86. Jericho (9)

Where the sun couldn't reach, the rebellion thrived. The shadowlands became the seat of conspiracy. It was frigid and barren, but it safe. Even if he were to discover their plot to overthrow him, The Overlord would never dare enter the shadowlands. His altered body, though massive and mighty, would never withstand the achingly bitter winds. It was a trade-off the Elite had weathered with ease.  Most of Horus was hot and dry. Its cities had sprung up around the abundant water sources. There was little need for the Elite to venture near the harsh cold of the shadowlands; and so, they gave up their inner warmth for the chance to tower over the poor.

Aurora knew the weaknesses of the Elite better than most. She had grown up in their homes, educated in their schools, surrounded by their children. She knew they had strength and agility. They could dive deeper and climb higher than her. They could  run faster and longer, always outstripping her in seconds. She knew of their telepathy and the advances being made in telekinesis. She knew they mocked the poor and thought of them as lesser beings. And perhaps they were, but Aurora felt more like them than those she was raised with. Though she had been among them, she was never one of them. Where they were giants, she was dwarfed. Where they were quick, she lagged. And where they were boisterous and rowdy, she was quiet and watchful. And so she learned their weaknesses. Cold was their greatest fear, aside from the degradation of being poor. Social acceptance was key to their way of living. The parties, the colors, the grandeur -- the show was their life. 

And Aurora was tired of it.