Caught in the Glow

The festival grounds pulsed with a nervous energy. Even the air, thick with the recycled breath of a thousand souls, seemed to vibrate with anticipation. This was the day. The day the Lykos’ Lambda Clan, my clan, would be judged not just on our yield, but on our spirit. The Laurels. A word whispered with reverence, a promise of a few days free from the gnawing hunger, a taste of something beyond the grey monotony of the mines. I’d pushed myself harder than ever before, the heat of the vibranium veins searing through my frysuit, leaving angry red welts on my skin. A foolish risk, perhaps, but the image of Melissa’s hopeful eyes had fueled my every swing of the pick. She deserved more than this suffocating existence. She deserved the Laurels.

But as the ArchGovernor’s pronouncements echoed through the cavern, a cold dread seeped into my gut. The rewards, the meager bounty meant to placate us, were parceled out. Clan Gamma. Clan Epsilon. My clan, Lambda, was overlooked, dismissed with a curt wave of a gloved hand. The smug satisfaction on Timothy Cu Podginus’s face was a bitter pill to swallow. Always the same. No matter how hard we toiled, how much we bled, the Colors, their favored clans, would always take the lion’s share. The injustice gnawed at me, a familiar ache that had settled deep within my bones.

Later, the hushed excitement of the festival still lingering in the periphery, Eo found me. Her face, usually alight with a fierce, indomitable spirit, was shadowed with a different kind of longing. “John,” she began, her voice barely a whisper, “Darrow… he wants to see you.” Darrow. My young cousin, his eyes still holding a spark of innocence that the mines hadn’t yet managed to extinguish. He was a good lad, eager to please, but the weight of our reality was beginning to press down on him.