"Cry out to The Code, Creator of The Living Soul. Confess your sins onto The Flawless Creator and beg for the Unconditional Cleansing of your muddled spirit."

"We cry out to The Code, Creator of The Living Soul. . ." Philip let his voice die out halfway through the prayer. Though he kept his fingers clasped, it wasn't in reverence, it was out of necessity. If they weren't clasped, he wouldn't know what to do with them.

His eyes stayed fixed on the man who stood on the podium clothed in the thick hooded robes that declared him an ordained Priest of the Order.

The priest swayed in time with the rest of the clergy that made up the bulk of the congregation and packed up the front of the hall. The robes billowed almost hypnotically, forming the swell and fall of a white sea.

Philip couldn't get into the sort of spirit they all did, the ordained members and ordinary civilians who surrounded him. He seemed to be the only one who was here because it was mandatory.

He saw the women's glassy gazes, the men whose faces were pinched with repressed emotion and the children with tears freely flowing from their eyes but for some reason he didn't feel the connection to the Divine Creator that they all did.

He supposed that he might have been like that once, a long time ago when he had depended on The Code to feel alive. Now though, he depended on himself not the entity that had never once answered his prayers.

Sinking to his knees as the others did, Philip bowed his head, forcing his gaze off the priest. Cries were more audible now as sins were confessed, both out loud and in screaming hearts.

Strangely, Philip only felt at peace. He didn't want to confess anything to the massive white cowl that floated above the podium, the only representation of The Code allowed in the towers. He was thankful that his job was spared today, that was all.

He projected those thoughts outwards, feeling as though that alone was enough. He wished he could ask for more but that was beneath him. It was greedy to beg for that which you did not deserve.

And so he ended his prayer, the very first to do so as he raised his head. His eyes fell on the priest again but this time the priest looked back and held his gaze, even as he spoke his next words, "by the glory of Our Blessed Creator, all sins are forgiven and the purity of the spirit and soul restored. May The Living Soul join The Code at its journey's end."

"May The Living Soul join The Code at its journey's end," everyone else echoed. Philip found that his throat had closed up on him so he only mimed the action of saying the words.

A part of him wondered why The Code had let him live for so long when he was nothing but an unbeliever who observed the holy days. His attitude towards his religion appalled even him at times, he couldn't believe that a higher being could tolerate him any longer.

"All shall be seated for the reading of the Holy Books."

Philip sat on his heels, his mind already drifting to what he would do when he got home. The readings were always repetitive and condemning. They only served to remind him of how much of a sinner he was though he was already conscious of it.

Outside the pitch black towers that spiked into the shields above the nation and looked like wonders with their mismatched heights, Philip forgot entirely about The Code except when he needed to curse.

He never prayed outside the City of Towers, the holy land where all sermons took place. The nearest one was close to the capital city but kilometres from Mount Roya where he worked most of the time. He used that as an excuse not to go everyday and so only prayed once a month when it was required by law to do so.

Mount Roya was the only place that evaded the deadly fog that had appeared three and a half months ago without the aid of the antipollution shields that now domed North's major cities. The mountain and the range to which it belonged was home to the minister—who the entire area had been named after.

There was only one building on the mountain, a mansion really, which only had a kitchen, office and restroom.

Most people thought that the minister of North was a recluse who left the nation to be run by the older and wiser vice minister. Philip had thought that too before he had been employed to work there.

The building was only a front for the massive underground city that served as the actual headquarters of the North's military and it's secret research team.

It was the definition of hiding in plain sight and it only made Philip respect the minister who he had always thought was incompetent. He couldn't have guessed that the lazy and cowardly minister of the north was actually the leader of all of the nation's military.

He had learnt to memorize that fact as his alphabet and learn it as his law. He needed to be cautious and afraid of Corey Royal, the man who had fooled both the world and his subjects, because one wrong step, a single slip of his tongue, will get him beheaded.

