Chapter 12 — Ashes of the Fallen
The monitors in the transport ship flickered with firelight and blood. On-screen, Mara's flames had sputtered and died, Kira's tails cut down in the dirt. The nobles stood laughing in the aftermath, power stolen, poison daggers dripping.
Director Bill slammed a fist against the console, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Damn it! They weren't supposed to turn on each other!"
His voice thundered across the control deck. The faint glow of his Warwolf Trait rippled in his eyes, amber light flashing with barely restrained fury.
Colonel Marcus Veyr exhaled a plume of cigar smoke, unfazed. "It was bound to happen. Put desperate kids in a cage with power hanging in front of their noses, and this is what you get. Don't tell me you're surprised."
Bill turned on him. "This isn't survival, Marcus. It's cannibalism. How can humanity advance if we tear each other apart over scraps? Every orphan slaughtered is potential wasted."
Commander Rafe Dorn folded his arms, voice cold as stone. "Potential? Those orphans were never going to climb the Tower. You know it as well as I do. Nobles have the resources, the training, the bloodlines. Better the power ends up in hands that can actually use it."
Dr. Evelyn Kael tilted her head, her eyes reflecting the monitors. "But didn't you see? That Standfeild boy—he fought. Outnumbered, out-armed, he still held them for longer than he should have. Leadership born in desperation, not privilege. That kind of fire doesn't come from the Towers."
Rafe sneered. "Fire without strength is just smoke. He jumped into the Abyss. He's gone."
Bill's jaw tightened. "Or maybe he's still alive. You forget, some fires only burn brighter in the dark."
For a moment, silence fell. The Rift's howls bled faintly through the ship's hull, a reminder of the battlefield below.
Marcus flicked ash onto the floor. "If he does crawl out of that pit, he'll still be a rat. And rats don't sit on thrones."
Bill didn't answer. But his hands clenched the railing, knuckles white. He'd seen too many like Avon cut down before their story could begin. And he wasn't sure he could watch another.
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Back at camp, the nobles returned like conquering heroes. Tyler led the way, Poison Dagger twirling in his hand. Behind him, Darius conjured flames from his palms—Mara's flames, stolen and reshaped. Marcus loomed larger than before, his three tails swaying arrogantly as he flexed his claws.
Their squad strutted into the firelight, grins wide, laughter loud. Other nobles cheered, impressed by the display of power.
Laura pushed through the crowd, her cloak trailing the dirt. Her eyes blazed as she stepped up to Tyler. "What did you do?"
Tyler smirked. "What needed doing. Orphans don't deserve power they can't protect."
"You ambushed them," Laura snapped. Her fists trembled. "They were your allies!"
"They were liabilities," Tyler corrected smoothly. "Weak links waiting to break. Better their gifts serve noble blood than rot in the hands of rats."
The other nobles laughed at his words. Darius raised his burning hands, casting wild shadows. Marcus let out a fox's guttural growl, sharp teeth flashing. The camp buzzed with admiration—fear mixed with envy.
Laura's face went pale. She looked around, hoping someone else would speak, would object. But no one did. The orphans were gone. Their voices silenced in the dirt.
Her gaze dropped, her voice quiet but sharp as glass. "You've damned us all. If we can't trust each other in the Rift, then none of us will make it out alive."
Tyler leaned in, close enough that only she could hear. His whisper carried venom. "Don't pretend you care, mayor's daughter. You'll go home to your father's floor either way. I'll climb higher. That's the only difference."
Laura stepped back, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to scream, to fight—but the weight of silence around her crushed her protest. She turned away, cloak swirling, her heart pounding with rage she couldn't show.
Behind her, Tyler raised his dagger high, and the nobles cheered louder, their stolen powers lighting up the night.
But Laura didn't cheer.
She clenched her fists in the shadows, whispering to herself. "Avon… wherever you are… don't die. Make them pay."