Chapter 1

Eliza leaped and landed on the stars. Crystal constellations crunched beneath her boots, sending iridescent shards scattering. She rearranged the sky’s reflection each time she touched the pavement. Specks of light bounced as the ground began to vibrate beneath her feet.

Just blocks away, an ocean of people enveloped the ethereal streets. In their crystal-beaded attire, they resembled shimmering waves crashing in slow motion. The sight made her stomach twist, so she took a long, measured breath. Swimming through the crowd would be easy. Sneaking into the Museum of the Hollows? Not so much.

She turned toward her open bedroom window—a portal to another life, where the bed sheets she climbed down gently swayed in the evening breeze. Even looking back made the memory of the day burn in her mind. Her cheeks flushed, and she replayed the thoughts in her mind over and over like a bad song stuck on repeat.

The front door creaked open, stripping the warmth from her face. Her mother’s footsteps scuffed the porch, and Eliza winced before hearing her ridicule. “Are you really planning on leaving those sheets dangling out your open window? Surely, there must be an easier way to attract every burglar and rapist in all of Kalia.”

Eliza ground her boots deeper into the crystalline pavement and gripped the hem of her blue dress shirt. “I’m getting an audience with Representative Pirral.”

Mrs. Bennihan sighed, shifting little Davey on her hip. “Pirral’s ignored all of your messages. She wouldn’t even meet with you when you stole the glider and drove all the way to Hewenia! What makes tonight any different?”

“She’s not in Hewenia tonight,” Eliza shot back, her voice steady. “She’s in the building I study in every day!”

“She might as well be on the other side of the world,” her mother countered, her tone softening into concern. “You know what’s going on there tonight. It’s the most exclusive event of the season! How do you plan on getting in? And… are those wrinkled slacks the ones you outgrew last year? And what’s going on with your hair? Did you use an air dryer or a wind turbine?”

Davie giggled.

Eliza blushed and shoved short strands of light and dark brown hair behind her ears. “This is the best I could do on short notice. I… I have to convince her to hire me. If I don’t—”

“Then what?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’ve been in a mood since you got home—two hours before school ended, I might add. Do you want to talk about that?”

Eliza’s fingers twisted the fabric of her shirt as the knot in her stomach tightened. “…I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Bennihan cocked her head and squinted, as if unable to tell who she was looking at. “I don’t want an apology. I want to know why.”

The silence between them stretched as Eliza thought about what to say. She had spent hours convincing herself to leave but hadn’t prepared for this confrontation. She avoided eye contact but sensed her mother’s frown as she approached. 

“I got into a debate with Mr. Pierce about the hydroelectric power levy.”

“Of course you did,” her mother interrupted. “What sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t get fired up over a power levy? Sorry, continue.”

Eliza’s fingers tightened around the telecom in her pocket. “Then I realized I was late to Mrs. Johnston’s class. It shouldn’t have mattered, but you know she’s my…” She stopped, breathed, and went on. “Her letter of recommendation was the only one that felt genuine.” 

She pulled out her telecom and activated the holoprojector with a flick of her thumb. The video recording was already queued up, casting a pale light across her mother’s face. Eliza knew every word by heart, but watching it with her mother made her feel like she was reliving the memory. 

An open door framed the shot from the hall as Mrs. Johnston’s stout figure appeared, speaking in front of the class. “Parv, I should disagree with you about the girl, but… Oh, all right. I’m retiring anyway, so I’ll admit it. Eliza’s probably the brightest, most talented, most ambitious girl I’ve ever taught,” She paused. “But she’s also exhausting. Her flame is so intense it’s burned a hole through her resume. Her need to ask every question is as tiring as her need to answer them, and her corrections are too much.

“On top of that, she comes from a family of no fame or fortune. It’s no wonder she’s yet to score an internship. When girls like her enter the real world, it never ends well. She’s due for a reckoning.”

“Her wardrobe is due for a reckoning,” one of Eliza’s bullies quipped off-screen.

The class erupted with laughter until Eliza slammed the stop button and shoved the telecom back into her pocket. Her hand shook, betraying the calm she had tried to project. 

Eliza was used to surface-level slights from the other girls, but they stung more coming from a woman she considered her second mother. She couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing the tears already pooling in her eyes, threatening to betray her anger for vulnerability. 

Instead, she ran home. And since then, she thought up about a million scathing retorts that would’ve given her the last laugh before graduating and becoming someone significant. Not that it mattered anymore. 

