“Niamh?” I mutter breathlessly. “That’s impossible.”

Niamh… the second oldest city, the one presumably absorbed by Atlas centuries ago.

“You- where- how did I get here?” I stammer.

“That’s a good question. The last time anyone entered or left was decades ago.”

His words go in one ear and out the other. I’m still trying to make sense of the buildings we’re walking towards.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Figured you might wanna meet with the Apostasies. You look soldier enough. Far outta my field.”

“I just need to know how to get out of here.”

“Yeah they’ll help you with that too.”

The city is much larger than one would imagine a ghost town being. It stretches so far I cannot see the end of it. Towers of brick and stone and glass scrape the sky beyond the outskirts of smaller villages. There are tanks and pods alike parked alongside each other, as well as utility vehicles, jeeps and pickup trucks and even a few first province cars.

Dirt roads transform to pavement beneath our feet. The heart of the city looks remarkably like a gentrified Brooklyn, all lovingly crafted and spacious. It’s a rarity these days that a city has the time or resources to build so efficiently, to create something so grand. The houses and buildings have no skeletons exposed; the gardens, full of vibrant-colored flowers, have no bombshell casings or craters; the windows have no bullet holes. There is not a single drop of blood in sight.

There is laughter in this place, on the faces of children at play, in the loving eyes of parents and neighbors and friends. I stash my weapon away in its holster. I do not need it here.

It takes me some time to realize David has been talking to me this whole time. “You’re awfully quiet, anyone ever tell you that?” He jokes.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the tinted window of a parked car on the side of the street. I don’t fit in here. I have too rugged a look, too many scars. Even my mostly-healed wounds look raw compared to the delicate nature of everyone around me. It must be what makes many stop and stare, throwing hushed whispers to each other.

Despite my silence, David refuses to relent. He talks about the history of certain buildings, how the dome is fortified and how many people it takes daily to keep it strengthened, the current census and estimated population of the main city alone. There are no uniforms. People wear black and blue and gold all together, like there is no real meaning to any of it. Because there isn’t. It's just fabric.

“The apostasies are our soldiers. They protect our city, raise more protectors, just in case the dome falls. Though, between us, ain't nothing bringing that thing down. But, among ‘em soldiers, one is elected as leader–all democratic-like. Get elected every six years, kinda like the freshies do. Our president now is serving her third term.”

The people here must think the Alloy’s leading practices are barbaric. Atlas too. They wouldn’t be wrong.

“Here we are. This is the Eye. Most of these floors you see are offices, but the top few floors are dedicated toward Apostasy matters.”

Inside the building David calls the Eye is a main desk, and a foyer, but it is not so extravagant like the Alloy’s Hub. If I thought I was getting stared at outside, in here it’s ten times more obvious.

“David,” a man at the front desk says with surprise. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Don’t much enjoy the noise,” David grunts.

“Yes, we all know how much you dislike the city. What brings you here today?”

“Delivery. This kid wants to meet with the Apostasies.”

“New recruit?” Asks the man behind the desk. He lowers his glasses down the bridge of his nose to further inspect me.

“Nope. Found him in the forest.”

“The river?” the man asks, his brows scrunching together in thought.

“Yup.”

Unlike David, with his devil-may-care attitude toward anything unrelated to his animals, this man bites down on his lip, concern ever rising on his features.

“Not sure who’s up there today, but Nigel should be.”

I’m unsure of what to expect. I imagine an office or meeting room like Lynch’s, lined with strange statues and a faint smell of blood.

But the top floor of this building has neither of those things. It’s just another floor of office spaces and meeting rooms, besides the occasional restroom and communal space. David dips into an open office room and I follow. It’s small, the size of a walk-in closet, and there are already three people in the room. One is sitting on the desk and the other two stand off to the side, leaving the seats vacant.

“Hey Nigel,” David says to the man leaning against the wall. He looks more like me, rugged and tired. Not quite so much though. “Oh Renee, didn’t expect to see you here,” he adds, nodding at the woman perched on the edge of the desk. She looks much more like me, more than the other two. Sleepless bags, bruises, and wrinkles cut deep into her dark skin. She wears the same tired expression, the same ache in her shoulders and sharpness in her eyes. I know immediately that this is the person in charge, in the same way I immediately know why.

“Likewise,” she says. Her English doesn’t carry an accent of any sort, and I’m having difficulty placing her as a Foreigner, a Native, or something in between. “Don’t ever see your face around anymore, Grenwich.”

“The forest is my home. You know that, President.”

“I do,” she chuckles. It comes out as more of a tired sigh.

“Ok, I’m off. Oh wait, can you believe this guy managed to tame a cornuta? A cornuta!”

“Did he now?”

David swiftly abandons the office, leaving me alone with the other three strangers. I rest my thumb comfortably in the loop of my pants, covering the holster at my side with my hand.

“I mean no intrusion, ma’am,” I say, masking my own accent as best I can. I haven’t done so since we left the Alloy. I feel like my attempts have since grown sloppy. I've gotten too comfortable. “Just trying to get out of here.”

“And how did you get here exactly?” the other woman in the room asks. She doesn’t hide her displeasure towards me quite so easily as the other two.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just found myself in a forest.”

Nigel and Renee share a look.

“And what gate did you take?” Nigel asks me, arms still crossed over his chest.

“I hardly see why that would matter,” I respond. I feel like I’ve stepped into a shark tank, with no cage.

