Tharon

THARON

I pressed deeper into the shadows, every instinct urging me to shield Niam. My Valti clawed at my control, demanding I protect my mate from these strangers with their sharp movements and sharper knives. But that would only make things worse. This wasn’t a situation I could solve with fangs and claws.

The words flowed around me in fragments, pieces I’d picked up over the days of travel listening to the women. Denna’s clipped accent differed from Mila’s softer tones, but both helped me understand the nuances of their human tongue. The language clicked together like puzzle pieces in my mind, different from the harsh consonants of my own people.

Niam’s shoulders tensed beneath the rough cloth of her disguise. She knew I understood more than I let on, but keeping that knowledge hidden gave us an advantage. If these humans thought I couldn’t comprehend their words, they might speak more freely.

My expression remained neutral as I caught more of their heated exchange. The human word for “girls” mixed with “ritual” and “sacrifice.” Each term sparked recognition from my hours of listening to Niam explain her past during our journey. The pieces fit together into an ugly truth I already knew.

“What do you mean, mate?” The twin with the knife - Ren - took a step forward. “That’s not possible.”

Mila lifted her chin. “It’s more than possible. It’s true. The Shakai have lived beyond Terr’s walls for generations while the priests kept us trapped inside, feeding us lies.”

“Shakai?” Serra’s eyes narrowed as she studied Ashur’s exposed features. “The beast men from the old stories?”

“Not beasts.” Mila’s voice softened. “People. Different from us, but people.”

The other twin - Pol - moved to flank his brother. “And you expect us to believe this creature saved you?”

“I expect you to trust me.” Mila didn’t back down. “The same way I trusted you to keep my workbench ready, even after the Temple took me.”

Both twins flinched. Serra’s hands twisted in her apron.

“How many daughters has the Temple stolen?” Niam asked quietly. “How many families torn apart while the priests claim divine right?”

“Too many.” Serra’s voice cracked. “Maya Wick lost both her girls last spring. The Randalls lost their youngest at midwinter. The Clarks...”

“And now we know why.” Mila caught her mother’s hands. “They’re not serving the gods, Mother. They’re being sacrificed to keep ancient machines running.”

I watched Serra’s face as the truth sank in. Calculation replaced shock as she glanced at the covered windows, the closed door.

“The other families need to know.” She straightened her spine. “But first - Pol, check the yard. Ren, bring food. These people look half-starved.”

The twins hesitated.

“Now, boys.”

They moved with the instant obedience of sons who knew that tone. As soon as they had left, Serra turned to Denna.

“Your family?”

“Fifth Ring.” Denna swallowed hard. “The Lehtla compound.”

“Markus Lehtla’s girl?” Serra nodded slowly. “I remember when they took you. He nearly started a riot.”

“Is he...” Denna couldn’t finish the question.

“Still alive. Still training warriors. Still cursing the Temple every chance he gets.” Serra’s lips curved. “The messenger network reaches Fifth Ring. We can get word to him.”

Hope blazed in Denna’s eyes. I knew that feeling - the desperate need to protect family. My own Valti growled approval as Pol returned to report the yard clear.

Ren followed with bread and meat, dried fruit, a jug of water. Simple food, but my stomach cramped at the smell. When had we last eaten properly?

“Eat.” Serra gestured at the rough wooden table. “Then we’ll talk.”

I noticed how she positioned herself between us and the door as we settled around the table. Smart woman. The twins took up guard positions without being told, boxing us in while maintaining the illusion of hospitality.

If this went wrong, getting out would be messy.

Niam’s shoulder pressed against mine as she reached for bread. The contact steadied me, reminding me why we were here. What was at stake.

“The Temple controls everything through fear,” she explained between careful bites. “They choose which families prosper, which ones suffer. Who lives, who dies. All in service to their machines.”

“I’ve never thought the selection process was random,” Mila added. “They take the strongest, the smartest. Girls who might cause trouble if left free.”

Serra’s face hardened. “Maya’s eldest - she was organizing the apprentices, demanding better conditions. A week later, she was chosen.”

“The Temple sees everything.” Niam set down her half-eaten bread. “The priests tap into ancient systems, monitoring every ring. But they’re losing control. The lightning strike weakened their grip. If we can reach the control center...”

