### Chapter 13 – Sparks in the Shadows
The city's ruins still smoldered from the Crimson Hand's failed strike, yet the embers of resistance were not fully extinguished. In the Eastern District, Liora guided a group of survivors through narrow, hidden alleys. Every footstep was measured, every sound a potential signal of danger. Children clung to her skirts, faces pale with terror, but she whispered promises that survival was possible, that fear was a weapon that could be turned, if only carefully.
From a rooftop, Rennick watched. He had memorized the layout of traps and patrols, and he quietly relayed instructions to Liora through subtle signals. The city was a web of terror, but he believed even in a cage, there were ways to move unseen. Every small act—moving a child out of a burning street, whispering a safe path—was rebellion.
Kael and Selara, however, were aware that the city's murmurs of defiance were growing louder. They walked the streets personally that night, boots striking cobblestones in rhythm with the heartbeat of fear.
A small group of rebels had gathered near a ruined market. Kael's silver eyes found them immediately, and he lifted a hand. A single signal sent Tharos and the elite guards into the alleys, herding the rebels like prey into a trap.
Selara's presence was like shadow, moving silently behind Kael. She cornered the first rebel, pressing a dagger to his neck. "Do you understand what obedience costs?" she asked, voice silk over steel. The man's lips trembled, no words escaping as terror crystallized in his wide eyes.
Kael watched as Tharos executed his part with methodical cruelty—cuts, bruises, and terror, leaving survivors alive just enough to remember. "Fear," Kael whispered to the trembling rebels, "is eternal. Pain is fleeting. Remember this lesson well."
In the chaos, Rennick's signals guided Liora and a small group of children to safety, ducking beneath rubble and slipping through shadows. Even here, in the heart of Draeven, there were corners untouched by Kael and Selara's perfection—small sanctuaries where hope flickered.
By midnight, the streets were silent once more. The rebels who survived carried scars deeper than flesh—memories of screams, of terror, and of the cruel precision of the Dark Monarchs. Draeven had learned again that rebellion was a gamble, and the price was always high.
Kael returned to the palace balcony, Selara close at his side. He scanned the city below, silver eyes catching the torchlight in every ruined street. "Even the smallest spark," he murmured, "must be crushed before it spreads."
Selara's hand brushed his arm, cold and intimate. "And when fear spreads," she said softly, "it binds them tighter than chains ever could."
In the shadows, Rennick and Liora exchanged a glance. The city was broken, but not all hope had died. Even in Draeven, under Kael and Selara's merciless rule, **resistance still breathed quietly**, waiting for the moment to ignite.
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