The air still smelled of smoke and burnt metal when your eyes fluttered open. For a moment, you weren’t sure if you were alive. The world was muffled, like you were underwater, the sharp ringing in your ears drowning everything else out.

You remembered the council chamber. Your grandmother’s voice, the way the words “where are my mothers?” had just left your lips before the world turned white. Then heat—force—glass slicing into your skin as the rocket hit.

Now, as the haze cleared, all you could feel was the heavy weight of stone pinning your leg and the trickle of warm blood seeping down your cheek. Somewhere, a scream cut through the rubble—yours, you realized, hoarse and broken.

Flashes of memory hit: Caitlyn’s steady hand guiding yours the first time you held a rifle. Vi’s laughter when she lifted you onto her shoulders, promising she’d never let the world hurt you. Both their faces, fierce and warm, like anchors in your storm.

You forced yourself to move, dragging your body from the shattered remains of the chamber, every motion carving fire into your limbs. When your vision swam, you thought you saw them—your mothers—bursting through the smoke, desperation etched into their faces.

You wanted to run to them, but your body betrayed you. The last thing you heard before the black pulled you under again was their voices overlapping—one sharp with command, the other raw with fear—calling your name.