The tunnels beneath the Blood-Gold Market were a labyrinth of stone and rot.Once, they had served as escape routes for smugglers and thieves. Now, they were the arteries of rebellion—veins pulsing with whispers, fear, and the faint glow of dying torches.
Leon followed Kaelara and her people through the darkness, his boots splashing through shallow water that reeked of oil and decay. Every few steps, the tunnel widened into makeshift camps—broken tables serving as command posts, walls covered in crude maps drawn with charcoal and blood.
The Crimson Rebellion wasn't an army. It was a collection of survivors stitched together by vengeance.
And yet, beneath their exhaustion, Leon saw something the Syndicate had long crushed out of people—hope.
Kaelara stopped before a heavy iron door. She tapped a coded rhythm against the rusted surface; a slit opened, revealing a pair of cautious eyes."It's us," she said. "Open it."
The door creaked open, revealing a cavernous chamber lit by burning barrels. Dozens of rebels were inside—some wounded, some cleaning weapons, others simply staring at the flames like they could see their lost lives dancing within them.
"This is what's left of us," Kaelara said quietly. "The Syndicate burned our homes, our markets, our names. So we learned to live under their feet. And tonight…"She turned to him, eyes hard. "…we made them bleed back."
Leon nodded, scanning the chamber. The smell of smoke still clung to him, the image of the burning market etched behind his eyelids. "You did more than that. You sent a message."
Kaelara's mouth curved into a faint, humorless smile. "The message isn't finished yet. Darius Vey's death will shake them—but it won't break them. The Syndicate will answer. And when they do, we'll need people who can do more than hide and strike from the shadows."
"You're looking at one," Leon said.
"Maybe," she replied. "But I need to know—why fight them? You're no merchant, no rebel. Your eyes say soldier, but your scars say survivor."
Leon didn't answer immediately. His fingers brushed the hilt of his rusty dagger. "The Syndicate took everything that mattered. I used to think killing one man would be enough to make it right. Turns out, they just grow more heads when you cut one off."
Kaelara studied him for a long moment, then extended her hand again. "Then fight with us. Not for gold. Not for revenge. For something that hurts them worse—freedom."
He hesitated, then clasped her hand firmly. "For freedom, then."
The room erupted in cheers. The rebellion had just gained a new blade.
Later that night, the fire burned low. Most of the rebels were asleep or tending to their wounds. Leon sat apart from the others, sharpening his dagger. Each scrape of metal on stone was a thought—cold, deliberate, cutting.
Kaelara approached quietly, holding two tin cups. She handed him one. "It's not wine," she said, sitting down. "But it burns the same."
He took a sip, grimacing. "You weren't lying."
She chuckled softly, then grew serious. "We'll strike again soon. Not another market. A convoy—one carrying the Syndicate's tribute to the Upper Guilds. If we take it, we cripple their trade routes for weeks."
"And if we fail?"
She shrugged. "Then we die in the open instead of hiding underground. I'll take that."
Leon studied her face in the firelight. The flames danced across her scars, painting them like battle lines. She wasn't reckless. She was resolute—someone who had already made peace with her own death.
He set down his cup. "Then we don't fail."
A sudden commotion broke the quiet. A rebel stumbled into the chamber, blood soaking his arm. "They found us! Syndicate scouts—they're in the lower tunnels!"
Kaelara was on her feet instantly. "Positions! Seal the west passage and set charges along the choke point!"
Leon grabbed his dagger and followed. The tunnels roared to life again—shouted orders, the sound of boots, the rattle of guns. Smoke from hastily lit torches filled the air as shadows moved through the maze.
Down one corridor, Leon saw them—Syndicate hunters in black armor, masks gleaming like the shells of insects. They moved with terrifying precision, cutting down anyone in their way.
"Fall back!" Kaelara shouted. "Detonate the wall!"
But Leon didn't retreat. He dashed forward, intercepting the first wave. His dagger slashed through armor joints, precise and merciless. A Syndicate trooper lunged—Leon ducked, drove his blade into the man's throat, and pulled free in one fluid motion.
He moved like a ghost, like death wearing a human face.
Kaelara joined him, firing her crossbow with deadly rhythm. One bolt, one kill. Together, they held the line just long enough for the rebels behind them to plant explosives.
"Now!" she yelled.
The explosion shook the tunnels. Stone and fire swallowed the passage, cutting off the Syndicate advance. Dust and smoke billowed through the chamber, coating everything in gray ash.
When it settled, only silence remained.
Leon leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Kaelara limped beside him, wiping blood from her cheek. "You still think joining us was a bad idea?" she asked, half-smiling.
He managed a smirk. "I didn't say it was a good one either."
Her laughter echoed faintly through the smoke. For the first time in what felt like years, Leon allowed himself a small exhale—not of peace, but of purpose.
Above them, the city still burned. But in the darkness below, the first embers of rebellion were catching fire.
And Leon knew this was only the beginning.