Or worse, fired. Philip thought. He valued his salary more than he did his life at this point, debts more of a yoke around his neck than death itself.

He forced his attention to the sermon, aware of the burning gazes that began to fall on him when his chants did not fall in sync with the rest of the congregation. It was strange that he had not gotten a hang of it yet despite having had to say it every month.

"To begin the reading," now the priest held a tome, its bindings worn and frayed. "The story of Yooria from the Book of Identity."

Not the Book of Law? Philip looked up in surprise, the next words spoken escaping him entirely. Not that he needed to hear them to know what was being said, he knew the story by heart.

The fifth Will of Identity was dedicated entirely to Yooria, his life story and ministry. It was a controversial story and was almost never preached. Yooria was nearly forgotten and that was why Philip loved him.

". . .and so Yooria, poor of sight but high of mind wandered out of the confines of his dwellings. And there he saw both wonders new and knowledge old. He saw men and women and children. Men with women, women with women, men with men and old ones with children. And he wept for he knew what the world had become and what it would lose."

Yooria had been born nearly blind in the years before Year 0 when the world had been reformed and religion recreated.

It was a history that was written in blood but embellished in gold afterwards, the truth about the second fall of man. And North was the very center of the bloodshed even before it had been solidified as a nation.

But Philip knew all about it. He knew it straight from Yooria's works.

He knew how the President of the Earth had almost singlehandedly forced the entire world under his rule. How he had used calamity, manipulated emotion, and twisted the truth to his means.

Half a millennium ago, the world had been changed forever because a wrong decision was made by a room full of influential people.

Philip had always wondered if he would have been happier if he had been born before Year 0.

Back then the world had been whole, not split into four nations that went to war whenever they fancied. Back then Earth had not been defaced by walls that rose higher than even the shields that swaddled the planet could reach. Back then when nobility had long died out. . .

The history books said the world was divided long before the actual division but the people who lived through the disaster argued that it had been forced apart. Despite the discrepancies, the general story was still the same.

In the former Year 2117—the current Year 0—the major powers in each country of Old Earth decided that physically dividing the earth was the only way to reign in the hostility between varied racial and religious factions. Their leaders held a conference behind closed doors.

A course of action was agreed on, a new regime was suggested.

The deed was done.

In the blink of an eye alliances were formed and new enemies were created. Every country fought bitterly for land and resources. It was by far the bloodiest time period in the history of man, and many dubbed it 'World War III' with good reason.

Wars were waged daily, and each power fought till the last man to expand it's borders until finally the earth was demarcated into four unequal portions with the help of concrete, steel and technology. The walls bordered each new nation, cutting once across the equator and then again through the Prime meridian.

Each nation was named cardinally—North, East, West and South—in the decreasing order of size.

Borders were erected to mark out territories, much to the dismay of the common people as houses were torn down, mountains were flattened and rivers sealed off.

Four ministers were given authority over these areas, all answering to the one man who was never seen but forever remained the instigator of it all, the immortalized President of the Earth.

Despite the collective power of the four nations always being in balance, everyone acknowledged that North and East were undoubtedly the strongest of the four.

Citizens of the South and West lived each day filled with a smothering sense of dread.

North possessed more military strength that the other sides and was in charge of enforcing the law of the earth, and East was the main producer in the agricultural sector. Compared to them, the allied nations of South and West—the SWA—really had no strength. But what they lacked in power and status they made up for it with staggering advancements in technology.

The two nations spearheaded the world's development. If they were wiped out the progress the earth had made all these years would stagnate. And if they stopped being important to the survival of the human race they would be decimated.

Yooria had foreseen all these and had tried to warn the people of their self destructive ways, but of course that was not where the priest was reading from.

"May the Word of the Holy Books nourish the Living Soul for eternity." Philip chanted along with the others when the reading came to an end. The moral of the story had been long apparent to him.

The Code did not bless all with eternal life, even those who had spread the ministry.

