KILORN WILL FIND ME wherever I try to hide, so I keep moving. I ran as if I could free myself from what I had done to Gisa, how I had disappointed Kilorn, how I had ruined everything. However, even I couldn’t escape my mother’s gaze when I brought Gisa to the door of our house. I saw a look of despair sweep across his face, and I ran before my father arrived in his wheelchair. I can’t face both. I’m a coward.

So, I ran until I couldn’t think, until every bad memory faded, until I could only feel my burning muscles. I even convinced myself that the tears streaming down my cheeks were rainwater.

When I finally slowed down to catch my breath, I was outside the village, several kilometers down the bad northbound road. The lights refracted through the trees around the bend, illuminating an inn, one of many on the old roads. The inn was as busy as ever every summer, full of servants and seasonal workers who followed the royal members. They don’t live on stilts,

they don’t know my face, so they’re easy targets to pickpocket. I did it every summer, but Kilorn was always with me, smiling as I drank and watched me in action. I guess soon I won’t be able to see her smile.

Loud laughter could be heard as several men staggered out of the inn, drunk and carefree. Their money bags jingled, heavy with the day’s wages. Silver Money, for service, smiles, and bows to monsters dressed like gods.

I have hurt many people today, hurting the people I love most. I should have turned around and gone home, facing everyone with at least a shred of courage. However, I instead chose to hide in the shadows of the inn, content to stay in the dark.

I guess my only skill is hurting people.

It didn’t take long to fill my coat pockets. Drunks stepped out every few minutes and I shadowed them, faking a smile to hide the action of my hands. Nobody noticed, nobody even cared, when I disappeared again. I am a shadow, and no one remembers a shadow.

Midnight came and went while I remained standing, waiting. The moon overhead was a bright reminder of time, of how long I had been gone. One more bag, I said to myself. One more thing then I’ll go home . I’ve been saying that for the last hour.

I didn’t think about when the next customer came out. His eyes were glued to the sky, and he didn’t notice my presence. Too easy to reach, too easy for me to wrap my fingers around the strap of the coin pouch. I should have realized by now that nothing was easy here, but the chaos and Gisa’s blank stare made me go stupid with grief.

His hand caught my wrist, his grip firm and, strangely, hot as he pulled me out of the shadows. I tried to fight, break free and run away, but he was too strong. As he spun around, the fire in his eyes scared me, just like the fear I felt this morning. But I welcome whatever punishment he might give. I deserve it.

“Thieves,” he said, surprise in his voice.

I blinked, suppressing the urge to laugh. I didn’t even have the strength to protest. “That’s clear.”

He stared at me intently, taking in everything from my face to my worn boots. His gaze made me uneasy. After what seemed like an eternity, he exhaled heavily and let me go. Surprised, I could only glare at him. When a silver coin flew through the air, I barely had the dexterity to catch it. Tetarch coin. A silver tetrarch coin is worth a whole crown. Much more valuable than any of the stolen pennies in my pockets.

“That should be more than enough for some time,” he said before I could respond. Under the light of the inn, his red-gold eyes flashed, the color of warmth. My years of experience observing people is not

disappoints me, even now. Her black hair was too shiny, her skin too pale to be anything other than a servant. However, his body is more like a lumberjack, with broad shoulders and stocky legs. He was also young, a little older than me, though not as confident as a nineteen or twenty year old youth should be.

I should have kissed his boots for letting me go and bestowing such a gift on me, but curiosity got the best of me. It is always like that.

“Why?” The word came out harshly and insolently. After experiencing a day like this, how could I have acted otherwise?

The question caught him off guard and he shrugged. “You need it more than me.”

I wanted to throw that coin in his face, tell him that I could take care of myself, but part of me knew better. Has today’s experience taught me nothing? “Thank you,” I forced the words out through gritted teeth.

For some reason, he laughed in response to my half-hearted thank you. “Don’t force yourself.” Then he shifted, taking a step closer. He is the strangest person I have ever met. “You live in the village, huh?”

“Yes,” I answered, pointing to myself. With my faded hair, shabby clothes, and tired eyes, it’s clear I’m a country bumpkin. He stood in stark contrast, his shirt clean and neat, while his leather shoes were smooth and shiny. He shifted under my gaze, playing with his collar. I made him nervous.

He looked pale in the moonlight, his eyes darting around. “Do you like it?” he asked, changing the topic. “Live there?”

His question almost made me laugh, but he didn’t seem like he was being funny. “Is anyone happy?” I finally answered, wondering what his true intentions were.

