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Summary
I may be laughter: sharp as a wolf’s tooth, all brittle bravado and biting jest, savage survivor clinging to scraps of mirth among the ruins. A bastard son of Mars, born to bone and blood, too small, too feral, too hungry for the shine. Yet I’m also grief: the raw wound beneath the warpaint, the child abandoned to shadows and ghosts, forever yearning toward a sun that has only ever scorched my hands.
He may be gold: not in color, but in gravity — a star remade in the forge of fury, searing through the heavens on wings of vengeance, burdened with a light too bright, too brutal for the world to hold. Yet he’s also ash: the boy who buried his heart with his wife, the son who wears a war for skin, desperate for redemption he knows he’ll never earn.
We are both creatures of fracture. It’s why I see him when others can’t, why he lets me close when others must kneel. But I know — have always known — that wolves and reapers hunt different ghosts. That what I want, he cannot give. That some stars were never meant to fall.
We tried to be brothers.
I failed.
What if Sevro and Darrow were lovers?
A reimagining of Red Rising, told through Sevro’s hunger, his heart, his howl.