All rights reserved.

My first thought, as Erik and I weave through the square, is that we have walked into an alternate reality. The Silver city is devoid of character, color and any semblance of life. The path we take is impeccably clean, so much so that it is unnatural. There isn't a speck of dust to be found anywhere.

It is bitterly cold. Even our gear is not impervious to it. The wind chills my fingers into a clumsy numbness, licking my face as it creeps under my gear. The buildings we come across are criminally grey and uninspiring- twisting monoliths of glass and steel that reach out and kiss the orange sky.

The people we pass move about mechanically. Almost all of them are draped in long dark coats to keep away the biting cold. One or two of them nod to Erik at the sight of him but continue without as much as a glance in my direction.

I have come to grow awfully fond of their indifference. My mother's name counted for little in the order. Here, respect had to be earned.

Even without his light, Erik is still a first commander.

He held a station. I am a mere foot soldier, an inconsequential cog in the machine- holding no place of value in the order.

To be fair, this could mostly be accredited to my unrivaled determination be to carry out any task I am assigned half-heartedly. I joined the order to get Lord Oblak off my ass, and as long as I toed the lines he had lovingly drawn for me, he could not care less about my progression.

It does not take us long to get to the heart of the city, and soon enough, the guild comes into view, shimmering in the half-light that the blood red sunset wrought. It is a series of shapes- four large columns that enclose an equally towering dome. Like the rest of the city, it is muted, coated in a soulless silver pallet that cast a distinct air of gloom which has wafted about its vicinity for nearly half a century now.

Erik takes the wide marble path that leads directly up to the dome, and I trail behind in the wake of his shadow. There are guards stationed every fifty yards, armed, yet unwaveringly still, even as the wind provoked them. The gold in their armor distinguishes them from us. They are from the Golden city, which could only mean one thing.

Erik notices too, and the little cheer on his expressionless face fades away entirely. Jeremy had that effect on anyone who did not have their head wedged up his cunt. He is a grade one shit stick, and worse still, one with the considerable backing of Lord Oblak and the council. He is the crown prince, heir apparent to my brother. It is about the only reason I have not tried to kill him yet.

Each face we pass is sullen, as impassive as the next. I have always wondered whether they were trained this way, or if the bitterness was something that crept up on them after they realized that they would have to take orders from the crown prince.

There are two more guards stationed at the arched entrance. I recognize them almost instantly. They see me before I can sneak up on them, and for the first time in this wretched city, I am met with a look of enthusiasm.

Bass is short, bright-eyed, with a sharp jawline that could cut through concrete. His long dark hair was tied back, as was the custom with most of the men from the harbor. Grant is much taller, solemn-faced, with short hair that shrouds his face like the top of a cloak. Years of service in the order have robbed him of his once youthful appearance and left him with significantly patchier skin, and a large scar that ran through his right eye, casting it milky.

He is my best friend, or more accurately, my only friend.

I have come to accept a hard truth in my old age. Every person needs an anchor, a secure attachment of love - for, without one, we are likely to find ourselves lost in this new world, drifting down with no hope to latch on to- in such pain that shutting down is the only way to keep out the darkness. But Grant was not that person for me. He was a whirlwind of chaos that pushed me right into the abyss, and I loved him all the more for it.

"Be still my beating heart," he says once I fall to his side. He runs a scanner through my neck before stepping aside so that I can pass.

"Bite me."

"If only we had time."

"What are you doing here?" Erik cuts in, eyeing them both with the same look of suspicion I have grown accustomed to.

"The council was shorthanded," Bass offers.

This draws another frown on Erik's faces, though this time, it is warranted. No one had checked with him before summoning his guards. It was a testament to how far down the totem pole our unit was in the order. The Silver city had legions of guards at its beck and call, and yet the powers that be had sought out members of our unit for a task they undoubtedly deemed beneath anyone else.

"Very well," Erik says shortly.

He turns, soundlessly striding away from us and into the dome.

"Is he pissed," Grant asks before I can follow inside.

