Tarrow and his crew weren’t subtle.

  There were seven of us, moving through the streets with the kind of swagger that drew every suspicious eye from every patrol we passed. Most of them had been drinking, voices carrying louder than they should’ve, boots clapping against the cobblestones like they owned the place. I didn’t complain - a man standing out was one thing. A man standing out in the middle of this crowd? That would have been suspicious.

  We took the slope westward, into the deeper veins of the Outer Rim.

  Overhead, train lines cut through the skyline, iron tracks laid across bridges that connected rooftops. Steam engines rattled along them, their undersides dripping hot condensation that rained down in oily droplets. From the shadows of narrow alleyways, whole families watched us pass. Children were packed in windows too small for breathing, their eyes wide but unblinking, like they were waiting for something to snap.

  The patrols noticed us. Soldiers leaned on their rifles as we passed, eyes narrowed beneath the brim of their caps. Nobody stopped us - but the suspicion followed, heavy as the fog rolling in from the Valga.

  This was Morren. A city that never stopped working, never stopped bleeding, never stopped watching.

  Tarrow walked beside me, mug of cheap liquor still in his fist. His cheeks were red, but his eyes were sharp.

  “You know what we need?” he said suddenly. “We need what happened in the East.”

  I glanced sideways at him. “You mean the revolution.”

  He grinned, teeth yellow in the lamplight. “Damn right. You seen it? The reports? They’ve got rights now. Real rights. Fair work, fair pay. They’re a republic, brother. Equal men under one banner. None o’ this bowing to prancing nobles. No kissing the Emperor’s boots.”

  I kept my voice careful. “Sounds like a miracle.”

  “It is!” Tarrow shouted, drawing another round of stares from a patrol as we turned the corner. “A bloody miracle! That’s what Halrigg preaches. He says we can have that too. All it takes is backbone. You hear me? Backbone. The movements churning beneath the surface, waitin' for Halrigg to take the first strike.”

  I forced a nod. “It couldn't come any sooner.”

  Inside, I wasn’t convinced. Revolutions didn’t come wrapped in ribbons and promises. If the East had survived, it was only because they traded one master for another. But undercover, agreement was easier than argument.

  Tarrow studied me a moment, his voice dropping quieter. “People are scared of Halrigg, you know. The nobles, the soldiers, even the damn Regent. They’re scared. ’Cause if they kill him, he becomes a martyr. And Halrigg knows it. He’s untouchable.”

  I tilted my head as I stared at the sky, the stars starting to become visible now. “Then maybe he’s the man Morren needs.”

  Tarrow slapped my shoulder, almost spilling his mug. “That’s the spirit.”

  We walked in silence for a time after that, boots crunching against grit. The air grew colder as we neared the river, fog rolling in thick and damp. The sound of waves crashing against steel hulls rose above the clatter of our steps, salt coating the air.

  And then the lights appeared.

  The docks stretched wide before us - a forest of cranes looming against the night sky, their silhouettes skeletal and hulking. Ships crowded the riverbanks, their blackened hulls wet with condensation. Steam belched from chimneys, gears clanked, pulleys screeched. The air stank of brine, oil, and sweat.

  One vessel lay half-submerged in a dry dock, scaffolding rising around it like the bones of a cathedral. Its hull gleamed with riveted plates, sharp lines cut into the steel. A warship, maybe. Or something close.

  I slowed to admire it.

  The Empire’s machines were advancing faster than I could keep up with. Each year, new designs, new weapons, new engines - but here in Morren, it barely changed. The workers built the bones, but the marrow never stayed. The best was always shipped off to the capital, and Morren was left with the scraps.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Technology climbs higher every year,” I murmured.

  Tarrow spat at the ground. “Not for us. We’re not men to them. We’re fuel. Lambs for the slaughter. Why waste machines on lambs?”

  I gave a slow nod, watching the crane’s shadow crawl across the water.

  And wondered what kind of machines the capital hid.

  The path led us deeper into the shipyards, until the crowds thickened. Hundreds of men gathered in knots, some laughing, others whispering sharp words. The smell of alcohol and sweat mixed with smoke from braziers burning along the walls. Workers shoved through gaps, dragging their friends, pulling their wives. I counted nearly a thousand before we even reached the main yard.

  At the centre loomed the shipbuilding hangar - massive, its roof a ribcage of iron beams. Inside, floodlamps glared off the steel skeleton of a nearly finished ship. The crowd surged toward it, swallowed by the yawning entrance.