A commotion outside cut her off. Boots on stairs, voices raised in greeting. The door burst open to reveal a tall man with graying hair and hard eyes. Behind him, a woman whose bearing marked her as a warrior even in civilian dress.

“Denna?” The woman’s voice broke.

“Mother?” Denna stumbled to her feet. “Father?”

I braced for violence as Markus Lehtla spotted me and my companions. But he had eyes only for his daughter, sweeping her into an embrace that lifted her off her feet.

“My little warrior.” His wife joined the embrace, all three crying openly now. “We thought we’d lost you forever.”

More families arrived, summoned by Serra’s hidden network. The Wicks - chandlers controlling Eight Ring’s information, the Randalls with their trade connections, and others - each bringing their own resources and grievances against the Temple. I cataloged faces and positions, noting how their haunted expressions transformed to hope as they realized they weren’t alone in their losses.

A web that could become either net or noose, depending on how the next few minutes played out.

“Tell them.” Serra’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Tell them what you told me.”

Niam stood. My beast howled to pull her back to safety, but I forced myself still. This was her moment, her strength.

She told them everything. The truth behind the Temple’s power. The ancient ship that had once sailed between the stars, now buried beneath their city. The sacrifices made to keep it running. Her voice never wavered, even when describing horrors that made hardened workers flinch.

I watched hands curl into fists. Watched grief transform into rage. Watched hope kindle in eyes that had known only fear.

“The Temple must fall.” Maya Wick’s voice rasped with old pain. “But how?”

“We have a plan.” Mila stepped forward, her mother’s protective stance mirroring my own instincts. “But we need help.”

Maya Wick’s scarred hands twisted in her apron. “What kind of help?”

“Distractions.” Mila’s voice dropped lower, forcing everyone to lean in. “Multiple points of chaos while we penetrate the Temple’s defenses.”

“The guards will slaughter anyone who stands against them.” The male twin - Pol? - shifted his weight. “We’ve seen it before.”

“Not if they’re chasing shadows.” Denna touched the hidden weapons beneath her disguise. “My father trained me well before the Temple took me. I know their patterns, their weaknesses.”

“And I know their secrets.” Niam raised her chin. “The priests rely as much on fear as force. Break that fear...”

“Break their power.” Serra finished the thought, calculation replacing doubt in her eyes. “The messenger network reaches every ring. We can spread word without raising suspicion - the chandlers’ boys collecting tallow, the brewers’ girls delivering ale.”

The Randall patriarch - a bear of a man with hide-toughened hands - cleared his throat. “What exactly are you planning?”

I let Mila outline the basics while I studied reactions. The families’ initial shock had hardened into something dangerous - the slow-burning rage of people who’d lost too much for too long. Good. We could use that.

“The sewers connect every ring.” Ren traced old routes on a scrap of leather. “Maintenance tunnels from the founding. Some closed off, some forgotten...”

“But not by us.” His twin finished the thought. “We use them to move goods past the tax collectors.”

Sarah Wick - the eldest of the chandler sisters - nodded. “Our people know every passage. We can plant false trails, lead the guards on endless chases.”

“While keeping the real target hidden.” Maya’s voice carried the weight of personal vengeance. “But what about the Temple’s machines? Their eyes are everywhere.”

“Not anymore.” Niam’s quiet confidence drew every eye. “The lightning strike damaged more than they admit. Their control is slipping. If we time this right...”

“The Barrel Boys can help.” Renna Malton stepped forward, brewery ledger clutched to her chest. “They’re loyal, strong. Used to working in the dark.”

I caught the subtle signals passing between family heads - eye contact, tiny nods, shoulders straightening. These weren’t just craft workers anymore. This was an army forming before my eyes.

“We’ll need supplies.” Serra’s practical tone cut through rising whispers. “Medicine. Weapons. Places to hide anyone who gets caught.”

“The Lehtla compound has hidden rooms.” Markus touched his daughter’s shoulder. “And enough warriors to make the guards think twice about searching too closely.”