"If I were you, I would not ask for any more days off."

Stepping inside the fading glow is replaced by bright glowing lights which spring from about a hundred different lanterns. The light bounces off the thoroughly polished marble floors, illuminating golden hues across it.

The atrium is expansive, fitted with glass windows that tower at least twenty feet high. All the pillars that hold up its three floors are engraved with the mark of the order. It's the same mark I have on my neck- the same mark that could be found across all the major cities in the new world.

It is overkill if you ask me, but I suppose our duty to protect every living and breathing thing under the sun warranted some form of hubris.

The place is also desolate, save for two more guards stationed at either end of a large golden stairway that started at the center and wound its way up three more floors. Next to it is a large marble statue, a monument to the three. My eyes find the woman adorned with a shield. They never get her appearance right.

Soon after, we make our way up the stairs, accompanied by loud footsteps which echo throughout the deserted atrium. I always wondered why they did not give Lord Oblak a statue of his own. After all, he was one of the main supporters of the council when they deemed it necessary to strip all the free cities of their military privileges.

This act gave rise to the order, an organization sanctioned by the council itself to serve as the single blanket of protection across all the lands.

Suffice it to say, the decree did not sit well with most people. But no one was in any mood to disagree with my father after Red town.

We stop at the second landing and turn right. A narrow hallway greets us, and I cannot help but stare. One end of the hall is made entirely of glass, and we pause for a moment, watching the sun descend further behind the seam of the town. Sparks light the sky, and blood pours, finally signaling an end to the day. I glance over my shoulder, watching my shadow slowly shrink towards my feet as twilight waited to beckon the stars.

"Shay an," Erik calls from the end of the hallway. There is no urgency or sharpness in his voice, and so I linger for a few more seconds, stealing another sweeping glance of the city before I fall to his side.

We spot one more golden city guard before we get to the hall. She was as stoic as the rest of them, self-assured, unwavering, right up until we pass her. A smile plays on my face as she turns her head to the side to avert her gaze, but not before I see the red kiss her cheeks. The rest of her face assumes the color of a bad sunburn victim as she turns her back to me completely.

Erik ignores this little exchange, and we cross into an adjoining hallway. We are not far off now, a fact compounded by the voices we can make out in the distance. And sure enough, we come across a large archway at the end of the passage. The chamber it leads into is odd.

For one, it has the distinct outlook of a pit. Wooden benches run all around it, descending in steep steps that seem to fall endlessly, all the way down to a raised stone dais in the center of the lowered floor. Upon it rests a three-layered platform, and on that, the portly figure of a woman I do not recognize. She was talking- animatedly at that, but her voice was drowned out by the incessant chatter from the rest of the guards who are scattered across the room. Whatever she was saying clearly wasn't resonating well with everyone.

I spot Jeremy three rows down. Everything about the prince appears exaggerated. He sits back cross-legged, in his overly bright blue robes and padded armor, sandwiched between two hulking golden city guards.

His thick wavy hair fell over his ears, undoubtedly to draw more attention to a face, which if I am sincere, is as symmetrical as two halves of a coin. Two rows below him sits perhaps one of the most powerful men in the Quarter. Though at first glance, you could be forgiven for thinking that the order seemed no place for this man. The general was a wizened, balding old man in an ill-fitting plate of armor he has worn for as long as I have known him.

He had the resigned look of a man whose responsibility had taken everything away from him. The General had forgone his name, his family, and given his life in service to the order.

If there was ever a man I respected...

"Who is that?" I whisper to Erik as we push through rows of bodies.

"Rowena, she's the new first commander to the wildlands," he finally offers once we take our place next to a particularly old and grumpy looking guard.

"What happened to Basley?" I ask leaning in.

"A minotaur ate him."

Suddenly, I am laughing so hard, I can't stop myself. It was like a ripple in a still pond after a stone has been thrown in; radiating outwards through the packed hall of guards who one by one, turn in my direction.

I turn to Erik. The look on his face wipes the smile clear off my face.

