Lahat ng Kabanata ng SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

By dusk the Holdfast had made a chore out of fear. Buckets went down to cellars that used to keep potatoes and were now practicing being forts. The elders staged an argument over whether carrots prefer to be stored in sawdust or sand just so the children could decide who to side with. Jasper took the new camera to the room that isn’t a room. Vivian turned the notebook into a weight she carried on the left to make her right hand free for decisions. Lyra sharpened a knife that didn’t need it because sometimes the rhythm is the point.I sat on the back step and watched the sky decide what kind of night it wanted to be. The bruise at my ribs had a pulse; my cheekbone had learned a new shape. Elara’s strip of blue lay warm under my shirt like a reminder that tenderness is a discipline, not a mood. Somewhere, someone tried the drum and then put it away. The day didn’t want ceremony; it wanted small mercies and enough bread.By full dark the orders moved through the house like weather. Patro

The day after the ledger confession broke across the Holdfast like a thin pane of ice, the sky refused to be anything but gray. It made the pines look like brushstrokes held too long in dirty water. It made the yard feel smaller. It made names heavier.Vivian called council not in the hall, but in the yard where the ground still remembered boot prints from the last time our fear had looked like order. She chose the yard because there’s less echo there; lies hate fresh air.People came with knives tucked into belts and grievances tucked into faces. Lyra leaned against the fence, calm as a whetstone. Jason stood opposite her, a pillar pretending not to be a wall. Jasper circled the group once, like a man measuring wind. He looked as he always looked when the room grew teeth—steady, collared in a patience he’d decided was his portion.Vivian lifted her hand. “We will not feed the fire rumor has built,” she said. “Thorn brought truth, and truth is a hard bread. We eat it and we check the

The storm arrived the way old debts do—slow at first, then all at once. It stacked itself over the ridge like a bruise deciding where to settle. The pines leaned into it, whispering in that language needles use when wind makes them tell the truth. Word carried through the Holdfast that we would run. Not for spectacle. Not for sport. For the business of reminding the line it still had a spine.By dusk, the yard had become a lung. It filled with bodies and emptied them into teams, breath moving in the old pattern of preparation. Leather ties, oiled blades, signal cords coiled around wrists. Lyra stood at the center with a length of chalk and drew three arcs on the packed dirt, speaking names into each as if sorting debtors from saints. Thorn hovered near her, trying to be useful without being noticed. Jason stalked the perimeter with the bannerstaff like a shepherd’s crook he could turn into a spear at the first offense. Vivian watched from the steps, Elara’s blue tucked into her collar

Fire does not arrive like rain. It does not ask permission. It finds the smallest, driest thing you forgot to love—rope, broom, lint tucked in the corner of a storeroom—and decides to become a language out of it. The Holdfast had always told its children the lesson: keep the floors swept. Don’t stack crates high near the eaves. Oil the hinges, not the doorframes. We told it so often it turned into a lullaby. And then, one night, the lullaby woke us with its hands around our throats.The first scream did not come from a throat. It came from the bell on the west tower, two sharp strokes, a pause, then three—pattern for “bright danger.” I was on the steps with Jasper when it began, the chill of pre-dawn still snagged in the yard, the last of the storm’s water beading on edges like glass beads on a shawl. He had just handed me a tin mug of tea. My fingers hadn’t made sense of its heat yet.“Smoke,” he said, before the wind brought it to us. He didn’t lift his chin to smell like a man in a

Night found a quieter pitch after the oath, as if the Holdfast had learned a new way to breathe. Smoke thinned like a thought you decide not to finish. The creek shouldered past stones, not hurry, just insistence. Children slept heavy, the particular exhaustion that comes from having been rescued and asked only to continue existing.I might have slept. The mark under my collarbone did that gentle thrum it does when my body needs reminding: you’re still here, don’t spend it all at once. But some rooms only open in the dark. Vivian came to where I sat with my back against a stump and my knees up, Elara’s blue warming around my wrist as if thread can keep veins company.“Walk,” she said, without preamble.I stood. Jasper glanced up from the fire and read the single word in Vivian’s posture. He rose too. Lyra slid from shadow with the particular smile she wears when she suspects there will be truth and trouble served in the same bowl. Jason didn’t follow; he stayed by the new kitchen’s lo