The Tax Collectors arrived precisely on the fifteenth day of Bloodfall Season.
The empire functioned by rote schedules. Blood-tithes were collected monthly. The census was taken rigorously. It was a machine that reduced human life to fuel with cold precision.
Luna heard them before she saw them—the rhythmic clank of equipment, the heavy footsteps of the Guard, the murmur of voices demanding doors open. She was sitting near the window, watching the Ash-Snow, when Mother touched her shoulder.
"They are here," Mother whispered. "Stay hidden. Your father and I will handle this."
Luna wanted to argue. But she was flagged as "magic-touched," carrying a bounty and the Witch's charm. She nodded, receding into the shadows.
Eight days since Kip died. Eight days since she scrubbed his blood from her skin. She wasn't sure she could manage tears anymore.
The Collectors wore drab grey robes—the color of administrators who dealt in fertilizer. Two men stood at the door, flanked by a bored Guard. The lead Collector, a thin man with a face like dried leather, consulted his scroll.
"Household registry: Vahn Stone-Lung, obsidian quarry foreman. Wife Zia, registered weaver. Daughter Luna, age twelve, status pending."
Status pending. Luna's stomach twisted. They were waiting.
"I am present," Mother said, voice neutral. "My husband is resting. His mandated shift at the quarry does not commence until evening."
"Both heads of household must present themselves," the Collector said, eyes on the scroll. "Imperial regulation forty-seven."
Mother's jaw tightened. She turned. "Vahn. They require you."
A heavy pause. Then, the shuffling. The sound of someone moving too slowly, breathing too hard.
Father appeared in the doorway.
He looked worse than Luna remembered. His skin was the grey of old parchment. One hand braced against the doorframe. His breathing—always that wet rattle, drowning on dry land.
The Collector looked up. His expression was calculation. The look you gave broken equipment.
"Vahn Stone-Lung. Extend your left arm."
Father obeyed. His hand trembled.
The Collector produced the apparatus—a dark obsidian needle connected to a vial. The needle pierced Father's forearm. Blood flowed, dark and slow.
The blood-glass activated.
It glowed wrong.
Not the healthy red-gold. The vial glowed a sickly brownish-red, like rust. The light flickered—weak-strong-weak—like a dying heartbeat.
The Collector frowned. "Contaminated."
He made a sharp mark on his scroll.
"Ashen Rot, stage three. Blood is unsuitable for processing."
Father's face went blank.
"I am still capable of working," Father said. His voice was steady. "I am scheduled for the evening shift. Foreman position. I can—"
"Unsuitable for processing," the Collector repeated. "Designates you as non-contributing infrastructure. Contaminated bloodstock is scheduled for retirement."
Retirement.
"Please," Father rasped. He was begging. "I have a family. I am still useful. I can haul the obsidian, maintain the equipment—"
"Retirement processing occurs within thirty days," the Collector said, already looking away. "Spouse status must be verified."
He reached for Mother's arm. Mother extended it. Her face was stone.
The needle pierced. Blood flowed.
The vial glowed.
It flickered. Not rusted, but dim. Unsteady. The weak glow of someone who had been hungry for too long.
The Collector compared Mother's vial to Father's. "Marginal," he stated. "Associated household protocol applies. Wife and dependents are included in removal unless immediate alternate arrangements are certified."
Wife and dependents.
They were going to execute them both.
"My daughter," Mother said. "She is registered as my dependent. She will be—"
"Reassigned to Temple wardship if young enough. Processed with household if over age threshold." The Collector glanced at his scroll. "Age twelve, female, status pending due to magic-sensitivity flag. She'll be tested separately."
Magic-sensitivity. They were going to test her. Test the violet blood.
The Collector made five final marks on his parchment.
"Retirement processing scheduled for day fifteen of next lunar cycle. Exactly thirty days from today. Present yourselves at the Temple administrative center, dawn hour, for final disposition."
He pulled a stick of heavy red chalk from his pouch.
He made a single, vertical line on their front door.
Bright red. Horrifically visible. A mark that screamed contaminated. A countdown written in crimson.