“A family of no fame or fortune?” Mrs. Bennihan scoffed, “Compared to her and the ass crack she married?”

Eliza grimaced. “I can’t get into the Barencos Academy without a notable internship. I need to work for a revolutionary like Vila Pirral. It’s the only edge I’ll have when I apply because you and Dad are still alive and grossly middle-class.”

“You hear that, Davie?” Mrs. Bennihan crooned, gently poking his nose. “Your sister’s upset because she comes from a normal, loving home.”

Eliza groaned, frustration bubbling up in her chest. “Mom, that’s not what I—”

“I don’t like this look on you,” her mother interjected. “Fragility doesn’t suit you, Eliza. That fire you have—that comes from me. That old bitch and those little delinquents aren’t worth the space they take up in your mind. They’ll never get the privilege of really knowing you. Besides, you’re not due for a reckoning. You are a reckoning. I’ve got the premature wrinkles to prove it.”

The words washed over Eliza like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her anger. She took a deep breath, the tension in her shoulders easing as the calm settled into her bones. “Thank you.” Her words were soft but sincere.

“Just… try not getting arrested tonight, okay? Your brother skipped his afternoon nap, and I’m running on fumes.”

She knew her mother was joking, but with two weeks left before turning seventeen, she wouldn’t be tried as an adult if she bent a few laws. Mandated community service was well worth the risk. 

“Wait,” Eliza said, her mother’s words settling in. “Are you telling me to—”

“Go,” It was a quiet but firm command. “I don’t know how you’ll do it, but someday, one of your insane ideas is actually going to work.”

Flashes of light illuminated the street like a silent thunderstorm. The crowd swelled as it spilled onto the main road. The air buzzed as the hum of voices grew louder, more insistent. Even their neighbors emerged from their homes to join the masses. 

“Just give your little brother a kiss before you go.”

Eliza turned to Davey, who watched her with wide, trusting eyes. She leaned in and kissed his bald head. He cooed in response, his smile widening to reveal both of his teeth.

Time blurred as Eliza stood still, watching her mother and brother return inside. The museum was only four blocks away, but it suddenly felt like it was across the Cerulean Sea. At the same time, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders no longer felt heavy. It felt right. 

Eliza walked toward the growing crowd as the canvas of stars realigned around her. The entire city reverberated with the excitement usually reserved for a concert or a championship game. The energy was almost visible, and her heart pounded with its electric buzz. All around her, mothers and daughters hurried forward, adorned with braided crystals on their rope belts, hems, and hair. Young men trotted by the finger-wide neon streams, the beads on the seams of their pants whistling like wind chimes.

Two friends began blurting out celebrities’ names. “Will Koston Donnick be there?”

“Captain Donnick? I thought he was getting inaugurated soon.” the other replied. 

“If he’s here, Marquez might be, too!” A chorus of squeals erupted from nearly every woman in earshot, and Eliza barely dodged the stampede of flailing arms as they ran ahead. Of course, they were obsessed with Marquez Donnick and his abs, those arms, and deep brown eyes (not to mention the dynastic fortune). He was a true work of art, so long as you didn’t look beyond the frame. 

She reached the back of the crowd and started squeezing through a bottleneck, saying, “Excuse me,” as she swam through the waves of spectators. The competing scents of ripened body odor, musky cologne, and flowery perfumes assaulted her nose as she battled her way to the front. 

A couple blocked her path, gossiping about the couture on the red carpet and name-dropping designers in accents Eliza never heard before. She tried to maneuver around them, but they kept moving in the same direction. 

The weight of other people began to press against her back. She gasped for air, then plowed through them, barreling forward until her stomach hit the thick velvet rope blocking the crowd from the spectacle ahead.

The museum’s twisted pyramid exterior shimmered in the moonlight. It towered over the residential buildings. Large triangles protruded beside the museum’s many balconies, where torches illuminated the statues of the Hollows: narrow-faced, lanky creatures thought to be the world’s first (and long extinct) species. Draped in ceremonial togas, the Hollows cast judgment on the crowd before with their piercing granite eyes.

Today, their judgment was particularly significant. The relics on display inside came from one of their sunken ships. One museum scholar suggested that it was the most substantial recovery of Hollow artifacts in history. That was probably one of the reasons why it was attracting leaders and celebrities from every corner of the world.

