They’re watching me.
Waiting.
I take a step forward, and the nearest ones shift slightly—not backing away, but leaning in. Like they’re afraid I might disappear if they blink.
My throat tightens.
“I didn’t expect you to stay.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, but it carries in the stillness. “Not all of you. Maybe a handful. Maybe none.”
A few heads tilt. Some exchange glances.
“Some of you have been enslaved for the last five years,” I continue, taking another step. The Ether rises around me without me calling it, silver mist wrapping around my ankles, my wrists. “The rest of you taught that safety means staying hidden. Staying silent. Staying small.”
I pause, letting the words settle.
“And you stayed anyway.”
Silence.
Then someone near the front—a woman with dark hair and tired eyes—nods once.
That’s all it takes.
I feel something crack open in my chest.
“You were told you were lesser.” My voice grows steadier now, louder. “Tools. Feeders. Shadows in someone else’s story. Dangerous because you needed what others freely gave—connection, touch, life.”
The mist pulses brighter.
“They made you believe you were broken. That your hunger made you weak. That you deserved to be cast out, controlled, or killed.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. Agreement. Pain. Recognition.
I let it settle before I speak again.
“But look around you.”
I gesture to the Sanctuary—the rebuilt walls, the gardens coming back to life, the Oath Chamber glowing faintly in the distance.
“You built this. Not me. Everything we’ve done here, every root planted, every oath sworn—that was you. Every heartbeat of this place exists because you chose it.”
The woman in front lifts her chin slightly. Others straighten.
“The Council calls you dangerous,” I say, voice dropping lower but harder, “because you now remember what they made you forget.”
I pause.
“Your worth.”
The Ether flares.
Silver light spreads outward from where I stand, tracing along the veins in the ground that glow brighter with every word.
“They’re coming.” I don’t look away from the crowd. “Right now. To take this from you. To tell you that you don’t belong here. That you never did. That I have no right to offer you sanctuary.”
The air thickens, every heartbeat syncing to mine.
Thunder rumbles faintly in the distance.
