Zephara hung in the void like a shard of frozen glass, its surface glittering with ice that never melted, only fractured and refroze. The moon's pale light caught on swirling storms that dragged across its horizon in slow, grinding spirals.

From orbit, it would have looked lifeless. Silent. But life clung to it all the same. Scattered across the surface, artificial domes pressed into the ice like blisters, faint glows marking the locations of Zephara's Holds. Cities built into the ground, protected by reinforced alloy and tempered glass. Each one a sealed ecosystem of heat, pressure, and human desperation.

Within one of those domes, the storm was not outside, but inside.

The cold bit at Skadi's cheeks as she pulled her scarf higher, her breath fogging the frayed fabric in short, tight bursts.

Crowds always made her uneasy. Crowds angry enough to shout made it worse. Even inside the hold, the air was bitter, barely warmed by the aging thermal systems Haven had left in disrepair.

Around her, a sea of voices rose. Muttering, shouting, cracking against the icy air pooling inside Isvann Hold's main water storage facility.

"Enough is enough!" a voice rang out. Old Berg, his face red from cold and fury. "They can't hoard the water we work our lives to harvest! We live on a damn glacier!"

A roar of agreement surged behind him. Fists punched the air.

Skadi stood at the edge of it all, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her heart pounded. Part adrenaline, part dread. She wanted to shout with them. Wanted to believe it would matter. But the knot in her stomach had been growing for days.

Her eyes drifted toward the HavenCorp security detail stationed just beyond the gates. Four figures in heat-sealed armor, visors down, shock batons resting just a little too comfortably in gloved hands.

It shouldn't have come to this.

Skadi stepped forward, weaving through the press of bodies until she reached the front. Berg spotted her and his scowl softened.

"Skadi," he said. "You're Bjorn's daughter. They'll listen to you."

Her mouth opened. No words came. Would they listen? She doubted it. But the weight of the crowd behind her left no room to disappear.

She squared her shoulders, forcing her voice into strength. "We just want answers," she called out. "The shipments off-world are still leaving on schedule, but water rations in the Hold have been cut for weeks. What's going on?"

One of the guards shifted. His visor tilted toward her. Not a response, just that subtle head-tilt of surveillance. His silence pressed in like frost on the back of her neck. More voices joined her. Angrier. Harsher.

Skadi turned, raising her hands. "Please! We need to stay calm—"

A guard raised his baton in warning. The crowd flinched. Skadi tried again, louder this time. "If we want them to hear us, we can't—"

The crowd surged. Her voice vanished beneath it. Shouts rose like a wave. Signs shook in the air. Skadi stumbled back, caught in the undertow of frustration.

"Enough!"

The word cracked like a whip. The crowd froze.

A figure strode through the churn, long coat dragging through the cold-soaked air, boots crunching on the frozen surface. Her brother, Fenrik.

He didn't need a megaphone. He never had. His presence did the work for him.

Blue eyes swept the crowd, sharp and warm in equal measure. He smiled, the kind of smile that made people listen.

"They don't care about your anger," he said, gesturing at the silent line of HavenCorp. "They don't care about our suffering. Haven only cares about what lines their pockets."

A murmur of agreement, chaos crystalizing into focus.

Fenrik spread his arms. "But we can make them care. We can remind them that Zephara isn't just a frozen rock they can bleed dry. They need us more than we need them."

The cheer that followed was thunderous. Even the guards seemed to stiffen in place.

Skadi's stomach twisted.

Fenrik's eyes found hers. His smile slipped, just a little.

He stepped in close, voice dropping low. "You did good holding things steady until I got here, little sister. I'll take it from here."

Skadi's fists clenched. Her breath fogged between them. "This isn't the way, Fenrik. It's just going to make things worse."

He chuckled softly. "Worse? Skadi, we're already at the bottom. There's nowhere left to fall."

The crowd behind them roared again, galvanized. They swelled against the gates of the water plant, their voices a storm of hunger and fury.

She didn't recognize most of them, but the look on their faces was familiar. Tight with desperation, cheeks sunken, lips cracked. She'd seen that same look on her neighbors for months. On her mother. In the mirror.

"Why are they shipping it off-world when we're the ones dying of thirst?" a man near the front shouted, fist raised.

A chorus surged in answer.

But Skadi's focus wasn't on the crowd. It was on the line of HavenCorp security standing beyond the reinforced gates. Motionless, visors down, rifles held with silent threat.

