There’s something stunning about the blood. Reading about rebellions is different from living them. I watch how the desert drinks every drop. What was I thinking?

What have I done?

My eyes flick back to the other Ashlord. She’s surrounded, too, but a far better soldier than the other official. She sweeps her sword in dangerous arcs, carving a cautious circle around her. The rebels backpedal until one of their number answers.

He looks like an average Dividian until his weapon lashes out to meet hers. The Ashlord parries the blow, but I can see my own surprise echoed in her expression. The soldier’s entire right limb is hardware. From the shoulder down, an arm of pistons and steel and strange joints.

The second surprise is how young he looks. The determined look on his face can’t hide the fact that he’s just a boy. I watch as he swings again and again and again, backing the Ashlord down with the strength of each blow. He matches that strength with grace. There’s something poetic about the way his shoulders twist at the last moment. His metallic arm catches the point of her sword and another turn sends the weapon spinning to the dirt.

The boy moves to finish her off at the exact moment I notice the flames.

Panicked, my eyes sweep back to my legs. Hammer’s heart has given out. The burst of fire courses over and through her, and I realize the flames are starting to spread to me, too. I squirm and scrape my nails into the dirt, but I don’t have the strength to get out. The heat snakes through my leggings and I can’t bite back the screams.

Half the rebels are at my side in seconds. I feel hands and see legs and they’re pulling me free. Someone pats me down. Someone else turns me over. Beyond them, I see the final Ashlord fall. She gasps as she does, and the boy with the metallic arm kicks her aside to end it. Blood drips from his elbow joint as he sounds the next command.

“Gather the ashes,” he says. “Loot the corpses. Help the girl. There’ll be more.”

One of the rebels pulls me to my feet. In the failing light, I can see that every single one of them is Dividian. I’ve been surrounded by Ashlords for so long that I forgot what it’s like to have someone look my way without their chin raised in pride. There’s something blessedly familiar about their casual stances, about the scent of the same cologne my father wears curling into the air. These are my people. I’m still wary as the leader crosses the distance and offers a greeting.