The first hints of dawn turned the city skyline a bruised purple as the blackout deepened. Blocks of glass towers and crumbling warehouses sat silent in the dark — only the wind whispered through broken windows and swaying cables.
In the shadows of an old subway entrance, Zindra and Liyaya stood together, catching their breath. Liyaya's eyes burned green whenever she touched the ground — the city's hidden roots responding to her like veins carrying blood to a wounded heart.
Zindra's runes pulsed dimly under his skin. He could feel the monster waiting at the factory — its presence like a dull roar behind every streetlight that flickered out. He knew they couldn't face it alone.
"People won't run," Liyaya said suddenly, her voice quiet but strong. "Not all of them. Some will fight. They just need to know how."
Zindra looked at her, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "They're not trained. They don't have weapons—"
Liyaya's smile cut him off. "They have each other. That's enough."
---
The Call
They moved through the city's dark veins — street to street, rooftop to rooftop. Liyaya whispered to the people hidden in shadows: the rooftop watchmen, the mothers sheltering children in basements, the old men who guarded corner shops with rusted baseball bats.
At every door, she told them the truth: A thing born of shadows wants to swallow their city whole. And she showed them — a spark of green light in her palm, roots pushing through broken concrete to bloom tiny wildflowers at her feet.
She spoke of how they didn't have to stand alone. How the city itself — its concrete, its pipes, its hidden cracks and roots — was alive with them.
Zindra showed them how to fight. He taught them quick strikes, how to watch shadows for movement, how to stand back-to-back when fear threatened to drown them. He gave each of them a mark — a rune, burned softly into old steel pipes, hammers, crowbars — ordinary tools turned into weapons when fueled by the hope that they were not alone.
---
The Gathering
By nightfall, a ragged army had formed in the heart of the dark city — dock workers, students, street artists, shopkeepers, old neighbors who refused to abandon the place they'd built together.
On an overpass overlooking the factory, Zindra and Liyaya looked down at their makeshift battalion. They wore no armor but carried torches, crowbars, spray-painted shields. They looked terrified — but they were here.
One man stepped forward — an old bus driver with oil-stained hands. "You promise us we can beat this thing?" he asked Zindra, voice trembling.
Zindra's eyes met his — no lie, no false comfort, just truth. "No. I promise you we stand together. And together, we make it fear us."
A low cheer spread through the crowd — quiet, rough, but enough.
Liyaya turned to him, her fingers interlaced with his. "You made them believe."
He shook his head. "You did."
Above them, black clouds gathered around the factory smokestacks. Sparks of sickly light flickered inside the windows. A low, inhuman rumble echoed across the cracked streets — Sanavak's new shape called to them like thunder.
Zindra stepped forward, his voice ringing across the overpass. "Tonight we fight! Not just for this city — for every voice it carries, every light it shelters! We stand, or we fall. Together!"
The people roared — a sound raw and beautiful, loud enough that even the monster in the factory paused to listen.
In the ruins of darkness, hope took root — and the last light of the city rose to meet the shadows head-on.