But instead of responding curtly, bluffing back like Kilorn usually did, he remained silent. A dark look swept across his face. “Do you want to go home?” he asked suddenly, pointing towards the road.

“Why, are you afraid of the dark?” I said slowly, folding my arms in front of my chest. However, deep inside me, I wondered if I should be afraid. He’s strong, agile, and I’m alone out here.

His smile returned, and the comfort I felt from his smile made me uneasy. “No, I want to make sure you control your hands for the rest of the night. We can’t let you wander around to the bars instead of going home, can we? My name is Cal, by the way,” he added, holding out his hand.

I didn’t take his outstretched hand, remembering how hot his skin was. Instead, I started walking down the street, my steps quick and quiet. “Mare Barrow,” I said over my shoulder, and quickly her long legs drew close to me.

“So, are you always this friendly?” He was fishing, and for some reason, I felt as if I was being probed. However, the cold silver coin in my hand calmed me, reminded me

I wonder what else he has in his pockets. Silver for Farley. Very fitting.

“Your employer must pay you so well that you can carry a whole crown of coins,” I said sarcastically, hoping to steer him away from the topic. My efforts succeeded smoothly and he withdrew.

“I have a good job,” he explained, trying to brush it off.

“At least one of us does.” “But you-“

“Seventeen years.” I finished it for him. “I still have time before I’m called to war.”

He squinted, his lips twisting into a grim line. Something harsh crept into his voice, sharpening his words. “How much longer?”

“Less every day.” Just saying it out loud makes my stomach hurt. And Kilorn has even less time than me.

His words faded and he glared at me again, studying me as we walked through the woods. Think . “And no work,” he muttered, more to himself than to engage me. “There is no way for you to avoid being networked.”

His confusion amazed me. “Maybe things are different where you come from.”

“That’s why you stole.”

I stole . “It was the best thing I could do,” slipped from my lips. Again, I was reminded that hurting people is the only thing

my only skill. “My sister has a job.” The words slipped without me realizing— No, he didn’t have any. No longer. Thanks to you.

Cal watched me struggle for words, wondering whether I would correct my words or not. It was all I could do to keep a straight face, to prevent myself from bursting into tears in front of a complete stranger. However, he must have realized what I was trying to hide. “Were you at the Hall today?” I think he already knows the answer. “The riots were really serious.”

“Of course.” I almost choked on the words.

“Are you…” He pressed in a very calm and gentle manner. It was like poking a hole in a dam, and the water started to spill out. I couldn’t suppress those words even if I wanted to.

I didn’t mention Farley or the Red Row or even Kilorn. Only that my sister sneaked me into the Grand Garden, helping me steal the money we needed to survive. Then, regarding Gisa’s carelessness, her hand injury, that means something to us. What I did to my family. My actions have been, disappointing my mother, embarrassing my father, stealing from the people I call my community. In the middle of this street with nothing but darkness around me, I told a stranger how terrible I was. He didn’t ask any questions, even though my ramblings made no sense. He just listened.

“It was the best thing I could do,” I said again before my voice broke completely.

Suddenly a flash of silver appeared in the corner of my eye. He held up another coin. Under the moonlight, I could see the flaming outline of the king’s crown cast in metal. When he pressed it against my palm, I thought I would feel the heat again, but his skin had cooled.

I don’t need your pity, I wish I could scream, but that would be stupid. The coin can buy what Gisa can no longer afford.

“I’m sorry, Mare. Things shouldn’t be like this.”

I couldn’t even muster the strength to frown. “There are still many lives that are much more miserable than mine. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

He left me at the end of the village, letting me walk past the stilt houses alone. The mud and shadows somehow made Cal uncomfortable, and he was gone before I had a chance to look back and thank the strange waiter.

My house is quiet and dark. Even so, my body trembled with fear. The events of this morning felt like hundreds of years ago, part of another life when I was stupid and selfish and perhaps even a little happy. Now I have nothing but a friend who is leaving for war and a younger brother with broken bones.

“You shouldn’t worry your mother like that,” my father’s voice boomed towards me from behind one of the stilts. I’ve never seen one above ground in all the years I can remember.

My voice was shrill, a mixture of shock and fear. “Father? What are you doing? How could you—?” Instead, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, toward the winch rope hanging from his house. For the first time, he used it.

“Power failure. I thought I should check it out,” he said, his voice very hoarse. He rolled his wheelchair past me, stopping in front of a fuse box embedded in the ground. Every house has one, controlling the electrical power that keeps the lights on.

