, like the prison was screaming our escape. I kept close, watching her move—quick, sure, like she'd done this before. My eyes darted to the walls, expecting drones, guards, anything.
Ten years had carved caution into me, but rage gnawed harder, begging to burn.We turned a corner, and a siren wailed, red lights pulsing like wounds. My stomach twisted—too soon, too fast. Daria cursed, soft, and pressed against the wall, her knife out now, catching the glow. "They know," she whispered. "Stay sharp.""Sharp?" I snorted, bitter. "I've been sharp ten years." I flexed my hand, and a spark flared, small but hot, dancing in my palm. Year five, I'd learned that trick—nights hiding from dampeners, sparking flames to keep Clara's voice alive.
Now it was stronger, hungrier, and I wasn't hiding anymore.Boots clanged, close—guards, three at least, their exosuits humming. I smelled their sweat, their fear, even through the visors. Daria tensed, but I stepped past her, my blood singing. "Stay back," I growled, not looking at her. This was mine—my first chance since Clara, since the plaza's roar stole her."Asher, don't—" she started, but I was done listening. The guards rounded the corner, rifles up, implants blinking blue at their temples. "Halt!" one barked, his voice tinny through the suit.
"Level S, stand down!"Level S. They'd called me that when they locked me away, a kid who'd loved a witch. Now it fit. I raised my hand, and fire roared—bright, wild, licking the air like a beast let loose. The guards screamed, stumbling back, their suits sparking as flames hit. I didn't stop, didn't think—just pushed, the heat pouring from me, years of pain given form. The hall burned, stone blackening, metal twisting, and I laughed, raw and ragged, because this was what I'd dreamed—making them feel it, making them break.One guard fell, his visor cracked, smoke curling from his chest.
Another fired, a pulse-bolt sizzling past my ear, grazing my shoulder. Pain flared, blood hot on my skin, but I didn't care. I threw more fire, a wave that slammed him to the wall, his scream cut short. The third ran, boots slipping, and I let him go—not mercy, just a message. Let them know I was coming."Asher, stop!" Daria grabbed my arm, her grip hard, pulling me back. My flames flickered, not gone but tamed, and I spun on her, chest heaving. Her eyes were wide, not scared—something else, like she saw too much. "We're not here to burn it down. Not yet.""Not yet?" I yanked free, my voice a snarl. "They killed her. Clara. You know what they did?" My hand shook, sparks dripping to the floor, hissing on stone.
The hall was a wreck—charred walls, bodies still, the air thick with ash. Ten years, I'd planned this—Nova Rhea's towers falling, its chipped dogs begging. She didn't get to stop me."I know," she said, softer, like she meant it. "I know what they took. But there's more—others, like her, like us. We need you alive, not dead in a hallway."Us? I stared, her silver hair too much like Clara's, her words too close to hope. I didn't trust hope—hope got you burned. But the sirens were louder now, drones humming closer, and my shoulder throbbed, blood soaking my shirt.
She was right—we'd die if we stayed. "Fine," I spat, turning. "But I'm not done."She didn't answer, just ran, and I followed, my boots pounding. The hall twisted, narrowing, pipes hissing steam that stung my eyes. We passed cells—slits showing eyes, hands, prisoners watching silent. I wondered if Mara was there, the voice from year seven, whispering of resistance. Didn't matter. My fight wasn't theirs, not tonight. Daria stopped at a grate, prying it loose with her knife, and nodded down—a tunnel, black and tight, smelling of earth and rot."Down there?" I said, breathing hard. My flames had drained me, more than I'd admit, and my shoulder burned, blood dripping to my fingers."Unless you want chains again," she said, already sliding in. I cursed, low, and went after her, the tunnel's walls scraping my arms, cold as Iron Hollow's heart. It was tight, my shoulders brushing stone, and the dark pressed close, like the cell I'd left. I thought of Clara, her hand on mine, teaching me to breathe slow when fear bit deep. I pushed forward, her memory a spark I wouldn't lose.The tunnel sloped up, air shifting—fresher, with a hint of dust. Daria stopped, her silhouette sharp against a faint glow, and kicked out a vent. We crawled into a ditch, Nova Rhea's wastelands stretching wide—cracked earth, twisted metal, the city's glow a bruise on the horizon. Stars blinked above, more than I'd seen in a decade, and my chest ached, remembering Clara's stories of them guiding us home."Drones'll be here soon," Daria said, pulling me up. Her hand was warm, steady, and I shook it off, not ready for touch. "We head west, to the moors. There's people waiting.""People?" I wiped blood from my hand, my shoulder stiffening. "I don't need people. I need them dead—every enforcer, every chip, every liar who cheered her death."She looked at me, eyes narrowing, but didn't argue. "You'll get your chance. But not alone." She started walking, cloak blending with the dark, and I followed, not because I trusted her—because I had nowhere else. My magic hummed, low but alive, and I felt Iron Hollow behind me, its shadow fading. Clara's voice whispered, Live, and I would—for her, for blood.The wastelands stretched, and I burned inside, ready for what came next.