Souls Below - Rebellion

Chapter Thirty

Jerard stormed up to Strem’s workshop, the metal door crashing open and slamming against the wall as he barged inside.

“Where is she!?” he bellowed. Strem looked up from his workbench, one brow raised in calm disapproval.

“You break my shop, you fix it,” he rumbled, voice low and gravelly. Jerard slammed a fist down on the bench, tools jumping from the impact.

“Your boy filled her head with ideas about the agriculture district. He’s the reason they were even there to begin with!” Strem stood, wiping grease-stained hands on a rag as he squared his shoulders.

“Don’t pin this all on my boy, Jerard. That girl’s been nothing but fire since the day you dragged her in.”

Jerard leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Mira, Krane, and that Upper—Calian—they’re all missing. You telling me they haven’t gone back to the restricted sector?” Strem’s gaze flicked to the side, toward the door that led to his home.

“I spoke to Krane not an hour ago,” he muttered, but the certainty had drained from his voice. Jerard scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration simmering beneath his skin. He should’ve gone straight to the restricted sector. The gut feeling had been there—he just hadn’t listened.

“An hour’s all it takes for those kids to get themselves into real trouble, Strem. You know that better than anyone.” Strem’s expression darkened. Jerard continued, voice sharp with urgency.

“And now that they know there’s something hidden in that sector, you think they’ll stop? Curiosity’ll get them killed. By the time they figure anything out, it’ll be too damn late.”

Strem moved quickly, striding to the inner door and bellowing Krane’s name. Silence answered. No footsteps. No smart remark. Nothing.

Strem’s jaw clenched as realization set in.

“They’re gone,” Jerard said grimly.

“We need to get there before—” A thunderous boom shook the ground beneath their feet, rattling the tools on the workbench. Dust drifted from the rafters as a deep, echoing shockwave rolled through the street.

The two men froze. Then looked at each other.

“An explosion?” Strem asked, voice tight. They didn’t need to say it.

“The rebels,” they said in unison. Jerard spun toward the open doorway, his gaze catching on the rising column of smoke in the distance. He bolted for it.

“They are not getting their hands on Mira,” he growled over his shoulder. “If this starts a war—have everyone ready!”

Strem didn’t argue. He disappeared inside as Jerard raced toward the smoke, praying he wasn’t too late.

~*~

Dirt, grit, and debris clung to my skin as I slowly pushed myself up, ears ringing and head pounding. I blinked through the haze, trying to focus, my vision blurred and swimming with dust. Shapes slowly came into view—bodies scattered across the street, unmoving. The building to my right had been ripped open, a jagged hole gaping in its side, small fires flickering inside like dying embers.

My hand drifted to my head, fingers brushing through grime and blood. Bits of memory started to return.

I’d been running. The guards were chasing me. I’d tried to buy Calian and Krane time to escape. Then… I’d been cornered—guns drawn, demands shouted. Papers. ID. I rubbed my arm, remembering the rough grip that had yanked it behind my back, the needle prick as they took blood after finding no chip.

Groaning, I turned my head. The commander lay crumpled near a wall, blood streaming from a cut on his temple. He didn’t move. The whistle echoed in my memory—long and low, a sound that sent a chill through the air. The rebels.

‘Had they caused the explosion?’

I tried to stand. Pain split up my side like fire, stealing the air from my lungs. I collapsed back to the ground, gasping, hand clutching my ribs. When I lifted it, it came away slick with blood.

The world tilted.

Voices reached me—distant, distorted. The crunch of boots on broken concrete. Shouts echoed off the ruined walls, but I couldn’t make out the words. My eyes refused to stay open. A small, broken sound escaped me as someone lifted me from the ground, the motion sending pain ricocheting through every nerve.

I couldn’t fight it anymore.

The darkness pulled me under.

~*~

My dreams…

… The usual pristine city that haunted my dreams was gone—replaced by shadowy hallways that stretched endlessly, vanishing into darkness. My footsteps echoed through the silence, each one tightening the grip of fear on my chest. A strange familiarity stirred in the back of my mind as I walked. I recognized this place. The glass windows lining the corridor were empty, swallowed in inky blackness—as though whatever had once existed beyond them had been erased, forgotten.

A scuttling sound behind me made my breath hitch. I spun around, pulse thundering in my ears—but the hall was empty. Still, the air felt wrong, heavy with the weight of something watching. Panic scratched at the edges of my mind, whispering danger. I forced myself to keep moving, peering into the windows for any hint of what lay behind the glass.

Another sound—closer this time—echoed to my right. I turned, and my heart dropped.

A small girl stood in the previously empty hallway.

I flinched back, slamming into the cold glass behind me. Pain flared through my shoulder, but I barely noticed it. She didn’t move. Her calmness was unnatural—disturbing. Her hazel eyes were vacant, dead… and yet they pierced straight through me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but froze. Movement caught the corner of my eye—something slinking in the shadows of a side hallway. My gaze snapped toward it. A creature, twisted and gaunt, kept just beyond the light. Its skin hung from a skeletal frame, eyes beady and glinting with hunger, drool pooling on the floor beneath it.

My heart thundered as I instinctively looked back at the little girl—afraid for her safety. But she remained still, expression unchanged.

“It’s your fault,” she whispered.

Her voice was cold, emotionless—and it crawled down my spine like ice. Goosebumps raced across my skin.

“We’re dying because of you.”

I stumbled back, eyes darting between her and the creature. It stalked forward, low and growling, teeth glinting in the dark. I tripped, crashing to the ground. My head hit the floor hard—vision bursting into white light. Gasping, I blinked through the haze, searching frantically for the monster. It was gone.

But the girl remained.

