The Figsty district was alive with a quiet, simmering energy. The air was thick with the scent of earth and iron, the hum of rusted generators blending with the murmurs of the gathered crowd. Skyla Mellow stood at the center of it all, her presence commanding attention even in the dim light of the flickering gas lamps. She was no longer the grieving widow who had wept over Terri Dobson’s lifeless body. She was something else now—something harder, sharper, and unyielding.

Her attire reflected the change. Gone were the flowing dresses and soft fabrics she had once favored. Instead, she wore a rugged, masculine ensemble: a fitted leather jacket over a plain tunic, sturdy trousers, and heavy boots. Her fiery red hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her face, once soft and expressive, was now a mask of stoic determination. The only hint of her former self was the faint scar that ran along her jawline, a reminder of the night she had lost everything.

The crowd around her was a mix of familiar faces and new recruits—men and women who had been inspired by her fiery speech at Terri’s funeral. They were the downtrodden, the forgotten, the ones who had been pushed to the margins of Aether’s society. But tonight, they were something more. They were a resistance.

Skyla raised a hand, and the murmurs fell silent. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and steady, carrying the weight of someone who had nothing left to lose.

“We’ve been patient,” she began, her eyes scanning the crowd. “We’ve been quiet. We’ve followed the rules, hoping that if we just kept our heads down, things would get better. But they haven’t. They’ve gotten worse. Aether doesn’t see us as people. They see us as tools. As property. And as long as we let them, they’ll keep treating us that way.”

The crowd shifted, their expressions a mix of anger and resolve. Skyla’s words were hitting home, and she knew it. She had spent weeks building this moment, carefully choosing her words, her tone, her message. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

“Terri Dobson believed in peace,” she continued, her voice hardening. “He believed that if we just showed Aether we were worthy, they’d treat us with respect. But they didn’t. They killed him. And they’ll keep killing us unless we do something about it.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Skyla’s gaze hardened, and she took a step forward, her boots crunching against the gravel. “I’m not saying we should throw ourselves at Aether’s walls. That’s suicide. But we can’t keep waiting for someone else to save us. We have to save ourselves. And to do that, we need allies. We need resources. And we need a plan.”

One of the men in the crowd, a burly figure with a thick beard and a scarred face, spoke up. “And where are we supposed to find allies? Aether’s got everyone under their thumb.”

Skyla’s lips curled into a faint, almost predatory smile. “Not everyone. There’s a place—a place Aether thinks is dead and buried. A place where people like us, people who’ve been cast out and forgotten, have been gathering for years. Grieg’s Lair.”

The name sent a ripple of unease through the crowd. Grieg’s Lair was a legend, a name whispered in hushed tones by those who dared to speak of it. It was a place of exile, a desolate wasteland where the worst of Aether’s criminals had been sent to die. But it was also a place of defiance, where the outcasts had banded together to form their own society. A society that hated Aether as much as Skyla did.

“Grieg’s Lair?” another voice called out, this time from a woman with sharp features and a determined glint in her eye. “You want us to team up with criminals?”

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Skyla’s gaze didn’t waver. “I want us to survive. And if that means working with people who’ve been pushed to the edge, then so be it. Grieg’s Lair has something we don’t—experience. They’ve been fighting Aether for years. They know how to hit them where it hurts. And they’ve got a grudge that runs deeper than any of us can imagine.”

The crowd was silent now, the weight of her words settling over them. Skyla took a deep breath, her voice softening just enough to show the humanity beneath the steel. “I know this isn’t what Terri would have wanted. He believed in peace, in diplomacy. But Aether doesn’t understand peace. They understand power. And if we want to be free, we have to speak their language.”

She paused, letting her words sink in. Then she added, “And we’re not alone in this. There’s someone—a secret benefactor—who’s willing to fund our efforts. They’re an elite citizen, someone with the resources and the influence to make a difference. But they have to stay hidden. If Aether finds out who they are, it’s over.”

The crowd murmured again, this time with a mix of hope and skepticism. Skyla didn’t blame them. Trust was a rare commodity in the Figsty, and she was asking them to take a lot on faith. But she had no other choice.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” she said, her voice firm. “This won’t be easy. There will be risks. There will be sacrifices. And yes, there will be violence. Terri’s pacifism got him killed. I won’t make the same mistake.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Skyla’s gaze swept over the crowd, her expression unreadable. “If you’re with me, stay. If you’re not, leave now. But know this—if you walk away, you’re walking away from the only chance we have to change things. And I won’t stop until Aether pays for what they’ve done.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, the crowd began to step forward, their expressions hardening with resolve. Skyla’s lips curled into a faint smile, and she nodded. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

Later that night, Skyla gathered her inner circle in a small, dimly lit room at the back of an abandoned warehouse. The space was cramped, the air thick with the scent of oil and rust, but it was secure. The walls were lined with maps and diagrams, each one detailing a different aspect of Aether’s infrastructure. Skyla stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed and her expression grim.

“We need to make contact with Grieg’s Lair,” she said, her voice low but firm. “But we can’t just march in there. We need to be smart about this.”

One of her lieutenants, a wiry man with sharp features and a calculating gaze, spoke up. “How do we even find them? Grieg’s Lair isn’t exactly on the map.”

Skyla’s lips curled into a faint smile. “We don’t find them. They find us. We just have to make enough noise to get their attention.”

The room fell silent as the group absorbed her words. Skyla’s gaze hardened, and she leaned forward, her hands resting on the table. “We’re going to hit Aether where it hurts. Their supply lines. Their mana refineries. Their precious phildron drills. We’re going to make them bleed, and when we do, Grieg’s Lair will notice. And when they do, they’ll come to us.”

The room erupted into murmurs, the weight of her plan settling over them. Skyla didn’t flinch. She had spent weeks planning this, weighing every risk, every possibility. She knew it was dangerous. She knew it could backfire. But she also knew it was their only chance.

“We’re not just fighting for ourselves,” she said, her voice rising above the murmurs. “We’re fighting for everyone Aether has ever crushed. For everyone they’ve ever silenced. And we’re not going to stop until they’re the ones on their knees.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them. Skyla’s gaze swept over the group, her expression unreadable. “Any questions?”

No one spoke. Skyla nodded, her lips curling into a faint, almost predatory smile. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”