Leia wiped ash from her hands as the sun sank behind the crumbling rooftops.
The outer district's foundry alley was filled with soot, hissing steam, and the clang of metal against metal. The sky above was a thick, smoky gray, blotted by the chimneys that never stopped belching fire.
She and her mother had spent the day hauling broken scrap and sweeping out the back lanes of a machine workshop. It wasn't real work — not the kind that paid in coin. But the foreman had promised leftover bread and broth if they cleaned fast enough.
Leia's arms ached. Her knees were bruised from kneeling on hard stone. Her fingers were nicked and blackened. But the pain didn't surprise her anymore. In a strange way, it was starting to feel like routine — something her body expected, like hunger or sleep.
The nobles had servants to carry their burdens.
Leia had none.
No aura. No shield. No inheritance.
Just calluses.
---
She looked up as her mother appeared from the side of the alley, carrying a wooden tray with a wrapped loaf and a dented tin bowl. Selene smiled, but her eyes were tired.
"Still warm," she said softly, offering the bread to Leia.
Leia took it and tore off a piece. The crust was hard, but inside, it was soft — the softest thing she'd had all week.
They sat on a wide stone step near the edge of the foundry gate, sharing their meal in silence.
The light was dimmer now, painted orange by the setting sun. People passed without looking at them — workers, ragged children, old men with hollow eyes. No one saw them.
It was as if they were fading.
She hadn't seen her father since the day they were cast out of the Crows estate.
No letters. No messages. No coins. Not even a whisper through the servants' grapevine.
As far as the Crows were concerned, Leia didn't exist.
She remembered the expression on his face that day — blank, almost bored. As if cutting them off had been a business decision, not a family one.
No one had dared speak up. Not even her siblings.
Maybe they were glad.
Maybe they were just afraid.
---
Selene tried to hide her sadness, but Leia could tell. Sometimes, when her mother thought she wasn't looking, she would stare out toward the high outer wall — the one that separated their district from the inner city.
It wasn't even that far. Just a few streets and a guarded checkpoint.
But the Crows' world might as well have been on another planet.
Leia used to run through flower gardens inside a private courtyard. She used to sit by stained-glass windows and listen to violin lessons echo through the halls. She had her own shelf in the library. She had silk dresses, and a room with a fireplace.
She had a piano.
She'd never really learned how to play. It had always been something to get around to.
Now, she missed it with an ache she couldn't describe.
Not the piano itself.
The feeling of belonging.
---
Now, in this part of the city, Leia was invisible. No one addressed her by name. No one bowed. No one even asked.
Unless they wanted something.
A discarded tool. A favor. A face to spit on.
---
That night, back in their shared shelter — a repurposed storeroom behind a shuttered barbershop — they sat cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of watery stew between them.
The lantern flickered on its last bit of oil.
Leia stirred the broth with her spoon and broke the silence.
"Do you think I'll awaken?"
Selene didn't respond right away. Her hands paused over the stitching in her shawl.
"Some people awaken late," she said. "Others… in strange ways."
Leia looked down.
"That's not a yes."
Selene sighed and leaned back against the wall.
"You're more than your ability, Leia."
She spoke the words like a truth she wanted to believe — but couldn't prove.
Leia studied her reflection in the broth.
"I don't think they believe that where we're from."
Selene didn't argue.
She couldn't.
Because they both knew it was true.
In their world, power was worth. And Leia had none.
Yet.