She smiled.

Not kindly. Not childlike. Her lips curled into something too wide, too knowing. Her mouth opened again—this time, not just her voice emerged.

“When people rise, cities fall.

You will bring about the downfall of us all.

Born in light, raised in dark,

Only you can help these people back to the start.

Trust in him—you were created as two.

Only he can see this through.

The cure to save your people’s curse

Is hidden here, within this verse.”

Her voice layered with others—dozens, maybe hundreds—echoing in my ears, in my skull. I blinked rapidly, heart racing. Was this real? A dream? A warning?

“Save us,” she whispered.

“Saaaaave ussss…” more voices joined in. Distant. Then closer. Surrounding me, consuming me.

“Save us. Save us. SAVE US.”

The sound built into a crescendo of agony. I pressed my hands over my ears, shaking, trying to shut it out—but it was inside my head, screaming.

Then—nothing. The silence hit like a hammer.

I opened my eyes.

The girl was inches from my face, her features grotesque, twisted. Her mouth unhinged unnaturally wide, teeth like needles flashing.

She screamed—her voice no longer her own, but something ancient and thunderous.

“SAAAAVE US, ŦɧĮɜą!”

~*~

I jerked awake, breath catching in my throat. Dim light filtered through a cracked door, casting long shadows that made the room feel smaller than it was—close, damp, and unfamiliar. The smell of mildew and metal filled my nose. Somewhere above, the city thrummed, louder than usual. My pulse spiked.

Where the hell am I?

I pushed myself upright, pain flaring like a lit fuse—my arm throbbed, my head pulsed in time with my heartbeat and my side felt like it was burning from the inside out.

A sharp gasp slipped from my lips. The table in the corner came into focus—medic supplies and bloodied pieces of fabric scattered across its surface like someone had left in a hurry. I hissed through clenched teeth and gingerly lifted my shirt. A medic wrap covered my waist, a dark blotch seeping through where the explosion had torn into me. Memories began filtering back in fragments—the chase, the guards, the explosion—

I shut my eyes to steady myself—Big mistake.

Behind my eyelids flashed the twisted face of the girl from my nightmare. I jolted, heart hammering against my ribs, palms suddenly slick. The room tilted, the air pressing heavy against my lungs—I needed out. I needed space.

Footsteps thundered past the door, the flickering light trembled with their passing. One set slowed and a face appeared in the narrow gap, backlit and shadowed. I froze.

“She’s awake!” he called over his shoulder before vanishing again.

Panic slammed into me like a wave, my chest tightened, my thoughts spiraled—I’d been taken. kidn*pped. A heavier tread approached, boots thudding closer, slower, heavier. For a heartbeat, hope fluttered—it sounded like Jerard.

Then the door opened. Not Jerard.

The man standing there was tall but lean, with a composed stillness about him, and his frame didn’t match Jerard’s bulk. Disappointment stabbed through me.

“Hello, Amira.” he purred, his voice smooth as silk. Calm, and controlled. Like he was speaking to a frightened child. My stomach dropped, breath catching.

‘How does he know my name?’ The panic dulled, replaced by wary suspicion. He stepped inside and smiled—gentle, too gentle—flicking on the light. I blinked at the sudden glare, instinctively backing away until my spine hit the wall. I winced, clutching my injured side instinctively.

The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace and slowly sank onto the edge of the bed.

“I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you?” I demanded, voice raw. “How do you know my name?”

“We’ve been watching you for some time, Amira.” his eyes glinted with something unreadable. “You really caught our attention when you and your friends slipped into the restricted sector.”

I narrowed my eyes. I’d never seen him before. How long had they been watching?. “Why me?”

He smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, he extended a hand. “I’m Braken.”

I didn’t take it. Every instinct screamed at me to be careful. Something about him felt too polished, too… rehearsed. Like he was always calculating his next words.

“I’ve never seen you before.” I stated instead. He let his hand fall with a chuckle.

“If you had,” he chuckled lightly “so would the guards. And I’d already be dead or behind a prison wall by now. Our movement wouldn’t survive long if we were that careless.” My stomach tightened.

“You’re with the Rebellion.” I stated slowly, realization dawning. “You’re the rebel leader.” His grin widened, a trace of pride flickering behind his eyes

“A name the people gave me. I prefer not to lead. But they trust me—my word, my direction. I do what I must for their sake.”

I studied him, trying to piece together what didn’t add up. He spoke like he believed every word… but something in his tone felt off. Controlled. Measured. Like he was keeping the truth on a tight leash.

My memories started returning in jagged pieces. The explosion. The bodies. The panic.

“You caused the blast four years ago. You killed people. Uppers and Lowers.” He tilted his head, watching me with an unreadable expression, but said nothing.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, more firmly this time.

Braken studied me in silence with a slight smile on his face—charming on the surface, but hollow underneath. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stood and crossed to the door, pulling it open.

“Why don’t I show you?” he gesturing outward. “The Rebellion. My people.”

I hesitated, the offer hanging in the air between us, heart beating faster. A part of me had always wanted to find them—the rebels. The fighters. The ones who believed the Lower City deserved more than scraps.

“I give you my word, I’ll answer all your questions,” Braken added, watching me carefully. “But first, walk with me.”

I weighed my options. There weren’t many, and answers—even half-truths—were better than shadows. I gave a slight nod and rose, wincing at the pull in my side. As I passed him, he placed a hand lightly against my back to guide me.

It was meant to be reassuring. It wasn’t.

If their goal truly aligned with mine, if this rebellion was fighting for justice, for freedom, for change—why did every step forward feel like I was walking deeper into something I wouldn’t be able to walk back from?

Why did I feel like a pawn already in play?