Chapter 188: Ashes That Dreamed of Tomorrow
The streets of the city were no longer streets.
They were veins of chaos, pumping the lifeblood of rebellion through every broken alley and shattered square.
Fred and Lilia moved carefully, cloaked in the smoke and screams that clouded the world around them.
The air tasted of metal and sorrow.
Ash rained down like cursed snow, settling into the folds of Fred's cloak and the tangles of Lilia's hair.
And yet, amid the destruction, there was an undeniable pulse—an energy that refused to die.
Hope.
A stubborn, reckless, beautiful kind of hope.
---
They reached a small courtyard tucked behind the old clocktower, where a dozen or so familiar faces had gathered.
Tielen, bruised and bloodied but still smiling that sly, reckless smile, clapped Fred on the back so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
"About time you showed up, hero," Tielen said, grinning even through a split lip.
Maggy was there too, wiping soot from her freckled face, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief despite the chaos.
"You sure know how to make an entrance, Fred," she teased, though the tremor in her voice betrayed how relieved she was to see him.
Jackim stood a little apart, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze calculating but warm.
"You brought the sword," he said simply.
Fred nodded.
The blade on his back felt heavier than iron and lighter than thought all at once.
"Good," Jackim said. "We're going to need it."
Nearby, Comfort, Wendy, Linet, and even Peter and Sophie worked together, organizing the growing crowd of rebels—people of all ages and trades who had thrown away their fear in favor of something braver.
It was messy, desperate, chaotic.
It was glorious.
---
Suddenly, a figure came barreling into the courtyard, nearly toppling over.
It was Paul—the clumsiest, most well-meaning soul Fred had ever known.
His face was flushed, and his hair stuck up wildly in every direction.
"They're coming!" he panted. "The royal guards—they're headed this way with those... those metal beasts!"
Everyone froze.
Tielen cursed under his breath.
Maggy muttered something about "stupid machines."
Fred felt the world slow down around him.
He stepped forward, sword drawn.
"We stand," he said quietly but with a steel that even the bravest in the courtyard hadn't heard from him before.
"We stand here. We stand together."
A cheer rose—shaky at first, then stronger.
Weapons were drawn.
Makeshift barricades were hastily thrown up.
The wounded were pulled to the center, protected by circles of determined fighters.
And then... they came.
The metal beasts were enormous, lumbering constructs of iron and steam, piloted by soldiers clad in black armor.
Their footfalls shook the ground, and their weapons gleamed wickedly in the smoke.
Fred's heart pounded so loudly he thought it might drown out the roar of the machines.
Lilia stood beside him, her daggers flashing like twin stars.
Maggy laughed in that wild way she had when things were at their worst.
Jackim cracked his knuckles.
Tielen kissed the lucky coin he always carried.
Wendy, Linet, Peter, Sophie, and all the others prepared themselves, a ragtag army of misfits and dreamers.
And Fred, young Fred who had once been too scared to even dream, lifted his sword high.
The blade burst into brilliant blue light.
The metal beasts hesitated.
And Fred charged.
---
The battle was madness.
Explosions tore through the air, rattling Fred's teeth in his skull.
Blades clanged against armor.
Screams, shouts, the mechanical roar of engines—it was a symphony of chaos.
Fred fought like a man possessed.
The sword seemed to move on its own, parrying, striking, protecting.
Wherever he went, the rebels found new strength, standing taller, fighting harder.
He saw Lilia darting through the legs of one beast, cutting vital lines with surgical precision.
He heard Maggy's joyous laughter as she swung from a streetlamp, landing squarely on a guard's helmet with a clang.
Tielen, reckless as always, leapt onto one of the beasts' backs, planting explosives with a cackle.
Wendy and Linet coordinated the defenses with cool-headed brilliance, directing people even as chaos raged.
Peter accidentally set his own cloak on fire but kept fighting anyway, slapping at the flames and stabbing wildly.
Paul tripped over a cannon, accidentally firing it straight into one of the beasts' engines, causing it to explode in a glorious, accidental victory.
Fred could have wept at the sheer madness and beauty of it all.
---
Hours later, when the sun began to bleed red into the smoke-filled sky, the last of the metal beasts fell.
The courtyard was a ruin.
Bodies lay still, both friend and foe.
Ash and blood soaked the cracked stones.
Fred fell to his knees, exhausted beyond words.
Lilia collapsed beside him, laughing weakly.
"We lived," she said, grinning.
"For now," Fred murmured.
Tielen dropped beside them, tossing an apple he had somehow stolen during the fight into Fred's lap.
"Breakfast of champions," he said, winking.
Fred bit into the apple without hesitation, the sweet juice running down his chin.
It tasted like victory.
It tasted like survival.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Fred allowed himself to hope.
Maybe—just maybe—they could still build a world worth dreaming about.
Even from the ashes.
Even from the sorrow.
Even from the wreckage of all they had lost.
Because dreams, like rebellions, were hard to kill.
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