The Ashlight never slept.
It poured down from the Tower's ceiling in a pale, endless glow, neither warm nor cold, neither day nor night. A false sun, fixed and eternal, humming faintly like a machine's breath. It cast no shadows sharp enough to hide in, no dusk to soften the world. Just a steady, sterile light that bleached steel corridors and rust-stained walls alike.
Kaelen Dray paused beneath it, eyes narrowed as he gazed upward at the glow. Dust clung to the air, visible in the beam like drifting ash. He wondered, not for the first time, if it was meant to comfort them, or to remind them that nothing natural remained.
Behind him, the rattling cough came again.
"Sit down," Kaelen urged, turning. Lyra leaned against the railing of the narrow balcony, her thin frame trembling. Her dark hair clung damp to her temples, her breaths shallow and uneven. Each cough wracked her body like it might break her.
"I'm fine," she lied, voice raw. "Don't look at me like that."
"You're not fine." Kaelen crossed the balcony, steadying her as her knees wavered. The railing shook under his grip, a reminder of the Tower's decay. "You need rest."
"I need medicine." She smiled faintly, though her lips were pale. "Don't waste your breath pretending otherwise."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He guided her back through the thin curtain that served as their door, into the cramped room they shared. The air was damp, heavy with the stink of mildew from the leaking pipes above. A thin mattress lay on the floor, patched with cloth scraps. A broken fan sat in the corner, rust eating at its blades.
He lowered Lyra gently onto the mattress. She curled onto her side, a hand pressed to her chest as if to hold the coughing inside.
Kaelen crouched beside her, helpless fury burning in his chest.
The dealers had demanded twice the price for her medicine that morning, smirking as they named it. They knew he'd pay anything. They always knew.
But his pockets had been nearly empty, his day's wages barely enough for stale bread.
And now Lyra's life hung in the balance.
"I'll find a way," he said softly. "I promise."
Her eyes flicked open, tired but sharp. "You always say that."
"Because it's true."
She smiled again, weak but genuine, and reached to squeeze his hand. "You can't fight the Tower, Kael. You'll break yourself trying."
He swallowed the words that rose in his throat, the bitter fire that wanted to spill out. She didn't need his rage. She needed hope.
So he forced a smile and brushed her hair back from her damp forehead. "Rest now. I'll be back soon."
Her grip tightened briefly on his hand, then loosened as her eyes drifted shut.
Kaelen sat there for a long moment, watching her chest rise and fall, uneven but steady. Then he stood, the weight of his promise pressing heavy on his shoulders.
---
The Tower's belly breathed around him as he stepped back into the corridor. Pipes groaned in the walls, water dripping into rust-stained gutters. Voices drifted through the metal, a thousand lives packed into steel chambers stacked to the ceiling. Babies cried. Arguments flared. Laughter echoed, quickly stifled.
Kaelen descended the stairwell, boots clanging against iron steps worn thin by generations of feet. He passed neighbors leaning in doorways, faces gaunt, eyes shadowed by hunger and fatigue. A woman scrubbed clothes in a cracked basin. Two children played with a ball made of rags, their laughter sharp against the Tower's hum.
He forced himself to keep moving. He couldn't afford to stop, not with Lyra's breaths rasping in his memory.
The market level was alive with noise.
Stalls lined the narrow walkways, cobbled together from scrap wood and rusted metal. Lanterns dangled overhead, their light competing with the pale Ashlight. The air was thick with smells: frying grease, burnt coffee, smoke, sweat. Merchants shouted their wares—water filters, patched boots, stale bread, meat of uncertain origin.
And the medicine. Always hidden, always guarded.
Kaelen pushed through the crowd, ears buzzing with the chaos. He felt every coin in his pocket, pitifully few, burning like shame.
The dealer's stall loomed ahead, marked by the black slash of paint on its side. Two enforcers lingered nearby, armor polished to a dull sheen, visors reflecting the crowd. Their hands rested casually on shock batons.
Kaelen's stomach clenched.
The dealer, a heavyset man with a grin too wide for his face, leaned on the counter. "Dray. Back again so soon?"
Kaelen kept his voice even. "I need more."
"You always need more. And I always provide." The dealer spread his hands theatrically. "But prices rise, you understand. Supply and demand. Dangerous work, keeping your little sister alive."
Kaelen's fists clenched at his sides. "How much?"
"Double last time."
Kaelen's chest burned. "That's theft."
The dealer leaned closer, breath sour. "It's survival. Pay, or she doesn't."
Kaelen's teeth ground together. He wanted to reach across the counter, drag the smug grin off the man's face. But the enforcers were watching. They always were.
And Lyra was waiting.
With shaking hands, Kaelen placed his coins on the counter. Not enough. Not nearly.
The dealer's grin widened. "Short again, Dray. What a shame." He slid the coins into his pocket. "Come back when you can afford her life."
Kaelen's vision blurred red. His heart pounded in his throat.
Then a voice spoke at his shoulder, quiet, mocking.
"You're doing it wrong."
Kaelen turned. A boy leaned against the stall's frame, younger than Kaelen by a few years. His clothes were patched but well-kept, his dark hair falling into sharp eyes that glittered with mischief.
The dealer scowled. "Ryn. Move along."
But the boy ignored him. He looked Kaelen up and down, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. "You've got fire, Dray. But you're wasting it paying thieves."
Kaelen bristled. "What do you want?"
"Same thing you do." Ryn's grin widened. "A way out."
Before Kaelen could reply, the enforcers shifted. Their visors turned toward the stall, red light glinting. The crowd's chatter dimmed.
Kaelen stepped back instinctively, pulse racing.
The dealer raised his hands quickly, smile tight. "No trouble here, officers. Just business."
The enforcers stared a moment longer, then moved on, boots heavy against the metal floor.
Kaelen let out a slow breath.
When he looked back, Ryn was gone.
Only the echo of his words remained, gnawing at Kaelen's thoughts.
A way out.
---
That night, Kaelen sat in the dark beside Lyra, the Tower's hum filling the silence.
Her breathing was shallow, each rise of her chest a struggle. The single vial of medicine they had left was empty, its glass cracked from overuse.
He stared at it, fury and fear twisting in his gut.
He had nothing left to trade. No money. No favors. Nothing but his hands, his will, and the fire burning in his chest.
And somewhere in the Tower, a boy with a crooked grin thought he knew a way out.
Kaelen closed his fist around the empty vial until the glass bit his palm.
Tomorrow, he would find him.
And whatever "way out" Ryn had meant, Kaelen would take it.
For Lyra.
For survival.
---