His speech

As the slum rats poured into the chamber, their wide, hollow eyes darting around in confusion, a sickening thought wormed its way into my mind.

How far did Father Gideon's cruelty extend? Was this just another ritual in a long, unbroken chain of horrors? Would he drain these people dry, cast their bodies aside, and simply move on to the next desperate city, another flock of lost souls to exploit?

The idea made bile rise in my throat, but I forced it down. Right now, none of it mattered. What mattered was getting out.

Elias was limp in my arms, his breath shallow but steady. I carried him through the shifting mass of bodies, my grip tightening with every step. He was too still, too quiet. The brother I knew—frail, yes, but always sharp, always restless—was somewhere behind those vacant eyes. I just had to pull him back before it was too late.

Tobias and Talia were waiting for me, their expressions grim under the dim torchlight. Talia's eyes flickered to Elias, concern carving lines into her face.

"Is he okay?" she asked, her voice low but urgent.

I swallowed hard, glancing down at him. He didn't stir. His body, so much smaller than mine, felt like dead weight in my arms.

"Yeah," I said, though it came out weaker than I intended. "At least, I hope."

Still, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Even as the chaos around us thickened, even as fear clawed its way into my chest, all I could do was hold on and pray that whatever Father Gideon had done to him wasn't irreversible.

For the first time, I truly took in my surroundings, forcing myself to see—really see—the horror of it all. The slum rats, packed tightly together like livestock, their faces pale and drawn with confusion. Some clutched at one another, whispering frantic prayers under their breath, while others simply stared at the iron bars of our cage, waiting for answers that would never come.

I could almost hear the questions screaming from their hollow eyes. Why are we here? What does Father Gideon want? Why lock us up like animals? But no one spoke. The silence was thick, suffocating.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the first wave was taken. Three Watchers emerged from the shadows, moving with eerie precision, their cloaks barely rustling as they stepped forward. Without a word, they reached into the mass of bodies, gripping arms, shoulders, the backs of trembling necks. Five people were dragged from the cage, their protests cut short by the heavy clang of the iron door slamming shut behind them.

No screams. No sounds of struggle. Just the distant shuffle of footsteps as they were led away, swallowed by the darkness.

And they never returned.

A sick feeling coiled in my stomach, heavy as a stone. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as a single thought throbbed in my skull like a war drum. This is wrong. This is sick.

I had to do something.

But what? What could a kid possibly do when all the adults had already failed? When the people meant to protect us had been reduced to empty husks, bowing before a man who saw us as nothing more than offerings?

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. Helplessness curled around me like chains, and yet—I refused to let it win. There had to be a way out. There had to be.

I scanned the dim chamber, my eyes darting across the weary faces surrounding me. Tobias met my gaze, his brow furrowed with worry, while Talia, though uncertain, held onto a flickering ember of resolve.

But the others—the slum rats huddled in corners, whispering prayers to gods who would never answer—had already surrendered to despair. It clung to them like a shroud, pressing down on their shoulders, stealing the fight from their bones.

No. We couldn't let it end like this. They needed something—someone—to believe in.

Then my gaze landed on the altar. A grotesque, misshapen thing of dark stone, standing at the center of the room like a monument to every soul lost before us. A symbol of submission. A symbol of death. But perhaps, tonight, it could become something else.

I turned to Tobias and Talia, gently pressing Elias into their arms. "Take care of him," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "No matter what happens."

They exchanged glances, uncertainty flashing between them like a silent conversation. Tobias was the first to speak. "What the hell are you planning, Rowan?"

I inhaled sharply, the weight of what I was about to do settling in my chest. "I'm going to get us out of here," I said, forcing a smirk. "Maybe."

And with that, I stepped forward, each stride carrying me toward the altar. Toward a gamble that could either set us free—or seal our fate.

Alright. I can do this. I have to.

I reached the altar, my fingers gripping the rough, uneven stone as I pulled myself up. The slum rats closest to me shot wary glances, their expressions torn between confusion and scorn. Some looked at me like I had lost my mind.

But I didn't care.

Because when everyone else fails, when no one steps up—who else is there to lean on but myself?

Standing tall on the altar, I let my gaze sweep across the room. Dozens of faces, drained of hope, haunted by the same fate that awaited them all. Their eyes, dull and resigned, mirrored a truth none of us wanted to face: we were already dead if we accepted this.

I took a breath, one last deep inhale before I spoke.

"Listen to me! All of you!"

My voice rang out, not as strong as I wanted, but loud enough. Some heads turned, their curiosity outweighing their despair for just a moment. Then came the whispers.

"What is this kid doing?""Now's not the time to play hero."

I shoved the doubt aside and forced myself to press on, my voice stronger this time.

"I know you're scared. I know you're confused. You're waiting for someone to tell you what's happening, waiting for someone to save you."

That struck something. I could see it in the way their shoulders tensed, in the flickers of unease that ran through them. They were listening now, but I needed more.

I let my voice rise, pouring everything into my next words.

"But look around! No one is coming! No one is going to save us—except us!"

That did it. Heads snapped toward me, every single person now locked onto my words.

"You think Father Gideon brought us here to help us? You think the Watchers keep us locked up because they care? No! They see us as nothing more than bodies to throw onto their altar! They will not stop until every single one of us is dead!"

A ripple ran through the crowd, some whispering amongst themselves. A few nods, hesitant but real.

"They dragged five away already! Five people who should be standing here with us! And they're not coming back!" I paused, letting the weight of that settle. Then I drove the knife deeper.

"Who do you think will be next? You? Your friend? That little girl clinging to her mother's arm?"

Silence. Tense, suffocating silence. I saw their eyes move now, looking at each other, at their children, at their neighbors. Realization. Fear. And beneath that—anger.

"That's what they want! They want us weak. They want us scared. They want us to kneel and accept death like obedient cattle!"

A voice broke through the crowd.

"Yeah! Fuck them!"

The shift was palpable. Their posture changed, their whispers turned into muttered agreements. And I felt it—this spark of power, this intoxicating weight of their attention pressing down on me. They were listening. They were looking to me.

I'd never had that before. Not like this. It was intoxicating.

I caught Talia's expression—eyes wide, disbelief etched into every line of her face. Tobias stood beside her, his mouth slightly open, stunned. But it wasn't just surprise I saw in him. There was something else, something lurking beneath the surface. A flicker of something deeper, darker.

Resentment?

I didn't have time to think about it.

I had them now, and I wouldn't waste it.

"Well, I refuse."

I let the words hang, solid and unshakable.

"I refuse to be another body on their altar. I refuse to let them decide when I die. And I refuse to let them take any more of us without a fight!"

I could hear it now—the sound of people shifting, standing taller, fists clenching.

I swept my gaze over them, letting my next words ring with conviction.

"We outnumber them! We may be weak, but there are more of us than there are of them! If we strike together, if we rise up, if we fight—we can win! We can take back our lives, our freedom! We can take back our future!"

The air crackled with tension. The despair that had choked this room moments ago was unraveling, breaking apart into something new—something dangerous.

I clenched my fists, the rush of it all surging through me. I had them. I fucking had them.

"So I ask you now—are you going to sit here and wait for death? Or will you stand and fight with me?!"

The chamber erupted.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

The chant rolled through the room like a storm, a tidal wave of voices rising together. People pushed forward, no longer prisoners—no longer victims.

Tobias was still staring at me, his fists clenched tight at his sides, something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time in my life, I was no longer the kid scrapping by in the slums.

I was something more.