7 - How to Not Start a Revolution

They crested the hill and looked down at the walls.

“You’re insane,” Karl hissed.

“If anyone’s dying today, it’s me,” Aurora said. “You have a way out.”

“And everyone inside?”

Aurora didn’t answer right away. She had told him the truth when he asked—she hadn’t seen anyone with hair like his. Eyes like his. No trace of his mother.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t there.

As for her? She didn’t feel steady, exactly. But after sleeping… After the coming of a new morning, she felt clearer. Like the world had burned down in her mind and left only what mattered. She exhaled. Then, she thought about what they were banking their whole mission on. Her words came out softly, almost to herself: “Mystery girl, I hope you’re in there… And I hope you’re ready.”

As she left Karl, and ran up to be recaptured, she distracted herself, focusing on Karl’s reaction last night, not what had happened to her…with them.

“You’re risking the plan and your life on five seconds? Because you saw a girl burying a blade and making eye contact with you?”

She had nodded.

“I told you, you’d hate it.”

Karl leaned back, eyes toward the stars and thought she was insane.

Now, charging in, shouts at the gate, she realized she was.

__________________________

The heat had always been brutal against the cracked land. That’s why water was currency. That’s why they gathered it with greed, unaware that it would be their undoing.

“Hey!” a guard yelled. “Isn’t she the one who scratched Fin’s eyes out?”

Them not being happy was an understatement. Take me back to the square to get punished and humiliated, Aurora thought bitterly. And as if obeying, they spat at her and taunted her with her wish. She waited until they took her to the square again. A new flavor of demonstration was on the stage. Aurora looked away. She shoved her energy into the ground, reading the scene. Her heart skipped a beat. For the moment, she feared she had made a critical mistake — until —

She found the girl in the crowd.

Relief was an understatement.

Crash.

Boom.

Screams above the normal ones. Shouts from the men. Fire flowed. Then, water rushed at their feet, rising quickly. Why? Because the stone walls held the water in, like a pot. And the kingdom who never saw a lake? Couldn’t swim.

Aurora wasted no time, taking advantage of the chaos. She freed herself from the man’s grasp and knocked into the girl and handed her the vials. She made eye contact, hoping she was right. Hoping the girl understood. But then, her breath hitched. Nearby, a woman with impossibly light skin and hair to match. She had bright blue eyes.

Karl’s mom. And a man rushed toward her, his eyes aflame.

She had to make a split second decision: save Karl’s mom or continue with the plan.

But there was no time to waste. Right now, Karl should be zooming around, skating so quickly over the water that no fire could reach him. Even if it did, he had water at his disposal for defense. As for Aurora? She wrapped the earth around her ankles and zoomed around again, smiling at the girl and lifting her eyebrows, desperately.

It was up to this stranger now. Their fate was based on a five second glance. Whether the kingdom fell — whether or not Aurora died.

“A magic user!” One of the men gasped, gaping as if that were stranger than the water rising past his knees. He had the stark, black uniform of one of the Infernos, those who fought their way to the “elite” title. He fired at her with all his might. Then screamed as he boiled the water around him. It was too easy. Aurora had fought against fire users at the Academy. And she had already relied on speed. Boom.

The second tank had exploded. The water rising to their chin. The fire only heated the water. Any further attacks would send this pot boiling. A potentially lethal method for all of them. In the corner of her eye, she saw women raise their children and babies in the air. She hoped the girl could swim.

Karl should be racing to the third tank, but it was a fluke to draw every man to him. They didn’t actually want to kill everyone, just distract the Infernos. Aurora’s job? Further distracting the men from the girl so she could work undistracted. She zoomed away, grinning in the most menacing way. Cut their pride. Draw them to me. Her facial expressions and coy movements focused on generating the most outrage in their eyes, their movements. She made faces. But all they could do was splash. Or boil themselves more than her.

Come on kid, activate it already.

But nothing had changed yet. Aurora couldn’t see her anymore. She scanned the floor as she raced in circles at a safe distance. She zoomed around fast enough to escape any attacks, but slow enough so they didn’t get discouraged. Time was passing, and she was tiring. She panted as she dodged yet another one of them.

Dozens of them, one of me. She shot one last pulse into the ground and felt it.

A hand by the grate. The girl could swim, possibly holding her breath underwater. She’s not from here! Aurora realized. She saw Milo’s fingerprints in this mess. She had been recruited. She had taken so long because of the water pressing down on it, one thing Aurora forgot to consider. Aurora barely made it to safety before pushing the earth with all her energy. It shot, toward the gate, smashing into it, loosening it for the girl.