“Easy,” Renee says calmly. “We’re only trying to figure out why the enchantment didn’t work on you.”

“Perhaps the real concern should be with your equipment, President.”

“How dare you,” the other woman seethes, thin hands tightening into fists at her sides. “There’s nothing wrong with our enchantment. It’s kept us hidden for over a century, from people like you.” Renee lifts a hand to calm her.

“We mean no accusation, but you must understand that safety is of the utmost importance for my people.”

“And I have no intention of jeopardizing it,” I say. I hear my natural lilt weigh down my words slightly, despite my efforts. “I just need to get out of here. For the safety of my people.”

Renee narrows her eyes and slowly drags them up my inked arms. She has her gun drawn in seconds but I’m quicker, and my barrel is aimed between her eyes before she so much as unsheaths her weapon. The others are quick to aim their weapons at me in turn, clicking the safety off instantly. But they must know that their leader would be dead before they so much as pull the trigger because they don’t do anything more than that.

“Fast reflexes,” Renee hums, lowering her firearm back into its holster. “What’s your name, stranger?”

I could lie. But what good would that do right now?

“Irías.”

“Where were you born, Mr. Irías?”

“Elis.”

“You’re far too efficient to be an Atlan soldier. Alloy?”

“No ma’am.”

“And yet you wear their marks.”

"So do you,” I say, eyeing a sigil on the side of her neck, half hidden by dark hair. She chuckles.

“Keen eye. So what are you? If you are no mortal, no Atlan, nor Alloy citizen?”

“I don’t take orders from anyone but myself, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

Renee studies me once more, my weapon and tattoos and face.

“You say your people. Who are they?”

“Others like me.”

“Soldiers?”

“Some of them.”

Renee makes a gesture with her hand and the other two lower their weapons. I still hold tightly onto mine.

“This Niamh. Is it the same Niamh from before the War?” I ask.

“We were forced to rebuild after the majority of our city was destroyed.”

“Everyone told me this place was blown to ash, and any few survivors remaining were forced to become Atlan citizens.”

“That was a lie.”

A strange anger begins brewing in me, as the truth begins to sink in.

“So you all have been around since the start of the war, centuries ago? And you have done nothing to end it?”

“How could we?” Nigel says, running fingers through his dark curls.

“You have an army, you have resources, far more than the Alloy,” I snap.

“And what could we have done?” He says. “We are now enemies of either side.”

“Yeah? Welcome to the fucking club.”

“What does our involvement in the matter concern you, Mr. Irias?” Renee asks.

“We need an army,” I say, shoving my gun back in its holster before stepping closer. “And you have one.”

“What would a motley crew of half-soldiers need an army for?” The other woman asks.

“To take out the Council.”

“Impossible,” Renee says sharply.

“Would it be any less impossible if I told you the Dictator has been dealt with?”

The president leans forward slightly, looking for any trace of falsehood. Her voice falls to a whisper.

“Hayes is dead?”

“And Atlas is in disarray. As long as we take out the Council soon, we have a decent chance of ending this war. For good. We start over, all of us. No borders, no divisions. Just good ol’ fashion democracy. Right? You want proof? Read the news.”

The three think long and hard about this, and the other two seem easily swayed. Not Renee, though. There’s a reason she’s in charge.

“Impossible,” she says again. “The two armies consult with wicked things. I will not put our population under such harm for a poorly executed ideal. We have had people like you come in the past, promising change and delivering only needless casualties. I learned my lesson long ago.”

“This is different.”

“That’s what they all say.”

I’m losing patience, and so are the others. The tension in the air is thick enough to slice through. I don’t have the time for this.

In a quick display I disarm the other two using my gift, keeping my eyes trained on their leader. She’s got a quirk in her brow but her expression does not change. “I’m different,” I snap.

Renee blinks. “Maybe you are. But Aetheling or not, I cannot risk everything on possibility. I need certainty.” She crosses her arms over her chest, unconvinced a tuft of black curls fall in front of of her face, and she blows her hair aside. “I need to know my people will not die in vain, soldier. This not a game. You, a stranger, come barging into our home demanding an army. We have suffered far too many causualties in this war. I will not send my people to be slaughtered like cattle for a forgotten cause.”

Fine. She wants certainty? Fine.

Against every bone in my body I blurt out, “We have the Heir.” That stops them all in their tracks. And, even though it makes me shift uncomfortably, knowing the risk I have further succumbed Aiden to, I know this is what has to be done. “We have the Son of Fire,” I repeat, with more confidence this time.

It would be so much safer to keep him hidden. But without an army, we’re doomed. Even if I manage to rescue him, there’s no way he can take on the entirety of the Alloy and Atlas all at once, alone.

In the end, I cannot save him. But maybe an army can.

“Are you lying to me?” The president asks.

“No ma’am. I will bring him back here. And you can tell it to his face whether you will help us or not.”

Renee’s lip twitches, out of spite or out of admiration I do not know.

“Very well. We will have someone escort you out. Do not enter the way you came. If another apostasy finds you near our forests, or any person besides David, they might not be so kind. Our concealment is a guarantee of survival.”

My mind is still spinning in circles until the sound of a knock at the door.

“Your escort is here,” Renee says. “Await further instructions on reentry. And soldier-” she says, unfolding her arms which fall heavily back to her sides. “-If you step through that gate without him you will be treated as a spy. And you will be dealt with accordingly. So come back with the boy, or don't come back at all."

***