“My leather workers can outfit everyone.” Old Man Grell spoke for the first time, voice rusty with disuse. “Dark clothes, sturdy boots. Nothing to draw attention.”

The planning spiraled outward, each family adding their specialty to the whole.

My warrior’s instincts approved of their efficiency, even as my Valti bristled at involving so many unknowns. But I’d learned to trust Niam’s judgment. These were her people, in their own way. They’d suffered under the same oppression that had nearly broken her.

“Three days.” Mila’s voice cut through the planning. “We need everything in place by then. The Temple’s choosing ceremony...”

“No.” Maya’s hands knotted in her apron. “Not again. Not this time.”

The room hummed with agreement. I watched Serra gather her thoughts, seeing the command presence that had kept this tannery running despite everything the Temple had stolen from her.

“Sarah, spread word through your chandler’s network. Maya, coordinate with the brewers. Get your people in position. Markus...”

“My warriors will be ready.” His scarred hand rested on Denna’s shoulder. “Just point us at the target.”

The families dispersed in careful groups, acting as if it were just another business day. Only Serra's inner circle remained - the twins flanking their mother, Markus and his wife conferring in low voices, Maya studying building plans with fierce concentration.

“Will it be enough?” Niam’s whisper carried only to my enhanced hearing.

I grasped her hand, hidden in the folds of our rough clothing. “It will have to be.”

“The Wicks will spread word tonight.” Maya checked the angle of the sun through high windows. “By morning, every family in Eight Ring will know their part.”

“Not the full plan.” Serra cautioned. “Just enough to be ready when the signal comes.”

“And the signal?” Markus asked.

Mila smiled. “Trust me. You’ll know it when you see it.”

The planning continued as afternoon faded toward evening. I memorized each detail, marking potential weak points and backup routes. We could only afford one attempt at this. If we failed...

No. Failure meant watching Niam dragged back to that hell. My Valti snarled at the mere thought.

We would not fail.

The twins slipped away first, returning to their work in the yard. Then Maya, heading for her chandlery with messages hidden in her basket. Markus and his wife left separately, taking different paths back to Fifth Ring.

“Rest while you can.” Serra touched Mila’s cheek. “There’s a hidden room below the second vat. It’s tight, but dry.”

“Thank you.” Niam’s gratitude encompassed more than just shelter.

The hidden room proved larger than expected, though the chemical smell remained strong. Rough pallets lined one wall, with sealed containers of water and dried food stacked nearby.

“Mother plans for everything.” Mila’s smile held pride and old pain.

“Rest.” I guided Niam to the nearest pallet. “I’ll take first watch.”

She started to protest, then subsided. The strain of the past hours showed in the shadows beneath her eyes.

“Your own family...” I spoke softly. “Do you want to try finding them? Sending messages through the craft networks?”

Pain flashed across her face. “I don’t even remember what ring I came from. The Temple took everything - memories, name, identity. There’s no one left to find.”

I clasped her hands in mine. “You have me. You'll always have me.”

“Promise?”

“Until my last breath.” I pressed my forehead to hers. “And long after that.”

She leaned into me, letting me take some of her weight. Just for a moment, just until she had to be strong again.

“Wake me if anything changes?”

“Always.”

I settled into guard position, letting my enhanced senses track movement above. Workers called to each other, maintaining normal routines while revolution sparked beneath their feet.

Niam’s breathing evened out into sleep. Mila and Denna followed, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Three days to turn these crafter families into an effective fighting force. Three days to coordinate attacks across multiple rings. Three days to prepare for everything that could go wrong.

I’d led armies before, but this was different. These weren’t warriors bound by oath and training. These were ordinary people choosing to risk everything for a chance at freedom.

My Valti nature understood that kind of desperate courage. The need to protect what was precious, no matter the cost.

I thought of Serra’s fierce embrace of her daughter. Maya’s hands knotted in her apron as she spoke of lost children. The twins’ synchronized movements, watching each other’s backs without conscious thought.

Yes. These people would fight. Not with a warrior’s discipline, but with the bone-deep stubbornness that had kept their crafts alive through generations of Temple control.

Niam stirred in her sleep, reaching for something only she could see. I touched her shoulder, gentling the dream.

Three days.

We would be ready.