"You're wrong," she said, turning to Fenrik. Her voice shook. "Fighting like this will only make things worse."

Fenrik raised an eyebrow. His eyes were calm, calculating.

"Tell that to them." He gestured to the crowd. "You think they're here because they believe Haven will listen to reason? No, Skadi. They're here because they're dying, and they know the people on the other side of that gate don't care."

"And what?" she snapped. "You think turning this into a riot is going to help?"

His smile was thin, almost pitying. "Sometimes, little sister, the only way to make them listen is to make them afraid."

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A sharp crack rang through the air.

Skadi flinched, spinning toward the noise, just in time to see a geyser of water erupt from one of the plant's side valves. The pressurized stream arced high toward the cavernous ceiling, catching the hold's flickering overhead lights like spun silver.

For a breathless moment, no one moved. Then chaos exploded.

The crowd surged forward, a tangle of limbs and shouted need. People shoved and scrambled toward the fountain, thrusting canisters and makeshift containers into the spray. Others dropped to their knees, cupping water into trembling hands. Laughter mixed with screams. It was joy, it was panic, it was collapse.

Guards shouted warnings, their voices swallowed by the din.

"What the hell just happened?" Skadi demanded, rounding on Fenrik.

He stood calm, hands in his coat pockets. The barest curl of satisfaction touched his lips.

"Fenrik," she hissed, grabbing his arm. "What did you do?"

He shrugged. "I didn't do anything. Haven's infrastructure is shoddy. Bound to fail sooner or later."

Her stomach twisted. "That wasn't an accident. I saw you."

"Saw me what?" he asked, voice soft. "Point out the cracks? Stir the pot?" He leaned closer. "You give me too much credit, Skadi."

Her grip tightened. "This is going to get people hurt."

"They're already hurt," he snapped, the calm fracturing. "You think rationing isn't killing them? At least now they'll see who's holding the blade."

Then the gunshot came. Sharp, piercing the air.

Skadi spun. Another shot followed. Screams tore through the crowd as people broke, trampling each other in the scramble to escape. A young man crumpled to the ground, blood streaming down his leg, his cries lost in the chaos.

Skadi's pulse roared in her ears.

"This is what you wanted?" she shouted, rounding on Fenrik again. "This is your great plan?"

He didn't flinch. "They need to see who the enemy is. Haven made this mess. I'm just showing them the truth."

Skadi took a step back, chest tight, breath ragged. The cold didn't touch her anymore. Only the weight pressing down from every side. The crowd, the smoke, the failure.

She'd thought she understood his anger. But this wasn't anger. This was something darker.

"Fenrik," she whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of the riot. "You've lost your mind."

He didn't answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the gates, serene as the chaos unfolded around him.

Skadi turned and ran. She pushed through the screaming crowd, through bodies and smoke and panic, not sure where she was going, only that she had to get away.

From the riot. From the water. From her brother.

The twisting alleys of the Hold were a maze Skadi had known since childhood, though time had changed them. Rust-clamped pipes crisscrossed overhead like a skeletal canopy.

Beneath her boots, the metal decking creaked, damp with condensation dripping from the ice-harvesting machinery that never stopped humming. Graffiti covered every surface: bright scrawls of hope and rebellion layered over corporate stencils sprayed hastily to erase them.

She turned a corner and pressed herself into a recessed doorway, breath fogging in the cold.

What just happened back there?

Fenrik's voice still rang in her ears: We're already at the bottom. There's nowhere left to fall.

She'd almost nodded when he said it. But she hadn't expected this.

She replayed the moment the valve burst. The way Fenrik had been standing right there, almost like he'd timed it. He didn't usually leave things to chance. And yet... how could anyone plan for something like that?

Skadi shook her head. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment playing tricks on her. But something didn't sit right. There'd been an edge to his voice today. A confidence that felt too sharp.

The sound of enforcer boots echoed somewhere down the alley, and she pushed away from the wall. No time to dwell on it now. She needed to get home.

Their mother would know what to do.

The closer she came to the residential district, the quieter the world became.

The riot's roar had faded, replaced by the thrum of distant machinery and the soft murmur of voices behind thin apartment walls.

Tension still coiled in her chest, but the silence helped. She kept her hood up, her head low, moving like a ghost through the pipes and shadows.

At last, the familiar curve of her family's block came into view. Dim light flickered from overhead panels, casting long, stuttering shadows down the corridor. The Eisfall nameplate gleamed faintly above their door, its edges worn smooth from decades of touch.

