Page 79 of Storm of Stars
So we took it while we could. Held onto it with both hands.
The sun had just barely crested the horizon, washing the camp in a warm, amber glow that made the canvas tents shimmer like soft-lit lanterns. The stillness was surreal, like the world was holding its breath. I stood just outside the food tent, stacking a plate with dried meats, fruits, and a hunk of bread, my fingers moving on autopilot. The air smelled of dew and ash from the fires of last night.
I’d never been outside the gates of Praxis before. The closest I’d ever come was filming the Wildguard as theyreturned bloodied and victorious from their first trial. Out here, everything felt… freer. Raw. Untamed. And terrifying in a way that made my heart beat faster.
Most of the camp had gone quiet. By now, the first two waves should’ve breached the gates. Should’ve started the chain reaction that would either free the Collectives, or bury us all beneath the rubble of what we tried to change.
A figure stepped up beside me. I turned and found Edgar standing there, his expression unreadable, his arms folded, posture straight as ever despite the early hour.
“Edgar,” I greeted with a small nod.
His eyes scanned me, lingering just a second too long, and I caught the brief flicker of something hard in them—distrust. I didn’t blame him. As far as anyone outside my little circle was concerned, I’d spent every day up until yesterday as the Praxis puppet. Even I would’ve been wary of me.
“How did the first waves fare last night?” I asked, trying not to let nerves slip into my voice.
He grabbed a strip of jerky from the serving tray and chewed on it slowly before answering. “According to plan.”
Vague. Guarded. As expected.
“Has the third wave moved into position yet?” I tried again.
This time, he didn’t even bother responding. He just looked at me, brows slightly furrowed, jaw tight.
I sighed, setting the plate down on the table. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he gave a single shake of his head.
“You know what my Praxis-assigned cameraman said to me after my last trial?” he asked eventually, voice low and bitter.
I met his gaze and waited.
“When I came back bloodied but breathing...When I’d survived and so many others hadn’t, he walked up to me,completely unfazed by the carnage, and said, ‘Congratulations.’” He spat the word like it tasted foul. “Congratulations for making it out alive. For putting on a good show. For surviving long enough to give him some credit for being the one behind the lens.”
My chest ached with the weight of his confession. How many times had I said the exact same thing to my Challengers?
“Congratulations for being the perfect puppet.” He shook his head, a humorless laugh breaking in his throat. “It didn’t even register how sick that was until later. At the time, I just nodded. I said ‘thank you.’ Like it was some kind of achievement I should be proud of.”
I watched him quietly.
“Praxis has a way of warping our perception,” I said, my voice low, edged with shame. “ Growing up, we didn’t see the Run for what it was. It was entertainment. It had drama, hero journeys, and competition. The Challengers from the Collectives weren’t victims to us. They were stars. Celebrities. We idolized them. We bought into the illusion so hard we didn’t question what it cost them to get there. Or to get back.”
I swallowed, forcing the next words past the tightness in my throat. “We rooted for them, we memorized their names, we wore their merchandise. And the worst part is the whole time, we told ourselves we were doing somethinggoodfor them. That we were giving them an opportunity, redemption, fame, a better life. That’s what they drilled into us. That’s what we believed.”
I looked up at Edgar, his face unreadable, but watching me closely.
“I see it differently now. Praxis is a system that tells itself it's merciful, when all it's doing is feeding off the suffering it creates. And I was part of it.” I shook my head slowly, trying to force the sting behind my eyes to calm. “I'm not proud of how long it took me to wake up. But I’m awake now.”
I took a breath and kept going.
“You know what they teach us in school? That the Collectives were selfish. That they rebelled against unity, against preservation. They said Praxis had every right to cut them off, to strip their access, isolate them. Let them starve or die out. And when they didn’t? When they created the Reclamation Run instead?" I gave a bitter laugh. "That was supposed to be a gift. A noble act.”
My stomach churned even repeating it aloud. I spat the words, the lies I’d once parroted without question. “And I believed it. I swallowed every bit of it because why would the people who swore to protect us, lie to us?”
I paused. Let the silence settle between us.
“I hate that it took falling in love to see through it all. That it took her to show me the truth. But I’m grateful, too. Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it. You can’t go back.”
Edgar stood quiet for a long moment. Then he stepped closer and clapped his calloused hand on my shoulder.