She didn’t have time to sense anymore, just evade. It felt like forever until… The water started changing color – from dirty brown to rust red. It spread slowly, then surely, covering the entire space. She inhaled sharply.

At first, nothing seemed to change. Then, the men stumbled to their knees, bubbles where their shoulders used to be. Visibly weakening. Aurora skidded to a stop, chest heaving, lungs burning.

Then she turned to execute the last part of her plan. She sprinted to the wall’s one weakness and prayed, forcing the earth into the crack as hard as she could. Come on, come on. Yesterday she had achieved her personal best in earth heaving. She could never truly wield the earth with strength. That’s what made her plan even more reckless. She heaved, then heard the stone crack, widening enough to funnel the water out. She slumped onto her knees, her face underwater. She had exhausted all her energy.

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Crack. The kingdom started draining.

She rose, holding the wall for support, rust red streaked against her face. She turned back toward the square. That’s when she saw it. What happens when you reverse the power in this shitty kingdom. Some women were looking incredulously as fire flared from their hands. It was so…easy. As if power was natural in them. A select few had already taken matters into their own hands, flames roaring.

Others began to stir. It was subtle at first. Shivering hands, shallow breaths. Then came the surges. One woman screamed—not in pain, but fury. The sound cracked like thunder. The men were shouting now.

“The women—!” “They’re doing something—!” “They’re not supposed to—!”

They weren’t supposed to.

But they were.

Bitch.

Flashbacks of the Crystal Kingdom invaded her memories.. And that’s when Aurora noticed it. Milo’s chaos. Chaos was chaos, no matter the flavor. There were times when she looked away when something particularly gruesome happened, something twisting in her chest. This is wrong! One Inferno lunged forward, flames licking his fingers. But when he swung his arm—nothing. Just air.

He stared at his hand like it had betrayed him. More men tried - and more failed.

The reversal had begun, and even the air knew it, shifting in temperature. Aurora could feel it in her bones. In the pulse of the earth. The girl from the crowd—the secret helper—emerged at last from behind the grate, gasping, soaked, but alive. Her eyes met Aurora’s. Then she lifted her hand. And every vial Aurora had given her—every drop of liquid was empty. Aurora just nodded numbly. She squinted. The girl was dark, like her. Another earth user, perhaps. She tilted her head, thinking of talking to her.

But the girl stuffed her hands in her pockets, smirked, and walked away.

She must be like, Milo’s secret agent. Aurora mused, then shrugged. The water shimmered. A ripple spread. She walked to the plaza, eyes scanning for Karl’s mom. But before she could find her, she found Karl instead, slumped, on his knees, limp. She peeked behind him to see his mom’s body in front of him.

And her muscles stiffened again, her blood turned cold. She didn’t know what to say. Memories of seeing his mom surged. She had seen the Inferno approach her with fury in his eyes. She hadn’t realized it was murderous intent. Not then. But now it clicked – what must have happened. He must have seen Karl zooming around, exploding the water canisters. He knew from his skin and eyes that they had his mother. So he…

Aurora’s throat went dry. And it was all her fault. She froze before forcing footsteps toward Karl. She bent toward him, her hand hovering toward his shoulder, and she froze again.

She could see it already—his shoulders trembling. The ground beneath him frosted in thin veins, crawling outward like roots of rage. He wasn’t breathing right. Wasn’t moving right. She felt like she was watching a boy unravel, thread by thread.

Because of her. Because of her third, last mistake.

Karl whipped around, Aurora skidded to safety, earth wrapped around her ankles, barely safe. But the ice arc had cut her arm, badly. She grasped it closed, her first instinct trying not to stop excessive bleeding.

Hatred, mixed with sorrow in his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he snarled, each word slow. “You told me, she wasn’t here!”

Another arc of ice. Another narrow escape. She couldn’t even speak. What would she say? Yes, she didn’t know initially? But that was a truth wrapped in a lie. She didn’t know before they entered, but she did when it mattered. She knew the risk and chose the mission over his mom’s life.

He would never forgive her. His eyes widened at her silence, and it clicked. Her heart sank as she realized, he now knows everything. Realized everything. At first, the anger melted from his face. Something had shattered. His last trust in her, perhaps. The illusion that she was on his side, maybe. She saw the softness, the uncertainty, the grief. What replaced it wasn’t blankness—it was direction. His target. He froze a running Inferno, trapping his legs. But in the next two seconds, the ice spread upwards. Karl didn’t hear – or care about – his screams. In seconds, his whole body was encapsulated in ice. Karl squeezed until he popped.

