"I am dead. I died long ago. And yet here I am, speaking to you still. 

Whether you be one, or all my daughters who are listening to me now, know that I have worked all my life to keep you safe."

Ella took the compass from the tiny compartment while she and Scarlet continued to listen to the curious box's recorded message.

"I have made terrible mistakes. More than I can count. And it pains me to no end that I must ask you to correct them, even after my passing. 

Many children have come before you and all have failed at this task. 

For many generations, I have worked to keep my daughters from this terrible responsibility. And now, since you are the last of them; I have no choice, but to pass this to you.

This is your chance to save everyone and to undo the curse the war has brought to us all. 

After your eighteenth birthday, use this compass to guide you to the skylift. There, you will find the device. If it deems you worthy -which I have no doubt it will, you will find revealed to you, all the answers. The answers to me, and the answers to yourselves. And a chance -God willing- to lift the curse on this world. 

Children are our most precious resource, and we of the old age have known this all-to well. It is you, the youth of our past lives that will save us, and even though you are the last of them, I have every reason to believe that success awaits you. 

Success must be yours, or everything will have been for nothing.

My beautiful, wonderful daughters. Be brave, take to heart what you have been taught, and no matter how ugly the world may seem, know that there is always something worth saving." 

The ghostly projection of Ella's and Scarlet's father died away and the box ceased to function.

Their eyes drifted to the compass in Ella's hand. 

"A device that deems me worthy?" Ella said. "What does he mean?"

Scarlet shrugged, then Ella followed her eyes to Mrs. Peterson who remained at the far end of the room, deep in thought. Her gaze stayed fixed to the floor, while her mind lingered in silence. 

Ella turned to her and held out the compass. 

"What are you hiding from us?" she asked.

She didn't answer. 

For a moment, she seemed distracted by the dirt and rust at her feet.

"Mom?" Scarlet uttered.

The woman snapped from her trance and gave an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing at the compass. "It's just that I'd hoped a moment like this would never come." 

"Mrs. Peterson, What are you talking about?" Ella said.

She approached the two girls and motioned for the two to sit beside her. 

Sighing, she gently pressed her hand consolingly on Scarlet's wrist, then did the same with Ella, whose reserved silence mirrored that of Calvin as he intently watched the three individuals at a distance. 

"Your father and I. . .well, we're both the same. We're scientists you see, impassioned thinkers of an era that existed hundreds of years ago. We existed well before all of this happened, as have the two of you, precious sisters of a once honored age.

You probably don't know much about the war, save for what you've been told by teachers and friends, but I assure you, it was a far worse thing to have experienced it."

"Wait, you were there?" Ella interjected.

"Yes, and so were you." She glanced at Scarlet. "And you as well. But the both of you were too young to remember." 

"But how. . .that was generations ago."

"At the time, our civilization had mastered the complexities of steam machinery, solved the mysteries of the ether, and even commanded the very will of nature itself. But the world war twisted our noble technologies and discoveries in terrible ways. 

We made bombs that turned cities to vapor and horrid toxic weapons that sapped the very life from both people and the green of the land. 

The end was upon us, and every nation, every desperate and dying individual from the western empires to the kingdoms of the east, understood the tragic truth; that our hatred of each other would press most of us to our utter demise long before compromising on some semblance of peace. 

It was decided that the scientific minds of every nation would create a way to preserve humanity, even upon the death of the old generation.

Children were gathered.

Frozen and preserved, they would survive the war, stored safely in vaults we had designed and built. Some countries buried them deep within the earth, but it was the Western Republic and the people of Kingsland that had thought it more prudent to send them floating in the sky, far from the reaches of the corruption below. 

Your father and I, as well as many other guardians were preserved just the same, so that we may oversee the proper revival of an untarnished generation of young minds."

"So I was one of those children?" Ella said.

"And me as well?" Scarlet added.

"Yes. But you and the other young ones had a purpose. The vaults weren't built just for your sake. They existed for a grander purpose. Each vault carried the necessary tools needed to reseed the world and slowly cleanse the wastes of their poison. With enough patience and time, the green land would return."

"Then they're real. The sky cities?" Ella's eyes lit with anticipation.

"Yes. Of course they are."

"Then why hasn't everything been cleansed yet? Why are the wastes still as they are?"

Mrs. Peterson sighed. 

"Because it is not the proper time. We are not worthy yet. We knew the survivors would attempt to rebuild, but your father, myself, and the rest of the great minds were worried that they would recreate the old world with the same old hatreds.

Mankind has yet to prove that they are ready to move on, that they are beyond the past animosities that, if left to fester, would repeat the same destruction once again upon ourselves." 

Ella grunted and paced to the other side of the room. She turned abruptly and threw her arms in frustration.

"Worthy or not, people are dying," she fumed. "You, my father, and your so-called 'great minds', are cold and heartless. You're telling me that the means to save everyone has always existed, but we haven't used it because you don't think we're worthy?"

"That is not a judgment I am permitted to make."

"Then who makes the call?"

Mrs. Peterson paused, as if surprised that the girl before her was unaware of the answer.

"My dear Ella, you do. You are the key to all of this. That compass will guide you back to the cities in the sky. It is there that you will have the opportunity to do what all the others have failed to accomplish. You will start the mechanisms that will reterraform this land."

Her eyes grew wide, then she gave a short, somewhat mocking laugh as the grand scope of what the woman was asking finally hit her. 

"And how in the world am I supposed to do that?"

Mrs. Peterson returned a patient gaze, both silently acknowledging and forgiving the girl's somewhat crude outburst. 

"Though important, the task ahead pales to an even greater concern." She replied. "What carries more weight still, is the test that awaits you." 

****

Barely satisfied with Mrs. Peterson's explanation, Ella hurriedly left, as did Calvin, and Scarlet nagging close behind. 

Mrs. Peterson remained alone -or so she thought- as she gathered the tea cups from the table and proceeded to clean up. After washing the dishes and stacking the cupboards, she leaned against the counter and uttered a withering sigh.

An instinctive pause gripped her body as the faint sound of methodical clicking pierced the once-comforting peace of the room. Her eyes fell upon a chair in the room; once vacant, now occupied. 

Slumped and persistently gazing with unblinking darkly beaded eyes, was a stuffed bear; its internal mechanisms ticking away like a heartbeat. 

Though surprised, Mrs. Peterson regarded the toy expectantly.  

"Tanya Schwartz," she declared. "Eaves dropping as always I see."

The bear remained speechless.

Mrs. Peterson's eyes grew sad. "You have some nerve sending that accursed box to Ella. How many of those things have you dropped in junk piles, thinking she'd eventually find one of them?" No reply was given. Mrs. Peterson expected none. "She was never to find out. Her father wanted her to be safe; and yet you callously call upon her like all the others. She's the last of them Tanya. . . but I venture to say you already knew that.  

Fine. That's what you wanted wasn't it? To have me tell her and send her on her way?" She paused again. The bear's gears ticked away in a mocking fashion, as if reveling in the moment. 

Mrs. Peterson resumed in a much softer tone. "So that's it then. I've done my part. You'll leave this vessel and everyone residing in it in peace." She shut her eyes. "And you'll leave my dearest Isabelle alone."

The stuffed creature gave a small nod, but Mrs. Peterson hardly noticed it's ominously affirmed gesture, for as she slowly opened her eyes what remained was a startlingly vacant chair.