BLOOD AND ASHES

THE VOTE OF SHADOWS

That morning, Tobias gathered his eight staff members in the cramped staffroom. The sunlight slanted weakly through grimy windows, casting pale rectangles across the worn desks. The single ceiling fan clattered above like it too had given up hope.

He looked at them — faces he had worked with for years, faces that had once smiled with him through hardship.

“My friends,” Tobias began, his voice was low, trembling. “You know me. You know what I’ve given to this place. To you. To our children. I never claimed it was perfect, but we built something here together. I expected sympathy… not this madness. Tell me you still stand with me.”

Silence. Then, one by one, voices broke the stillness.

“We haven’t been paid in two months.”

“The parents don’t trust us anymore.”

“The board has already made up their mind.”

“If we stand with you, Tobias, we fall with you.”

The words landed like stones in his chest.

Finally, the senior teacher raised her hand. “We must vote.”

Eight hands lifted.

Every one against him.

It was a vote of no confidence.

Tobias sat back, numb, the weight of betrayal pressing him into his chair. His vision blurred.

He wanted to rage, to scream, but all he could do was whisper: “After everything we’ve been through… this is how it ends?”

Chairs scraped back. One by one, his staff left the room.

All but one.

The vice principal lingered. A man Tobias had called a friend, a brother. For a moment, Tobias clung to that shred of hope.

“Tell me you didn’t raise your hand,” Tobias whispered.

The vice sighed, his voice heavy. “I did.”

Tobias flinched. “Why?”

“Because survival matters. You know it, Tobias. We all do. But there’s more you should know.” His eyes darted to the door, then back. His voice dropped to a whisper. “This wasn’t about your school. Or incompetence. Or sympathy.”

Tobias’s breath caught, he leaned in, interested. “Then what? What is all this about?”

The vice leaned closer, his words were sharp as knives.

“It’s Delgado. Senator Aurelio Delgado. He’s behind this.”

The name hit Tobias like a hammer. The tattoo. The crow. The shadow that haunted every corner of his life.

His stomach churned, bile rising. His fists trembled on the desk.

The vice gripped his shoulder, regret flickering in his eyes. “You’ve made enemies you can’t fight alone. Walk away, Tobias. Before they finish you.”

And then he left.

The staffroom was too quiet, too still, like a graveyard after the mourners had gone. Dust motes swam in the sunlight cutting through cracked windows, and the fan above clattered like a broken clock, measuring the death of Tobias Sheldon’s dreams.

His hands pressed hard on the desk, knuckles white. The memory of eight hands lifting against him an hour earlier still burned in his chest. Betrayal. Cowardice. Friends he had fought beside, now gone.

But Tobias’s eyes gleamed with the stubborn fire of a man who refused to lie down in defeat.

“No,” he whispered to the emptiness. “Not like this. I will not let you die.”

He dragged his old laptop across the table, its screen cracked at the corner, its keys sticking from years of use. He pulled the camera from the shelf and plugged it in with shaking hands. A banner was scrawled across the screen: Go Live.

He clicked.

The feed lit up.

“My name is Tobias Sheldon,” he began, his voice was low but steady, staring into the tiny black eye of the camera. “I am the principal of a small school called Starlight Academy. You may not know me. You may have never heard of my school. But today, I need to tell you my story.”

He paused, swallowing hard before continuing.

"I built this academy from nothing—no big sponsors, no wealthy investors—just a dream that children who had no chance could still have a future. For years, we have given everything to keep the doors open, to give these kids books, meals, and a safe place to learn. But now, that dream is on the edge of collapsing.”

His voice wavered, but he pressed on.

“Lies and misfortunes have struck my franchise down. Funds have dried up, and the school I worked so hard to build is on the verge of collapse. I’m not here to pretend the children will have nowhere else to go or they will not get better education elsewhere—every one of them has parents who can afford to send them elsewhere.

I’m here for myself. For the dream I built with my own hands. For the years of sacrifice, sweat, and belief that this academy could stand as something meaningful.

I don’t expect you to know me, or to know my school. But I believe there are people out there who understand what it means to fight for a vision, to hold on when everything around you is slipping away.

If you’ve ever believed in resilience, in second chances, then I’m asking you—please, help me save this franchise from being wiped away. Help me keep this dream alive.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

Ding. A notification.

$25. Then another. $100. Then $10.

“Donated by Mark R. — We believe in you, sir.”

“$50 from Sarah G. — Don’t give up.”

Encouraging comments trickled in: You can do this. We’re with you.

Tobias felt his chest swell. Tears stung his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, they would make it.

With the way things were going, Tobias believed that there was a possibility that before the end of the day, he could get sufficient cash to take care of the issues in school or at least half of them, and even pay for his son's oxygen refill.

Then the unexpected happened.

At first, there was one strange comment.