The Collectors moved on.
Father stood frozen, staring at the mark. Mother's hand found his, gripping it with desperate intensity.
Luna stepped out from the shadows.
"Inside," Mother said. "Now."
They retreated. Mother closed the door. The red mark remained visible through the gaps in the curtain, bleeding its light into the room.
Father sank onto the sleeping mat. He buried his head in his hands.
"Thirty days," he whispered.
"We will appeal," Mother said, without conviction.
"They can, Zia." Father looked up. Something in his eyes was broken. "Once you're marked contaminated, that is the end. They are simply putting a date on it."
"Then we will run," Mother tried. Her voice high, thin. "Into the jungle beyond the rim—"
"And die out there instead of here?" Father's laugh was bitter. "The Primal Chaos would kill us in days. At least here—" His voice cracked. "At least here, the end will be swift."
Mother sat beside him. She took his hands.
Luna stood rigid in the corner. She watched her parents, and felt the cold core of rage ignite.
No.
She was not going to watch them walk to their execution.
The Elixir of Renewal was real. Locked in the High-Tier vaults. One tiny vial could cure any sickness. The Radiant Lords used it relentlessly.
Somewhere deep inside those vaults was enough to cure the Ashen Rot. To erase the red chalk mark.
She just had to steal it. She just had to infiltrate the most heavily guarded section of the empire.
Or they died in thirty days. The choice was simple.
She waited until evening, when Father had shuffled off to his final shifts at the quarry, and Mother was at her loom, fingers moving with mechanical obsession.
"I'm going out," Luna stated.
Mother didn't look up. "Where?"
"To see Kayo. To... discuss things."
"Be back before full dark."
Luna slipped out. The red mark glared at her as she descended the ladder. Neighbors who normally nodded looked away. The mark was a stigma.
She pulled her threadbare cloak tighter and headed for the watchtower.
Kayo was there, along with Nia and two of his siblings. Luna pulled them aside immediately.
"They marked my parents," she said. "Red chalk. Thirty days until retirement. Both of them."
Kayo's expression went dark. "Luna—"
"I am going to steal the Elixir," she interrupted. "From the High-Tier vaults. I am going to cure Father and erase that mark."
Silence.
Nia's hands moved in frantic signs: Suicide. Guards everywhere. Blood-glass barriers. Impossible.
"I know it's impossible," Luna said. "But Kip died two weeks ago because we couldn't afford a single herb. My parents are scheduled to die because their blood isn't profitable. So I am taking the Elixir."
"You will be killed," Kayo said gently. "They will catch you. They will torture you."
"Then I will die trying, instead of watching them die while doing nothing." Luna met his eyes. "I cannot watch another person I love die. Not when there is a chance."
Kayo remained silent, studying her face. He looked down at his massive hands—knuckles still scabbed from digging Kip's grave.
"I will help you," he said finally. "But Luna—you must understand. This is a direct assault on the Temple."
"I know the price."
"And you are doing it anyway."
"I am."
Nia signed something sharp.
Kayo translated. "She says we are crew, Little Lark. We do not abandon crew. If you are determined to do this, we help. End of discussion."
"If I am caught—"
"We don't know you," Kayo cut in. "The story is that you went alone, and we tried to stop you. That is the truth we will tell. But until that moment? We help. Information. Distraction. Whatever the impossible requires."
Luna breathed out.
"Two weeks," she stated. "Maybe less. I need the layout, guard patterns, how to bypass the Guardian-Vines and blood-glass barriers."
"We will find maps," Kayo vowed. "Guard recruits study vault security. I have seen the training documents. I can—"
"Steal them?"
He managed a grim smile. "We are all thieves now, Luna. Might as well be the best ones."
Luna pulled the small obsidian bird from her pocket. She gripped it hard.
I am going to save you, she promised the silent carving. I am going to steal the impossible, or I am going to die proving that at least I fought back.
Outside, the Ash-Snow fell silently.
Inside, Luna knelt on the dusty floor and began drawing the war plans.
Thirty days.
The countdown had begun.