Dad’s breathing was ragged, his chest creaking with each breath. Maybe Gisa will be like him now, his hands become lumps of metal, his mind tangled and bitter with regrets.

“Why didn’t you use the electrical papers I gave you?”

In response, Father took out the ration paper from under his shirt and put it in the box. Normally, the box would light up, but nothing happened. Damaged.

“It’s no use,” sighed Dad, leaning back in his chair. We both stared at the fuse box, lost for words, not wanting to leave, not wanting to go back upstairs. My father ran away just like me, unable to stay in the house, while my mother clearly mourned Gisa’s misfortune, crying over her dashed dreams, while my sister refrained from joining her.

Dad patted the box as if hitting the damn thing would suddenly bring back light, warmth, and hope

we. His actions became more hasty, more desperate, and anger radiated from him. Not towards myself or Gisa, but towards the world. In the past, Father called us ants, Red ants that burned in the light of the Silver sun. Crushed by the greatness of others, losing the battle fighting for our right to exist because we are not special. We did not evolve like them, with power and strength beyond our limited imagination. We remain the same, stagnant in our own bodies. The world changed around us, but we remained the same.

Then rage surged through me, cursing Farley, Kilorn, the war net, every little thing I could think of. The iron box was cold to the touch, having long since lost its electric heat. However, it still holds vibrations, deep in the mechanism, waiting to be revived. I tried to find the electric power, to revive it and prove that at least one small thing could work properly in a world so chaotic. Something sharp stung my fingertips, making my body jolt. A bare wire or switch is problematic, I thought to myself. It felt like a pinprick, like a needle pricking my nerves. However, the pain never came.

Above us, the porch light came back on. “Wow, look at that,” Dad muttered.

He spun around in the mud, rolling his wheelchair back toward the hoist. I followed quietly, not wanting to bring up the reason why we were both so afraid of the place we called home.

“Never run away again,” he breathed, tying himself around the rope.

“I won’t,” I said in agreement, more to myself than to him.

The ropes groaned with the strain, lifting him over the porch. I’d be quicker to use the ladder, so I waited for him at the top, then without saying a word helped him free his body from the rope. “You damn thing,” Dad grumbled as he finally managed to untie the last rope.

“Mom will be happy to see Dad out of the house.”

He looked at me sharply, took my hand. Even though Dad hardly works now, only repairing trivial knick-knacks and whittling wooden toys for the children, his hands are still rough and calloused, as if he had just returned from the battlefield. The war never goes away.

“Don’t tell your mother.” “But-“

“I know this may seem like nothing, but this is enough to be something big. Just so you know, he will consider this a small step on a big journey. At first, I left the house at night, then during the day, then I would wander around the market with him just like twenty years ago. Then things will return to the same as before.” His eyes darkened as he spoke, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “I’ll never get better, Mare. I’ll never feel better. I can’t let him

hoping for that, not when I know it will never happen. Do you understand?”

Too understanding, Dad.

Dad knew what expectations did to me and softened. “If only things were different.”

“We all hope so.”

Even in the cover of darkness, I can still see Gisa’s crushed hand as she climbed the attic. Usually he sleeps like a ball, curled up under a thin blanket. However, now she was leaning on his back. His injured hand was supported by a pile of clothes. Mom re-attached the splint, repairing my lame attempts to help her, and the bandage looked new. I didn’t need a light to know his poor hands were covered in black bruises. He slept restlessly, his body twitching, but his arms remained in place. Even in his sleep, he was in pain.

I want to reach him, but how can I possibly make up for the bad events that happened today?

I took out Shade’s letter from the small box where I kept all the letters he sent. At least, reading the letter can calm me down. His jokes, his words, his voice trapped in the sheets were always able to soothe me. However, as I scanned the letter again, a feeling of horror shot through my stomach.

“Red as the dawn…” read the letter. Those words, as clear as the nose on my face. Farley’s words from the video, the cheers of the Red Front crowd, in my brother’s handwriting. The phrase was too odd to ignore, too unique to just brush it off. And the next sentence, “watch the sun rise brighter “

My sister is smart and practical. He didn’t care about the rising sun or the redness of the dawn or clever phrases like that. Rise resonates within me. But instead of Farley’s voice in my head, it was my brother who spoke. Rise, red as dawn.

Somehow, Shade knew. Weeks ago, before the bombing happened, before Farley’s announcement was broadcast, Shade knew about the Red Front and tried to tell us. Why?

Because he is one of them.[]