He wasn't joking. I sit up promptly, shifting my attention back to Rowena to avoid Erik's icy gaze. I still cannot make out what she is saying, though her demeanor suggests that she was simultaneously pleading and venting.

I don't envy her. I wouldn't wish the ungirded wild lands on anyone, not even Jeremy. It was a death sentence, a fact made clear by the multitudes of first commanders it has had- twenty by my last count. None of them usually last more than six months. The lands were home to some of the foulest creatures in existence, most of which were burdened with an insatiable palate for flesh.

The general rises without warning, signaling an end to the chatter as silence consumes us. His footsteps echo throughout the chamber as he makes his way down to the platform, before falling to Rowena's side.

"Let's put it to a vote. All those in favor of first commander Rowena's proposal for an alternating stewardship of the ungirded wild lands?" he asks. His voice was rasping, cracked, yet reasonably audible.

Not a single hand shot up.

Disgruntled, Rowena makes her way back to her seat. The expression etched on her face is one of exhaustion and fatigue.

"Blessed be the three," the general says.

"Blessed be the three," I echo back with the rest of the guard as the general makes his way back to his seat. I turn to Erik, slightly confused,

"I thought we were summoned?"

Erik gets to his feet hastily, avoiding my gaze.

"You lying sack of hair products, we weren't summoned, were we?" I hiss, on the precipice of unbridled rage mingled with astonishment. The chamber slowly begun to empty as guards file out in twos and threes, each lost in their own conversations.

"You wouldn't have come otherwise," Erik says shortly.

He offers me a hand. I swat it aside, rising on my own.

"Why am I here?"

"Because the old man likes you," he says simply.

"Those rumors are unsubstantiated."

"Shay an."

When I don't respond, he picks up again,

"No one else is going to go after him."

He has that look in his eyes again- the look that says he is going regardless of whether I help or not. It is not stern, strained or even imploring. There is an earnest quality to it that gradually melts my resolve.

"You'll be the death of me one day," I sigh.

We quietly weave through the mass of bodies shuffling towards the exit, stopping only when we get to the general. He is hunched over his seat, engrossed in what must have been the most interesting book ever written, as he pays us no regard, even as we stand in front of him.

"No," he says suddenly without looking up, even before I can open my mouth to speak.

I smile. "You haven't even heard what we have to say."

"Go away Sha yan," he says, resolutely determined not to look up.

"Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" I ask, perching myself next to him. The guards on either side of him regard me suspiciously before he waves them away lazily.

"We were never friends."

"I have an eighty-year-old bottle of whiskey that would disagree."

The general finally looks up. His eyes are so heavily lidded and weighed down with wrinkled folds that it is almost like talking to someone asleep, yet he was quite alert.

"You have five minutes."

Erik steps in, "One of our charges crossed into World's End."

The old man eyes Erik intently, "How long ago?"

"Two days."

"Then he is most likely dead, boy."

"With all due respect sir, I would like to confirm that for myself?"

"Why?" the old man asks curiously.

Erik pauses, weighing his words carefully before he spoke again.

"We swore to protect them. They put their faith in us. Our words meaning nothing if we do not abide by them."

The General regards him curiously, his expression a mixture of amusement and uncertainty. Bass tends to have that effect on people. Maybe it's the trick of the light or the fact that my mind has not fully recovered from the havoc the trouble wrought on it, but I see a grin line the old man's face.

It fades as suddenly as it had come.

"I cannot sanction a suicide mission," the general says shortly.

Erik's face drops. He bows, before turning to take his leave. I rise to follow suit, but the general halts our progress with another wave of his hand. "What I can do is pretend that we never had this conversation before. Whatever you choose to do in your own free time is up to you."

With that, the old man gets to his feet and takes his leave.

I turn to Erik, "You know, that didn't go as badly as I thought it would."

"Hold your enthusiasm, there is still one more person we need to talk to," he says, slowly looking up.

An ominous sense of foreboding overwhelms me as I follow his gaze.