Too ask for more is greed, Philip thought as he rose to his feet. Yooria had died at the age of fifteen at the hands of a firing squad so he figured he had been dealt a better hand.

He followed the congregation as they filed out of the tower, trying not to pay attention to the way their steps fell together almost seamlessly. He tried not to thing of the long walk he had ahead of him, the cost of teleporting to his apartment enough to make him cringe.

Philip focused on walking the levitating steps in front of him wishing they could just float him all the way home. That was another reason he didn't go the City of Towers often. He couldn't afford the transport.

"Philip Tyndale," a voice called out for him the moment his feet settled on solid ground.

He swiveled to the right.

Dawn Draekon leaned against a nearby tower. It was a short thing, only a story high, and grey instead of black. It probably belonged to an apprentice priest, but that was besides the point. It was disrespectful all the same.

Tower were said to be conduits of one's will to The Code, the taller they were, the closer your voice was to the Creator. Priests built their towers by amassing influence and followers and cities, towns and even the nations amassed power by growing the number of priests they possessed.

North had the highest number of towers and so housed the headquarters of The Order.

"Miss Draekon," Philip greeted awkwardly before making his way towards her. When he was a few step away, he put his hand flat against his heart and placed his left fist against with it.

Dawn dismissed his salute with a wave, a smile on her lips. "That isn't necessary," she said. "How was the sermon?"

"Fine." he answered, not knowing why she had called him over in the first place. She didn't need to attend the mandatory calls to the City of Towers. She had the privilege to skip along with the minister and vice minister.

"I always find it boring with the repetition of the laws and whatnot." Dawn said then suddenly laughed. "You must know all about that."

Philip stared at her. He didn't dare say what he really thought about The Code and The Holy Books, even if the third most powerful person in the nation seemed to share his sentiments. So instead he tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. "The story of Yooria was preached today."

"Really?" She looked as surprised as he had been, her gaze of wonder shifting to the tower he had just walked out of. "It must have been a new priest."

"Maybe. . ." For some reason, Philip faced the tower as well. He honestly thought all the priests looked eerily alike with their long dark hair and pupil-less white eyes.

"That isn't why I'm here though."

"Is there anything you need me to do?" he asked carefully, not at all surprised.

"Take a ride with me?"

Despite it being phrased as a question, it might as well have been a command. Philip forced himself to shake his head.

"I prefer the walk, it gives me time to process the sermon," he tried to explain, burying the irrational fear he felt. There was no way the leader of the Cipher Squad would dirty her hands by doing away with him even if he did hear her and the minister's private conversation.

"Then we can talk here," Dawn looked amused but agreed nonetheless. She patted the spot beside her.

Philip watched the grey wall with hesitation, unable to bring himself to do it. Even if he didn't believe in what he worshipped more times than not, he had at least been raised by reverent members of The Order. He couldn't defiled the towers with his sins.

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself," Dawn said.

For a long momentarily, they stayed like that in silence, leaving Philip wondering whether he had made the right choice. The Code might have chosen to spare his life but Dawn could correct that decision without a word of warning.

"Why are you a messenger?" she asked instead of ordering for his execution.

"It was the only rank I could get."

"I dug up your transcript," she said casually as though she wasn't admitting to breaking the law. "You could have easily made lieutenant with your skills and knowledge."

"I am adopted." Philip argued. His skills didn't matter. He was lucky to have been accepted into the army in the first place.

"Would you like that to change?"

Philip stared at Dawn in confusion as she kept talking.

"Join the Cipher Squad, you are more than qualified."

"I—"

"Don't answer now, think about it," she said, her smile now full of mischief as she began to walk away. "Your application has already been submitted."

"What?" Philip didn't know what else to say. He couldn't call her back and ask her to explain herself. He couldn't say he didn't want to join the elite group that had soldiers all over North were scrambling to enter. He couldn't say that he deserved of either.

He couldn't do anything.

And so he turned away from where Dawn had stood and made his way towards the road out of the city. He still had a long walk home and a sermon to think about.