Before everything happened—

  before the cages, before Denzel, before blood on dirt and a spear tearing the world in half—

  Riven and I sat on the shelter roof.

  We didn’t do that often.

  Roofs in Low Tier Seven weren’t meant for people. They weren’t flat or safe or maintained. They were warped sheets of patched metal and cracked stone, sloped just enough to be annoying, sharp enough to cut if you weren’t careful. Most nights, they were slick with condensation or grit, and climbing up there meant risking a fall no one would bother to investigate.

  But that night, something felt… different.

  I remember thinking the air was clearer than usual.

  Not clean — nothing ever really was — but thinner somehow, like the city had loosened its grip just a little. The murk that usually smothered the sky had thinned, peeled back in ragged layers, revealing something deeper beneath.

  Stars.

  Real ones.

  They were scattered unevenly, some bright enough to punch through the haze, others faint and trembling, like they were afraid to be seen. The moon hung low and full, its light pale and distant, washing the rooftops in silver and shadow.

  I remember thinking it looked like magic.

  Riven sat beside me, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. He’d gone quiet a while ago — not the tense kind of quiet that meant anger or hunger, but something softer. Thoughtful.

  The city breathed below us.

  Distant clanks.

  A muffled shout.

  The low, endless hum of a place that never truly slept.

  I leaned back on my elbows and stared up.

  “I love the stars,” Riven said suddenly.

  I glanced at him. “That’s… kind of random.”

  He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed on the sky.

  “Why the stars?” I asked.

  Riven was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “They’re bright.”

  I snorted softly. “Great insight.”

  He huffed, but there was no bite in it. “No. I mean… really bright. Not like anything else down here.”

  I followed his gaze again.

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  “They’re far away,” he continued. “And they don’t care about us. They’re not choking on smoke or stepping over bodies or counting rations. They’re just… there.”

  I swallowed.

  “Nothing else in this place is like that,” Riven said. “Nothing’s happy. Nothing’s clean.”

  The word clean landed harder than it should have.

  “I think I’d like to hold one,” he added quietly.

  I turned my head. “A star?”

  “Yeah.”

  I smiled despite myself. “That’s impossible.”

  Riven tilted his head slightly. “They say anything’s possible for the Awakened.”

  I hesitated. “Who says that?”

  He shrugged. “Tim. From Tier Six. He’s got an uncle who’s a guard.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Tim lies.”

  “Maybe,” Riven allowed. “But his uncle went into the wilds once. With Mr. Veyne.”

  That name always carried weight.

  “They say he’s like a god,” Riven went on. “That he just… willed it. Tree roots came out of the ground and killed dozens of monsters. Real monsters.”

  I pictured it.

  Power without effort.

  The world bending because someone asked it to.

  “That’s just stories,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

  Riven finally looked at me.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  I frowned. “Why are you getting all sappy?”

  He smiled faintly. “Just… you know I do. Right?”

  My chest tightened.

  “Of course I do,” I said quickly. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “We’re brothers,” Riven said. “In everything that matters.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Since Mom took you in.”

  He swallowed.

  “From then,” he said. “To now.”

  Something in his tone made my stomach twist.

  “Riven,” I said, sitting up. “Why are you talking like something bad’s going to happen?”

  He looked away again.

  “We’ll be fine,” I said, more firmly. “I know it’s hard right now, but if we keep working—maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe we’ll awaken.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Or maybe we’ll get picked up as enforcers,” I added. “That’s still a way out.”

  Riven laughed.

  It was sharp. Bitter.

  “So we can keep people like us in line?” he asked. “Same way they kept us?”

  I frowned. “That’s not—”

  “Do you really want to keep the cycle going?” he pressed. “Hate. Pain. Fear. Just… handed down?”

  “What else is there?” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I want Mom out there patching walls?”

  My voice cracked.

  “If those inner-tier bastards weren’t so selfish,” I went on, words tumbling out, “maybe she wouldn’t have to work extra detail. Everyone knows the walls barely hold anything back. We’re sixteen, Riven. Even we know that.”

  He was silent.

  “The Veynes,” he said softly. “The inner tiers. The guards. The enforcers. Even the tallymen.”

  His hands clenched.

  “They’re all filth, Kael.”

  I didn’t argue.

  “I hate it here,” Riven whispered.

  The city hummed below us.

  “Why couldn’t I just be a star?”

  I turned then.

  Really looked at him.

  He looked… tired.

  Not hungry-tired. Not beaten-tired.

  Something deeper.

  Like a leaf falling from a tree that hadn’t noticed winter yet.

  There was a tear on his cheek.

  Just one.

  I’d never seen him cry since Mom died.

  “Riven,” I murmured.

  My voice felt thick.

  “Riven?”

  The world shook.

  The stars smeared.

  The moon fractured.

  “Riven—I’m gonna—” My throat hitched. “I’m gonna get you a star. Right from the night sky.”

  I smiled.

  Then I woke up screaming.

  “RIVEN!”

  I shot upright, heart slamming so hard it hurt, breath tearing out of my lungs in jagged gasps. Pain flared everywhere at once — ribs, shoulders, head — but I barely noticed.

  I wasn’t on a roof.

  I was in a depression of rock and earth, walls rising unevenly around me. A creek whispered nearby, water flowing over stone. Firelight flickered weakly against the ravine walls, painting them orange and gold.

  Footsteps.

  I spun sharply.

  “Riven—!”

  Relief surged so hard I nearly laughed.

  “Thank god,” I started—

  Christ stepped into view, arms full of firewood.

  My smile died.

  Time stopped.

  The world went quiet except for the creek.

  My chest caved in.

  “It wasn’t a dream,” I whispered.

  Christ set the logs down slowly.

  Exhaled.

  “No.”

  The word crushed me.

  I folded in on myself, tears coming quietly, helplessly, like my body had been holding them back until now and couldn’t anymore.

  Somewhere far above us, the stars kept shining.

  And one of them was gone forever.