Kizil Yukselis - Pierce Brown -

And the people—Reds, Yellows, Browns, Silvers, Obsidians, even desperate lowColors no one had named—poured out of their habs. Not with razors. Not with guns. With their open throats, singing a song of a crimson mountain their ancestors had never seen, in a language their masters had forbidden.

Not because of an EMP or a boarding party. Because a woman named Sefika, too frail to march, too old to fight, had been smuggled into the spire’s geothermal vent shaft. She had no weapon. Only a portable vox-caster and a single recording. Kizil Yukselis - Pierce Brown

Darrow heard it from a hundred meters away, bleeding from a gash in his side. He smiled for the first time in weeks. With their open throats, singing a song of

Darrow was not the first. He was merely the most visible. She had no weapon