Jyoti's laughter rang through the crowd, broken and wet with blood. It echoed like madness against the stone walls. Her jaw, shattered moments before, twitched back into place with sickening cracks. Crimson spilled from her lips, yet she smiled—as if some hidden truth had carved itself into her bones.
The bystanders recoiled, some muttering she had lost her mind, others whispering curses against her defiance. To them, she was nothing more than a ragged girl mocking sacred order.
But inside her vision, unseen by every other soul, golden scriptures ignited the air. They wove themselves through the cracks of the surrounding walls, curling in radiant spirals, each letter alive with heat and voice. They pulsed not like symbols but like living organisms.
The Unbroken Flame does not bow.
The words sang in her skull, burning but comforting, an ancient rhythm in her blood her mind could not place, though her body seemed to know. Warmth flooded her veins, her wounds burning as flesh knit itself, blood quickened, and bones locked back into strength.
The crowd did not see healing—only the impossible grin of a girl too stubborn to stay broken.
Russell Kernsnow, the Head, snarled. His face contorted in rage, eyes burning with disbelief that his authority could be mocked in front of the faithful. "Bind her!" he roared, voice like a hammer against stone. "Show this indigent that blasphemy is crushed, not rewarded!"
The guards surged forward, clubs raised high.
Jyoti spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, her eyes alive with something more than rebellion. She shouted hoarsely, her voice cracking but sharp enough to pierce the silence:
"You pigs call this worship? You call this order? You chain children, starve the weak, and kneel to statues of ash! Look at yourselves—sinners gnawing sinners!"
Gasps tore through the crowd. Some turned away, clutching their beads in horror. Others stared wide-eyed, not at her words but at the audacity of anyone to speak them aloud.
The first guard swung. Jyoti ducked low, her body moving faster than it ever had. She felt the golden warmth surge in her veins like liquid fire. She lashed out with a fist, bones crunching under her knuckles as the guard's nose shattered, spraying blood across the coarse walls and floor.
Another rushed her. She tore his club free, slamming it into his ribs until the crack of bone echoed through the alley. She laughed again, not with joy but with fury unchained.
The scriptures flared brighter in her vision. Her arms felt lighter, her breath deeper. Every movement sharpened as if she was weightless—something divine was moving within her. For a moment she was more than herself. She felt something warm beside her heart, pumping strength into her.
Yet the words twisted, slipping from her grasp like water through open palms. She could see the shapes but not command them. They sang of eternity, of flames unbroken, but she had no tongue to answer.
The guards regrouped. Three came at once, batons raised. She swung wildly, club cracking skull, elbow slamming into a jaw. Blood sprayed across her cheek, hot and metallic. She spat another mouthful at their boots.
"You think your bastard gods even bother to watch this filth?" she shrieked, spit and blood spraying as her eyes burned across the worshippers. "They are nothing but statues of rot, sucking your knees raw while you starve! Your chants are vomit, your faith a leash—and you lap it up like dogs!"
The Ash Binders quivered at her blasphemy. Some of the gathered flinched, others lowered their gaze, too afraid to watch. And yet a strange warmth pricked them—though they did not know why.
Russell's fury deepened. His face twisted, veins bulging against his temples. "Silence her!" he bellowed, shoving past the guards as he stormed down from the front of the alley. His robes, black and gold, whipped like fire as he advanced. "I'll cut the tongue from this rat myself!"
He struck her with a backhand, the brute force sending her crashing against the wall. Pain seared her ribs, air rushing from her lungs. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the same child who had been teared up earlier, the tears trickling down his cheeks. That sight—helplessness mirrored in his eyes—ignited something deeper than pain.
She staggered to her feet, blood dripping from her mouth. The golden scriptures blazed once more, filling her vision, whispering louder than before. Her body hummed, alive with fire, but her mind could not bind it.
She spat blood across the floor, glaring at the guards and the Head. Her voice cracked, raw but thunderous:
"You starve us, beat us, rape us, and call it faith. You kneel to idols and call it holy. You are nothing but dogs gnawing chains! You don't deserve to rule—YOU DESERVE TO BURN!"
Her words cut like knives. For an instant, silence swallowed the Pit dwellers. The bystanders trembled, shame creeping into their hearts. Yet still, none stepped forward.
Then the wave broke.
Dozens of Ash Binders surged as one, ropes of black energy twisting from their hands. They swarmed her, lashing, binding, choking. She fought with everything left, crushing one man's throat with her bare hands, driving a knee into another's spine until it snapped. But for every one she felled, three more pinned her limbs.
The golden warmth flickered, guttering like a candle in the wind. The scriptures blurred, unreadable, vanishing into smoke.
Russell loomed over her, his fury carved into every line of his face. "Look at her," he spat at the crowd. "This is what rebellion earns. Madness, filth, and chains."
They forced her to her knees, arms twisted behind her, hair yanked so her head faced the crowd. Blood poured from her nose and mouth, staining her chin. Still she grinned, feral, her teeth red.
The people stared—some with disgust, some with fear, and a few with something else, something they dared not name. Guilt.
For the first time in years, warmth had touched them in this cold, sunless clusterfuck. And they knew it came from her.
Yet they stayed silent.
And so Jyoti was bound, her fire smothered beneath a hundred hands, the scriptures gone. To the world she was only a rebel child crushed beneath order.
But in her veins, where no eyes could see, a spark refused to die.
As she was dragged away, she held on to her bloody smile. Her eyes lingered on the crowd once more before she fainted.