  Tarrow grabbed my sleeve. “This is it. Biggest gathering we’ve had. You’ll see for yourself.”

  I gave him a small smile. “Looking forward to it.”

  He grinned, teeth flashing, and then slipped into the throng.

  Leaving me.

  Good.

  I followed the tide inside, the sound of boots and voices echoing against steel walls.

  ---

  At first, I thought it was chaos. But as the crowd settled, I saw order beneath the noise. Men clustered tight in the open space before the ship’s hull, faces turned toward the scaffolding above. That was where they stood - five figures silhouetted by the floodlamps, the beams cutting their shadows long across the crowd.

  Four of them were giants. Bearded, scarred, arms like tree trunks. Their boots clanged heavy against the walkway as they shifted, hands never far from the tools hanging from their belts. Protectors, plain as day.

  The fifth was younger. Slighter. Mid-twenties, maybe. His face was lean, his beard little more than stubble. But the scars on his arms betrayed years of labour, and the way the others flanked him told me all I needed to know.

  Halrigg.

  The man himself.

  He didn’t need to shout to command attention. The room quieted before he even spoke.

  A man hurried up the scaffolding stairs and whispered into his ear. Halrigg nodded once, then raised something in his hand.

  A gemstone. Dull and grey.

  He tapped it against the railing. The sound reverberated, amplified by unseen Aetheris, spreading through the shipyard like a bell toll.

  I watched attentively.

  An Aetheris gemstone? Seems as though they're more organised than I thought, if they can get their hands on one of those...

  Silence followed.

  “Brothers,” Halrigg said, his voice carried by the stone, smooth and measured, seeping with intelligence. “Sisters. Tonight… tonight I see more of you than I ever have. Tonight, we are not a handful of tired workers. We are not beggars. We are not lambs. Tonight… we are a force.”

  The crowd murmured agreement, some grunting in agreement.

  Halrigg continued, pacing slowly along the railing, his voice rising in strength.

  “They call us rabble. Vermin. Replaceable. But look around you. Do you see vermin here? Do you see weakness? No. You see the lifeblood of Morren. The blood that keeps the nobles’ carriages rolling, their mansions lit, their tables overflowing. Without us, this city dies. Without us, the Empire dies.”

  The murmurs turned to cheers.

  I kept my hands in my pockets, my eyes sharp.

  Halrigg leaned forward, voice lower now, drawing the crowd with him.

  “They don’t want you to know the truth. They don’t want you to hear what’s happening beyond their walls. But I’ll say it anyway. After all these years, we finally have confirmation...”

  He paused.

  “The people of the Eastern Empire are free.”

  Gasps rippled through the yard. Men exchanged wide-eyed glances. The guards shifted uneasily, hands brushing their belts.

  Halrigg’s smile was razor-thin. “Yes. The people of the East have broken their chains. No more nobles, no more Emperor’s whip. They call themselves a Republic now. Equal men. Equal women. Real work for real pay. No more bowing. No more begging.”

  The cheers this time shook the scaffolding. Fists slammed against steel.

  I stayed still, though my pulse quickened.

  He’s saying it openly. He's pretty confident, isn't he?

  It didn't cross my mind that the day after the massacre in the Noble district, Halrigg had his biggest turnout and had received confirmation of the revolution in the Eastern Empire.

  I also heavily doubted it was a coincidence.

  My eyes narrowed, watching as he smiled confidently as the people below shouted his praise.

  Halrigg raised a hand, and the noise ebbed. His voice thundered again.

  “The Emperor forbids the word. The nobles forbid the word. But I will say it anyway. Those in the east call themselves the Syndicalists. And their voices cannot be silenced, and nor shall ours.”

  This time, the cheer was deafening.

  I let my gaze flick across the crowd, memorizing faces, counting exits.

  Halrigg’s tone softened. “Change will come, brothers and sisters. Change will come whether they like it or not. Whether the capital shudders or the nobles tremble, it will come. Not a question of if. Only when.”

  His hand struck the railing with a final clang.

  “And when it does, we will not kneel.”

  The crowd roared.

  I stayed quiet, eyes fixed on Halrigg. His scars were real, his voice sharp, his posture unshaken.

  And behind it all, I thought of Tarrow’s words.

  If they kill him, he’s a martyr. And Halrigg knows it.

  I exhaled through my nose, slipping deeper into the crowd as the chants rose.

  “Not a matter of if,” I muttered. “Only when.”