Luna
The horn blares so loud that my teeth rattle along with my nerves.
It isn’t the call of a ceremony, a birth, or a celebration.
It’s the long, guttural blast meant for emergencies, and it slices straight through my chest. Father stiffens at my side as we stride toward the sound.
He’s just as anxious as I am to see what the top two people in the Shadow Sanctum could possibly not know.
The square at the center of the compound is already alive with bodies when we arrive.
Families spill in from every direction, mothers clutching children, Keepers barking orders to back away from the stage.
The air is sharp, frigid, but heat radiates off the panic.
Dozens of voices overlap—questions, rumors, pleas—all rising into chaos.
“What happened?” someone demands. “What’s going on?”
I catch flashes of dread: faces drawn tight, eyes wide, hands wringing. Fear spreads like fire, fast and merciless.
At the front of the square, two Keepers drag another Keeper, Patrick, onto the stage. He thrashes violently against the bindings around his wrists until his sweat melts streaks of soot and blood down his face. When they shove him to his knees, the crowd hushes just enough for his words to carry.
“They were sick!” Patrick’s chest heaves. Whatever beating he’s taken, he still looks determined to spread the word.
I take off toward the stage, but I’m not even halfway there before the damage is too great.
“Head Keeper allowed the illness to spread through the mines, and now they’re killing our children!”
A collective murmur surges. My stomach twists, and when I get to the stage, I look around at the gathered crowd. People look frightened but not disgusted. They want to hear what he has to say.
“Enough!” Father booms, but Patrick doesn’t listen, and for once, the Keepers don’t force his will. They stand off to the side with faces drawn tight in defiance. Now they can be brave.
“We had to burn the source!” He yells, the soot on his face finally making sense.
The mines.
“What?” Father whispers against a crowd of panicked parents. Gasps ripple outward like shockwaves. Parents clutch their children tighter. A Nurturer wails. Several people grunt their approval.
“You fools!” Father shoves toward the stage.
He climbs the steps in two leaps and addresses the crowd.
“The illness is coming from the water supply. Luna has already concluded it. The mines are the source of our wealth, not the source of illness! Every member is required to report there immediately. We need all the water we have—”
“They want us to believe a lie!” Patrick yells out. “They’re willing to save our slaves but not our children!”
People roar in agreement. Father’s eyes widen.
They’ve turned against me. If he’s not careful, they’ll turn against him.
But he’s not careful. His entire life’s fortune was just stripped away, and it’s still morning. For once, he’s caught off guard.
This is the point where a faithful daughter would step in to help him.
I wait for answers the same as everyone else.
“The children are the future,” Father shouts back. “And without our wealth, they will have no—”
“It’s too late,” a Keeper shouts. “The mines are gone.”
“Who’s going to save our children?” a Nurturer calls.
Father tries to say something, but his voice falters. For a fleeting second, he sways. His hand clutches the edge of his shirt, his skin pale even in the sunlight.
There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow. A tremor in his fingers. He’s in shock, but not just that. He’s ill.
But the crowd doesn’t notice—not yet. They’re too busy erupting into panic. The words spread faster than the fire: The Dregs were dying. How soon before we die too?
Shouts break into demands. “What will you do?” “How do we protect our families?” “How do we get water?”
The sound builds, frenzied, teeth-rattling.
Father lifts a hand, but his authority is weakened. His gaze darts, haunted. For the first time in my life, I see horror in his eyes. True horror. He steps back, turns away. Then—like a coward—he flees, and I lose him behind the crowd.
A few people follow, but most remain. And in his absence, hundreds of gazes swing to me.
I stand rooted in the snow, cold seeping through my boots, my breath trapped in my lungs. They stare at me like I’m the last barrier between them and the void. Waiting. Demanding.
I force my chin high and step onto the stage. “All is as it’s supposed to be.”
The words land like stones. A wave of anger breaks against me—jeers, cries, accusations. Mothers scream. Keepers who are also parents clench their fists. The crowd threatens to tip into a riot.
I try again, sharper. “It does us no good to panic or mourn. The Shadow Sanctum is strong because we endure. We will endure.”
Someone throws a shoe that I barely dodge. Instead of deja vu, it feels like bitter irony.
I never imagined things could get even worse.
“They need a doctor!” someone suggests. Which is brave.
“We are above the evils of Western—”
“Ye of little faith,” a voice breaks through the crowd. Smooth. Confident. Measured.
Sawyer.
My eyes implore him as he steps onto the stage, but he doesn’t cast a glance my way. With a sweep of his leg, he kicks the thrown shoe off the stage and steps in front of me.
“You’ve collectively deemed the Dregs too weak for the Sanctum, and yet, you immediately draw the conclusion that their death is some sort of prophecy.”
The yells quiet into a low murmur while people’s attention latches onto Sawyer. His shoulders are squared, his tone commanding but warm, like he’s handing out reassurance instead of a terminal prognosis.
It works. His presence fills the square with a calm I couldn’t conjure if I tried.
“Your children aren’t weak,” he continues, steady as stone. “And neither is your Head Keeper. It’s highly unlikely that the wells are contaminated, but Luna has already put together a plan to test the water. The food is next, and she will not sleep until she finds the source.”
The noise softens. People lean closer, desperate to hear.
“The mines are destroyed, which means your wealth is destroyed. We will secure everything needed to ensure the children's safety, but it’ll require both your patience and your faith. Regardless of money, the true wealth of the Sanctum is here.” He sweeps his arm across the crowd.
“In you. In your strength. You’ve endured childbirth.
You’ve endured grief. You’ll endure this. ”
He doesn’t falter. “I swear on my life, your children will be protected. Your families will be cared for. You will have water, food, and order. This is not the end of the Shadow Sanctum—it is only a test. And you’ve passed every test before.”
The mob exhales. Murmurs rise, but softer now, calmer, no longer edged with violence.
Sawyer nods once, like he’s sealed a pact. “Return to your homes. Trust your Keepers. Order will be restored.”
Hundreds of people seem to exchange looks all at once. There’s a low rumble before the back of the crowd loses its first few people. Then a few more.
The crowd, still buzzing with fear, disperses in small batches. Parents pull their children close. Nurturers herd them away. The danger isn’t gone, but the panic has been stemmed—for now.
I stand frozen, my body taut with relief. And shock.
Sawyer’s palm presses on my back to steer me from the crowd. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I let him lead me while I catch my breath.
Never have I felt so light.