The frost had barely lifted from the rooftops when I woke. My body ached in ways it hadn't yesterday, muscles screaming from the sparring, yet my mind wouldn't let me rest. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared out the frost-lined window. The North Outcast was quiet, too quiet, like the calm before the storm no one dared name. The wind carried a bitter taste of winter, and somewhere far off, the faint echo of boots Sentinels, probably scraped against broken stone.
Elia was already awake, kneeling by the small stove, her hair loose over her shoulders as she stirred the stew she would never let us see. She hummed softly, as if the world hadn't cracked open yesterday. I wanted to tell her to run, to hide, to forget this life, but it was useless. She had seen too much already, too aware for someone so young.
Cade was gone, of course, probably out practicing on the ruins, or maybe scaring someone less prepared than him. I swung my legs off the bed and stretched, feeling the cold bite at my bones. The air in the room smelled of stew and frost, a faint reminder of home, even if it was only a fragile illusion.
Elia glanced up at me. "Aren… you should eat. It's going to be a long day."
"I'm not hungry yet," I said, voice hoarse. My fists itched to move, to strike something. Anything.
She didn't argue. She never did. She just nodded and returned to her cooking, humming a little louder this time. I watched her, the way the sunlight caught her hair, the way she moved with quiet purpose. A life I couldn't give her, but a life I couldn't leave her without either.
Cade returned then, kicking open the door with his usual arrogance. "Finally awake. You sleep like the dead, Aren. Not much good if the Empire decides to take a morning stroll."
I rolled my eyes, but inside, I felt the knot of tension tightening. Cade's words weren't a joke. The Empire didn't care about sleep or excuses. The Outcasts knew that. Every life ended without warning, every chance of survival was a gift that could be revoked with a snap of a finger.
He tossed me a pair of worn gloves. "Training. Now. No excuses. Wave season's coming, and if you think yesterday showed your limits… you're wrong."
I grabbed the gloves, sliding them over my fingers. My heart beat faster, the memory of the Sentinels yesterday, of Mr. Lisson's screams, filling me with a burning.
We sparred again, wooden swords clashing, feet sliding across the frost-dusted mat. Cade moved like a predator, quick and light, eyes calculating every twitch of my body. I reacted, instinctively, letting muscle memory carry me, letting frustration and fear fuel each strike. My arm met his guard with an impact that made him step back just slightly, the smallest sign of surprise in his eyes.
"Hmm… you're improving," he muttered. "But the Wave isn't about skill alone. It's about surviving what shouldn't be survivable. Remember that."
I nodded, chest heaving, sweat burning my skin. Skill was nothing without instinct. Without speed. Without the kind of ruthlessness the Empire demanded.
We stopped when Elia knocked gently on the door. Cade opened it, motioning for her to enter. "Breakfast is ready," she said simply, placing bowls on the small table. "Eat. You'll need it if you're going to survive what's coming."
I sat, the weight of her gaze pressing into me. I wanted to tell her not to worry, that I could handle whatever the Empire threw at me. But even I wasn't sure. The Wave was approaching. The Empire wouldn't care if I lived or died. And the whispers I'd heard among other Outcasts… not everyone would make it.
After breakfast, Cade pulled me back toward the mat. "We don't have much time. The Empire announced it yesterday. Three days until the Wave begins. All eligible candidates are required to report to the capital. Every Empire across the North, South, West, even the Dominion, everyone will send their best, and some won't return. You need to be ready."
I swallowed hard. Eligible. That word carried a weight I wasn't ready for. Elia was too young. Cade had already gone through it. Only I remained from our family. And still… the Empire had eyes everywhere.
"I don't know if I should go," I admitted, voice low. "What if…" My words died in my throat. What if I didn't survive? What if I brought attention to Cade and Elia?
Cade's hand landed on my shoulder, firm.
"Then you make a choice. But hiding won't keep you safe. Not now. Not when they're looking. You go to the capital. You face the Wave. And we'll survive elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?" I asked.
"Dead Sectors," he said simply, eyes cold.
"Places they rarely patrol, shelters the outcasts know. You go. We hide. Elia stays with me. That's the plan. You survive the Wave, you come back… or you die trying. Either way, the Empire doesn't get to touch us."
I looked at him, fists tight, mind racing. It wasn't perfect, but it was the only plan that might keep my family alive. And for the first time, I felt something I hadn't before: resolve.
"Fine," I said. "I'll go."
Cade smirked. "Good. Because once the Wave starts, there's no turning back. Not for you. Not for anyone."
I glanced outside, the frost sparkling under the pale gray sky. The Outcasts were still silent, fragile, beautiful in their own way. A lie that the Empire wanted me to believe was reality.
I clenched my fists, letting the cold and fear burn into something sharper, something stronger. The Wave was coming, and I would face it.
Because if I didn't… I wouldn't survive. And worse… I would be forgotten.