The next morning, Erik and I suited up for another cold day. Calista came scrambling out behind us, her snow boots unlaced and awkward on her feet.

“W-wait up…!” she called, slipping a little on the hill as she bundled up her blazer and skirt against the wind. Her uniform was spotless, a gem to our poverty-stricken family — grey skirt, white blouse, and that stone-blue blazer with the Empire crest stitched in gold over her heart. A dragon, two swords, and four stars. Overkill, if you asked me.

“You’re going to be late again,” Erik muttered without turning, shifting his axe on his shoulder.

“B-but Father! Kam hid my book!” Calista puffed, reaching us and pouting hard enough to melt the snow.

“Why would I hide your stuff?” I said, wide-eyed.

I had. I wasn’t sorry. That book had information about this parallel world. Stuff I didn’t understand yet, but I needed to.

“Because you’re mean!” Calista stomped ahead, her single plat in her white hair trailing behind.

Erik sighed. “You're both impossible,” he muttered, pressing on.

We walked an hour through the snow, until rooftops appeared over the hill — the edge of the nearby village, where Calista went to school and Erik handled his business. I’d never been here before. Nearly eight, and only now seeing it.

Erik and Agatha didn’t want me here. I could feel it. Like I was walking in on a secret. Calista had no idea, she was a real child after all, not an imitation like me.

The streets were cobbled and clean, lined with neat brick houses and low, glowing lamps. It was a shock to the system seeing all the buildings so packed together, until now I had only seen the 4 walls of my house and the odd outlier of the registration office and the place where Yuki was.

Then I saw them.
Two Military Policemen leaning against a stone wall, smoke curling from their mouths. Their skin wasn’t pale like ours. Their hair was darker too — brown and black, not the pristine white of the North.

One of them caught me staring.
“Quit staring, vile swine!” he barked. Then spat — right in my direction.

I flinched. I couldn’t speak. My cheeks burned.

Erik’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Apologies for the boy,” he said, pressing my head down into a bow.

Bowing.
To them.

My teeth ground together. Erik didn't look humiliated — but I was. My fists clenched inside my coat sleeves. What are you doing Erik? Weren’t you a soldier?

Erik kept his head down, hurrying us past rows of boarded-up shops and crumbling windows. The deeper we went, the more Northerners we saw — ragged coats, tired faces.

A queue stretched along the curb. Men, women, even children. A soup kitchen, maybe a ration point.

“Back of the line!” someone barked at us. “I don’t care if you’ve got kids — no one cuts ahead on sympathy!”

Erik didn’t stop. He just walked faster, pulling me along.

The school came into view — single-story, ringed with a metal fence. Two lines out front: one for Northerners, one for Kraluantians.
The difference was stark. Blonde, black and brown-haired children in polished coats, standing straight. Our side — tattered scarves, dirty uniform, cracked boots, white hair.

So, this was why Erik didn’t want us coming here. Not the walk. Not the cold.
It was the shame.

But I wasn’t fazed.
I was used to being lesser. I’d been lesser before.

Calista gave Erik a hug and skipped over to the end of the Northern Line.

Poor kid. She didn’t even flinch standing apart from the others. Does she not notice the difference? Or maybe… maybe she just doesn’t care. Maybe that’s her strength.

I looked away. I didn’t have the warmth to think about her feelings today — my mind was already pulled elsewhere.

Yuki.

Erik and I stood in silence as the lines began to move. The first flakes of sleet drifted down from the iron sky. Calista glanced back and waved one last time. Erik smiled — proud, soft, the way only a parent can be.

Even after everything, he could still feel that. Even when they call us half-men. Even after the war.

How?