She stopped in front of it and leaned back against the cold metal wall, eyes closed.

Fenrik's words wouldn't leave her. And worse, neither would the crowd's.

Was he right?

The Haven corporations had squeezed Zephara dry for decades, harvesting the moon's water while leaving the people behind to ration every drop. Her mother had always said it was a miracle the Hold still stood at all, its infrastructure crumbling under the weight of corporate neglect.

But this? A riot? A wounded boy screaming in the street?

Fenrik's push had tipped the balance. Even if he hadn't caused the valve to burst, his words had opened the door. People listened to him. More than they listened to her.

The door slid open with a hiss, warmth spilling out. The familiar scent of coolant and metal greeted her like an old friend. She stepped inside, brushing frost from her coat and hanging it on the hook near the entrance.

"Mom?" she called, voice echoing faintly in the small, utilitarian space.

"In here," came the reply, steady and measured. Yrsa always sounded that way.

Skadi found her at the dining table, poring over a worn datapad. She looked up as her daughter entered, face lined and tired, but softening with a smile.

"You're home early," Yrsa said, setting the pad aside. "Is everything alright?"

Skadi hesitated. The day pressed down on her all at once.

She pulled out a chair and sat across from her mother, fingers curling into fists on the table. "There was... an incident at the water plant. The protest turned into a riot. Haven sent guards. Someone got shot."

Yrsa's brow furrowed. "Were you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Skadi said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice carried the strain she couldn't hide. "But it's Fenrik. He was there. He was... stirring people up."

She paused. How could she explain it without sounding paranoid?

"He was too close to a valve. It burst, and he was just… there. It didn't feel like an accident."

Yrsa sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes, always sharper than Skadi liked to admit, softened with weary patience. "You know your brother. He's always been passionate about these things. But he's a good boy. He wouldn't put us in danger."

Skadi leaned forward, voice rising. "Mom, you didn't see him. He wasn't just talking. He wanted things to escalate."

Yrsa reached across the table and laid a hand over Skadi's clenched fist. "I'll talk to him. Ask him to stay clear of Haven's brutes before he gets himself hurt. But Skadi... you need to be careful too. After we lost your father..." Her voice wavered, then steadied again. "I couldn't bear to lose either of you."

Skadi looked down at her mother's hand. Guilt rose like a tide. She'd come home hoping for clarity, for action. But all she saw now was grief. Old grief, worn into her mother like bone.

"I just don't want him to make things worse," she said, quieter now.

Yrsa's grip tightened. "I know. I'll handle it. You stay safe, alright? The world's dangerous enough without us chasing after trouble."

Skadi nodded. But the knot in her chest didn't loosen. As she left the table, her mother's words still echoing in her ears, she couldn't shake the sense that staying out of it wasn't going to stop what was already in motion.

She shut the door to her room behind her with a quiet click. Leaned against it for a moment longer than necessary.

The hallway outside still carried echoes. Boots on metal grates, shouted orders bouncing off the bulkheads. Distant, but near enough to keep her tense. The room was small, functional. Just like every other berth in the hold. Her bed sat flush against the far wall, with a metal shelf overhead and a small alcove for her tools.

The air recycler hummed with its usual uneven cadence. Too loud tonight, like it was straining. She hated how it made her skin prickle.

She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers curling slightly. A faint tremor danced through them.

She told herself it was just leftover adrenaline.

Her gaze drifted upward to the backlit photo strip pinned to the shelf. Her and Fenrik, their mother in the middle, all smiling like idiots after a festival. She reached out, tapped the edge of the frame with one knuckle. Then pulled her hand back.

The pipes overhead groaned. Someone in the hall shouted. Skadi stiffened, listening. But the voice cut off, replaced by the heavy thud of a closing door. Or maybe a baton. Hard to tell in this light.

The overhead strip-lights dimmed for the night cycle, casting the room in a soft blue hue.

She lay back on the bed without bothering to undress, staring at the ceiling until the afterimage burned behind her eyes. One arm draped across her forehead. Boots still on. Her chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.

A voice crackled through the overhead speaker system.

Haven dialect, dry and clipped:

"Curfew in effect. All personnel remain in designated habitation zones. Violations will be met with disciplinary enforcement."

She exhaled through her nose. Slow. Controlled.

She didn't feel angry. Not yet. That would come later, maybe. For now, there was just pressure. Like the hold itself was shrinking.

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