I can already feel their weight, the years of longing, grief, and quiet defiance running through them. They’re not just characters; they’re people, standing at the precipice of something vast and violent.

So, what happens to them?

The revolution starts with fire. A woman dies at the hands of the regime, and the streets erupt in fury. Each of them is pulled into the storm in ways they never expected, their quiet lives shattered, their survival no longer a passive act but a desperate, deliberate rebellion.

Eleanor “Ellie” Duvall
Ellie never saw herself as a fighter. She was the archivist, the dreamer, the one who found solace in stories. But revolutions aren’t just fought with weapons—they’re fought with memory, with truth. She starts smuggling footage, documenting the movement, turning cinema into resistance. The government brands her a propagandist. Her home is raided, her books burned. One night, she disappears. Some say she fled across the border; others say she was taken. But her words, her images, remain. They cannot erase her.

Raven "Ray" Sinclair
Ray was always angry, always simmering beneath the surface. The revolution gives them purpose, but purpose doesn’t always mean survival. They start designing symbols for the movement, tattoos that become marks of defiance. Their art spreads like wildfire, a language the regime cannot silence. When the protests turn into full-blown conflict, Ray is on the front lines—not with a gun, but with a can of spray paint, turning walls into manifestos. Then one day, they just stop coming home. Crowley waits by the window, but Ray never returns.

Elias "Eli" Mercer
Eli always understood the systems that governed people—their fears, their weaknesses. He was never the type to lead, but he was the type to plan. He builds networks, strategies, a way for the revolution to breathe even when the government tries to suffocate it. He plays the long game. But the long game demands sacrifice. Someone has to take the fall so the others can keep going. When they finally come for him, he doesn’t fight. He already knows how this story ends. But he’s left them everything they need to keep going.

Alex
Alex never fully believed in happy endings, but they believed in justice. They wrote the manifestos, the calls to arms, the eulogies for the dead. Words were their weapon, and for a while, they were enough. Until the regime started hunting down voices as much as bodies. Alex’s final work is unfinished, pages torn from their journal found scattered in an alley. A last sentence, scrawled but incomplete. No one knows if they were taken, if they fled, if they chose to vanish before they could be erased. But their words still echo in the streets.

Séraphine "Sera" Vail
Sera had spent her life documenting war from the outside. Then it arrived at her doorstep. She becomes the one who tells their story, who ensures that history will not forget them. But history is written in blood, and sometimes the writer does not survive the tale. She is last seen leaving the city, her camera in her bag, her face already marked as an enemy of the state. Did she escape? Did they find her? No one knows. But somewhere, there is a recording—the last thing she ever filmed. And one day, it will be seen.

And so, their revolution does not end neatly. Not with triumph, not with absolute loss. But with something in between—the kind of ending they would have written for themselves. One where the regime may have silenced them, but it did not win. Because as long as their stories remain, they remain.