Chapter 8: Underground Rising

The new safehouse wasn't much.

Two rooms.

Concrete walls.

No plumbing.

The power flickered when it worked at all.

But it was quiet.

And that mattered.

We stayed underground for three days.

Echo rotated guard shifts. I fixed the broken gear. Delryn came and went without warning, feeding us what intel she could scrape from inside the League.

We slept in shifts.

Ate whatever didn't expire.

And waited.

But something was changing.

You could feel it in the silence between us.

We weren't just hiding anymore.

We were preparing.

It started with a knock.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

Just three steady raps on the steel door.

Echo drew her weapon instantly. I stepped beside her, hands glowing faintly. Delryn nodded and flanked the side.

No one said a word.

The knocks came again.

Three.

Then two.

Then one.

Echo paused. Lowered her hand.

"Let them in."

I didn't know the code.

But she did.

The door creaked open.

Three people stepped inside.

Dusty. Tired. Armed.

The tallest was a woman with a buzz cut and scars down her neck. The others—a young man with cybernetic eyes and a girl who looked barely sixteen—followed behind her.

They didn't speak until the door shut again.

Then the woman said, "We're in."

Echo hugged her.

It was the first time I'd seen her do that with anyone.

"Reese," she said, smiling faintly. "Took you long enough."

"Had to cross through two patrol zones," Reese replied. "Lost a runner on the way."

She looked at me.

"So. You're the spark."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"That's what people are calling you. The kid who lit up Riverside and escaped two League sweeps. The one with the hands."

I glanced at Echo.

"Does she talk about me like that often?"

Reese laughed. "Only when she's mad."

The girl—small, silent—stepped forward and handed me a folded paper.

I opened it.

It was a map.

Our city.

Marked with red circles.

Dozens of them.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Cells," Reese said. "People like us. Small groups. Isolated. Quiet. Most of them are afraid to move."

"And now?"

"They're listening."

We sat around a table made from two crates and a stolen sign.

Reese spread out the map and placed small metal chips on the marked zones.

"These are all confirmed powered individuals not registered with the League or claimed by the Rogues. Most have gone dark. A few are watching to see which way the wind blows."

"They've seen what the League's doing," Delryn said. "But they're waiting to see if someone else steps up."

"They don't want another war," Echo added.

I looked at them.

And said what we were all thinking.

"But they'll fight if they have to."

That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.

The air smelled like rust and electricity.

My hands buzzed faintly—always now. Like the power was breathing just under the surface.

The truth hit me harder than I expected.

People were watching.

Waiting.

Not just to see if I survived.

But to see if I'd lead.

I never wanted that.

But maybe I needed to.

The next day, we broadcasted.

Not wide.

Not public.

Just enough to reach the red zones on the map.

Delryn used a secure line buried in League protocols. Riven might have built it before he flipped.

Reese recorded the message.

But I was the voice.

"Most of you don't know me. That's fair. I didn't ask for this power. Didn't plan to get chased, hunted, or nearly turned into a public warning.

"But I know one thing. I'm not alone anymore.

"If you're watching this, it means you've seen what the League's become. You've seen the Rogues tear through cities without care. And maybe, like me, you thought you had to choose between two bad options.

"You don't.

"There's a third way. One that doesn't serve money or chaos. One that fights for people, not power.

"We're not soldiers. Not saints. Just people who got left behind.

"If that sounds like you… You know where to find us."

The response was fast.

Within hours, the pings started coming in.

Short. Disguised. Careful.

"Saw you."

"Following."

"You're not wrong."

"Tell me what to do."

Echo stared at the screen as the numbers grew.

"Whatever this is," she said, "it's moving now."

I nodded slowly.

"Then we'd better be ready to lead it."

Over the next few days, they came.

In twos. Threes.

Never groups larger than four.

They came with scars, with fear, with gear patched from scrapyards.

But they came.

One had wings.

One could move shadows.

One girl, not much older than ten, could stop time for half a second at a time—and it exhausted her for a day afterward.

We took them in.

We trained where we could.

We taught them the rules we had.

Few as they were.

Protect each other.

Move smart.

Don't show off.

And above all—don't trust anyone until they've earned it.

We weren't a force.

Not yet.

But we were becoming something.

A presence.

A question that kept League scanners busy and Rogue informants twitchy.

A spark.

Growing.

Echo started calling it "The Divide."

"I like that," I said.

"You should," she replied. "You started it."

But nothing good stays quiet long.

And soon, the response we feared came.

A warning scrawled into a city wall in heat-blasted black:

"The Divide Ends Here."

Signed with a lightning bolt inside a skull.

A mark I'd never seen before.

But Echo had.

Her face went pale.

"Who is it?" I asked.

She looked at me, her voice tight.

"A third side."