Aurora forced away the instinct to look away. She didn’t have the right to. This time she didn’t yell his name. She had lost that privilege. He didn’t even flinch when the blood sprayed. He didn’t even blink. His hands dropped to his sides like they belonged to someone else, but they twitched once. Magic surged around him, messy and raw.

She stepped forward, the earth retreating from her leg and clasping a woman and child who weren’t fighting, but running too. They barely escaped Karl’s wrath. But he summoned another ice arc that slammed toward them. Aurora skidded them away, quickly.

She panted, falling to her knees, her hand released from the cut. The amount of energy was costing her. Karl turned to her, fast and sharp. His eyes were wet, jaw clenched hard enough to shake. Not rage—something worse. Hate, yes. But behind it, a grief so raw it cut. He looked at her like he was trying to remember who she’d been to him. A sister? A friend? A betrayer. Maybe all three. His fingers curled as he raised them, not with hatred, but with heartbreak. But heartbreak had claws too.

And somehow, that was worse. Because he wasn’t trying to kill her. He was trying to mean something to her—one last time.

He’s going to kill me.

She didn’t feel fear. Just… exhaustion.

Karl took slow steps forward.

She looked at the sky, closing her eyes. She felt the heat. Her wet skin. The hard ground below her knees. “Aurora,” he said. Her name cracked like frost on glass. She didn’t move. She understood. He raised his hand.

A hand closed around Karl’s wrist. Karl’s eyes snapped wide—only for his body to seize, lock, and fall. Milo held him with one hand, but he wasn’t looking at Karl. He was looking at her. Then his eyes travelled down to the cut on her arm. Then back up. Karl dropped to the ground like a rag doll, unconscious. Finally still.

The fires still raged. The screams hadn’t stopped. But in that moment, the world went quiet again. Just for them.

—-------------------------

Aurora sat back against the wall of a shattered home, chest heaving, the heat from nearby fires searing her lungs. The gash on her arm pulsed with every heartbeat—deep, jagged, already soaked through. She pressed her palm to it, hard. Pain flared white, and the world tilted sideways. Her breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to stay upright. Not now. Not here.

Karl was sprawled a few feet away. Aurora barely heard the crunch of footsteps until they stopped in front of her. Her vision swam as she looked at him. Milo stood untouched, unscathed. His coat still perfectly buttoned, crisp, clean. He crouched beside her, eyes flicking to her arm.

“You’re losing too much blood,” he said, voice low but taut. “Give me your hand.”

“No shit,” she muttered, listening.

He didn’t respond. Just shrugged off his coat and unwrapped something from beneath it—an old cloth. Clean. Almost too clean for this place. Then a small vial. Then another.

“Where did you get—?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just unfolded the cloth, hands moving with the kind of practiced calm that made her stomach twist. “Collapse follows patterns,” he said finally. “So I bring what the patterns require.” He poured something from the vial onto the cloth. The sting hit instantly as he pressed it to her skin. Aurora hissed and turned her face away.

“In a bit the painkillers will kick in,” he said calmly. That’s when she realized the way his hands moved, gentle in a way she hadn’t known he was capable of. He focused without a hint of performance. He tied the bandage carefully.

“You don’t even look surprised,” she said, bitter. “Karl snaps, the city burns, and you’re unfazed.”

Milo didn’t react. “Would panic serve you better?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “You actually helping the mission and acting normal for once would be nice.”

He poured the antiseptic over the cloth again, and this time pressed deep into the gash. Aurora choked on a scream. Her back arched off the wall. “Stay still,” he murmured. “If I miss the artery, you keep the arm.” Her vision swam. Her teeth clicked shut so hard she bit the inside of her cheek.

She said nothing, couldn’t. Pain blurred into heat, into tears. And still, his hands moved confidently. The cloth was soaked. Blood slicked his fingers. Milo kept working in silence, sleeves rolled, hands steady as a surgeon’s. “You’re lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Any deeper, and I’d be cauterizing.”

Aurora hissed as he pressed into the wound again. Her body spasmed once, then went still. He didn’t flinch. Just adjusted the angle, kept going. “Don’t pass out,” he murmured. “You’ll make this harder than it already is.”

Her head lolled toward him, breath shallow. He glanced at her face—just for a second. “You’ve looked worse.” Aurora could barely hear him Barely see a faint smirk, but he wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was just... Milo.

Then, the next part sounded blurry. “You’re not dying. If you were…”

I’d stay until there was nothing left to try.