A pair of sentries, god-like creatures in human form, guarded the museum’s entrance, silhouetted by the light pouring out from the lobby behind them. The red carpet disappeared beneath their massive silver boots while stanchions blocked the congested layers of paparazzi at their sides.

Swordwardens—swords, for short—lined the streets just beyond the ropes. Their stone faces were devoid of humor. Emblems of silver gunblades formed an ‘X’ on their bulky chest plates, and their utility belts included space for where a ray gun holster on one side and a gunblade on the other.

Eliza took a deep, staggered breath. Between the blockade of swords, the towering sentries, and the army of photographers, she wondered if her mother had let her go because getting inside would be impossible. 

“Over there!” someone shouted, pointing upward. A sky glider sailed through the brisk air, guided by blue flames and neon streams that marked its path, and hovered at the base of the museum steps. Blowtorch-sized flames sparked along its rails as it parked on the crystal pavement. A flurry of white flashes quickly engulfed the sleek vehicle, obscuring the figures behind its tinted glass.

Eliza’s toes ignited in pain as a bearded man shoved in front of her and waved erratically at the swords. “Excuse me! Excuse me! Excuse me—ma’am!”

A severe-looking female sword stepped forward. Her tight-lipped expression turned the man pale. 

“Ma’am, I have to get through,” the man said, breathless.

“Are you with the press?” the sword asked in her husky voice.

“No, but—”

“I am,” The words escaped Eliza before she realized she said them. She knew a little about the Chronicle’s editorial board and even less about photography, but she had already interrupted, so she nudged her way back to the front. “I’m interning with the Kalia Chronicle. My editor asked me to shadow our photographer. She’s up there on the left.” 

The sword inspected Eliza as if she were translucent. “Where are your credentials?”

“I left them at home. This was a last-minute assignment, and I rushed here as fast as I could. If I run back, I might not make it back in time, and I—”

“Alright, alright,” the sword gestured Eliza forward. “Spread out your arms.”

Eliza obeyed, ducked under the rope, and approached the woman to be briefly patted down.

“Go on ahead,” The sword said, nudging Eliza behind the swordwardens’ line of defense. 

Eliza’s boots felt like they were cemented to the pavement. How the hell did that work? Had she really talked her way past the swords?

The next obstacle wouldn’t be so easy.

Her heart pounded as the glider lifted off, exposing an unencumbered path into the eye of the storm. Two of Kalia’s District Representatives ascended the carpeted steps, their faces illuminated by a crossfire of flashing lights and shouted questions.

Eliza grew queasy whenever she was asked questions in class. She knew the answers but hated the dozens of eyes suddenly on her. But here, if the paparazzi turned their lenses on her, those flashes would strike like lightning. She glanced back at the rope, now overtaken by a cluster of eager tweens. She couldn’t retreat. Her only option was forward. 

The constellations released their grip on her feet. The city sounds muted around her, and the museum’s gleaming lights pulled her in, a portal to another world.

Her boots left faint imprints on the red carpet. The flashes died down, and the paparazzi peaked like prairie dogs from behind their lenses. Their inaudible whispers and the sparse white lights bounced off her shoulders, but no one asked about her thoughts on Hollow antiquities or who she was wearing. Her breathing even out as she continued toward the entrance, where whistles of woodwinds and soft, haunting strings beckoned her closer.

The two sentries blocked her path, their biceps straining against their uniforms as they scrutinized her.

“You’re wearing pants,” one of them grumbled. Eliza couldn’t tell which had spoken, their sheer bulk overwhelming any other detail. 

“These are slacks,” Eliza replied, surprised that her voice didn’t waver. 

“The invitation requires all female guests to wear gowns.”

“An even more frivolous dress? I don’t have one.”

“A gown?”

“Or a dress.”

“Or an invitation, from the looks of it.” One of them said, their tone sharp. 

Eliza crossed her arms, standing her ground. “I’m here at the behest of a woman inside. Representative Vila Pir—”

“Not interested.”

Her mouth opened, but she scrambled for the right words. “It… It’s urgent. There was an incident in her district and—” 

The bursts of chatter and flashes surged back to life. A gilded caravan glided toward the museum and descended like a celestial being. The driver stepped out in a white tailcoat that emitted an ethereal glow when hit with the rapid spurts of light. His gloved hand opened the passenger door and out stepped a damsel in a scarlet gown that swayed effortlessly in the gentle breeze. She floated onto the red carpet as if it were her personal runway. Her thick blonde curls bounced as every camera in Kalia caught her well-rehearsed smile, her jewels catching the light like fireflies.

Eliza watched as a second woman emerged. She was so top-heavy she nearly fell forward out of the shuttle (and her dress) and let out a loud, haughty laugh. Behind her, a strawberry blonde in a silky white dress slinked out but didn’t try to pull focus from the others. Then came the Queen of Ratone, materializing in a gown dripping in gold with the remnants of her country’s wealth spackled onto her skin. The paparazzi “oohed” and “aahed” as she stood away from the others, somehow pursing her lips and smiling at the same time. 

The four women ambled gracefully apart to reveal King Ratone, a hefty man covered in furs dyed silver and gold. Layers of golden vests and chains hid his true physical form. His combover contrived hypnotic swirls atop his sweaty head while his perfume visibly wafted up the steps. Old money never smelled so new.

Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. She had to get inside before they took over the steps. She turned back to the sentries as the storm of lights drew closer, spotting a familiar face in the doorway.

“That scholar,” Eliza exclaimed, pointing to the museum’s manager. “He knows me. Gerald. Gerald!”

“Move,” one of Ratone’s mistresses snapped.

“Gerald, it’s—”

“Move!” The scarlet-dressed mistress barked, slamming an elbow into Eliza’s ribs. The impact knocked the words from her mouth and her boots off the carpet.

Eliza’s scorching glare could’ve seared the woman’s dress, but the sting of the hit brought back the cold realization settling in her gut. She was back in that hallway, listening to Mrs. Johnston’s words and the echoes of laughter. Except… these people didn’t even bother to laugh at her. To them, she was invisible. Nothing, even.

She stared, numb, as Ratone’s entourage stepped inside and the Queen loudly requested an audience with the open bar. 

The mistress in white paused, her pensive eyes almost emitting pity. “Want to be a part of their world?” she asked, her voice low and knowing. “You’ve got to play their game.” She turned away, her form fading into a silhouette until she vanished inside.

Eliza stayed there, frozen for a moment, then slowly met the sentries’ eyes. They avoided her gaze, their indifference a sharp reminder that no one here was going to help her. But she couldn’t just sit there, lingering on the fringes of a world she wasn’t meant for. Her legs wobbled as she pushed herself to her feet, but she managed. With all the attention on her again, her steps quickened as she hurried down the red carpet. The marks her boots left behind quickly vanished into the fibers.

But she wasn’t running back home. Not this time.

She ran in the opposite direction, past the barricades and the roaring crowd. She reached the side of the building and leaned against it to regain her breath. The stars dwindled at her feet. The museum’s stone walls blocked out the chaotic world behind her. 

She pressed her back against the cool stone, and her heart and mind stopped racing. She was finally able to hear her own thoughts. 

That was humiliating, but it was over. Those awful women, her awful peers, and her awful teachers… when her stomach churned, it was at the thought of proving them right. 

Trying to get in through the front door was an insane idea, but if the museum manager had seen her, it might’ve worked.

What if something else could?

The museum was vast, taking up two city blocks. The front door wasn’t the only entrance. It was just the most legal one. 

She walked along the side of the building, mentally mapping out the first-floor blueprints. She knew where the exhibition hall was, where the study hall held the texts she pored over, and, most importantly, where a rack of extra scholar robes was stored in the employee break room. If she could get to them without being seen…

Eliza reached the wall’s edge and peaked around the corner. A single sentry stood guard at the back entrance. Odd. Why just one?

The street was empty except for a silver sky glider parked nearby. Its windows were clouded, so she couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. 

She heard two quick beeps and instinctively reached for her telecom. The sound wasn’t coming from her pocket.

“Yes, Father,” the sentries’ deep voice drifted around the corner. There was a pause, then, “I told you those herbs would do the trick. The poor guy almost threw up at my feet. I told him I’d get someone from inside to replace his post, so I’m alone.”

What? What was he saying?

“There’s no way into the restoration room from here. I looked when I tried to adjust your uniform. We’ll have to get to it from the exhibition hall.” Another pause. “I’ll meet you at your post when you’re ready. Before we do this… You’re certain that Rexus is here? And a sigil?”

Eliza’s mind raced, but a single phrase cut through all the noise. I’ll meet you at your post. He was about to abandon his, and she still had two weeks before trespassing would cost her more than community service. 

She couldn’t hear the sentry’s father’s response, but his answer was clear. “Okay. Let’s begin.”