1. Alexander #2
But that couldn’t be, because now clothes brush against him. Shopkeepers in stalls up and down rough streets yell about their wares. Bright colors assault his sea-tired eyes.
This is a city, a big one at that. One that appeared out of nowhere, as cities do not tend to do. So…
So, he’s seeing things, and he cannot entertain it any longer. The beach is real. His fear is real. He needs to get out of here.
He twists his head around and back to the sea, where the crumbling pillars, once lonesome towers on a desolate wasteland, are now polished columns connected by ropes.
He rushes toward them, but the buzzing in the air around them is so intense that he has to grit his teeth. Their electricity feels malicious now—like it might do worse than just shock him.
And that’s not the only problem, he realizes when he looks down. Hundreds of feet of sheer drop separate him from the sea. He can’t even hear the waves anymore.
Teleportation versus hallucination feels like the most pressing question to answer, but does he even care?
This could be the heaven his mother and brother and his whole country believe in—that he believes in too, when he lets himself.
But as far as he’s concerned right now, it doesn’t matter.
Because no matter what or where or how, he is still staring at the ocean from high above.
And at least the threat of starvation is something he can understand. But this? He’s never been further from understanding anything before.
The only thing he is certain of is that wherever he is, it’s not one of the Six Survivors—the countries that formed across the five remaining continents after the Fall of Nations. None of them have ever looked like the city behind him. Not prior to the Fall, and certainly not after.
He should turn around and face the city, but he can’t fight the childish thought that maybe it won’t exist if he’s not looking. Maybe it will just fade away and he’ll wake up in his own bed high out of his mind because what else could have caused this crazy dream?
Eventually, Alexander’s eyes drift to the golden signet ring on his pinky; the Leo constellation etched onto the front is scuffed from years of wear. It’s one of two his father had made, the other at home, resting on the finger of the traitor wearing Alexander’s crown.
He misses his brother like a vise. He hates him just as much. But the matching ring doesn’t mock him like it should. Instead it reminds him who he is. He’s not a rabbit, easily cowed and quick to die. No. He’s a lion.
He shifts to face the city.
Colors explode out of every shopfront and home, and flags fly in the wind, all of their brightness only rivaled by the eclectic clothes on passersby. The buildings vary in style, some marble like the columns, but most in happy hues that match the fashions of the residents.
People of all different races and sizes, paired with partners of all genders bustle around him. Most are decked out in billowy clothes, and golden accessories dangle from anywhere jewelry can fit. Kids are dressed similarly, running around after balls and staring at…
No. That’s not possible.
He charges forward until he reaches the cobblestone main street of whatever neighborhood this is.
Moped horns blare all around him, which is something he simply cannot unpack right now because the last running car in the Holy American Empire died hundreds of years ago.
What’s more important is the little boy in front of him, sitting at his mother’s feet.
While she converses with a handsome barista, the kid is enthralled by something in his hands. A gilded tablet with a crescent-ring sigil. He taps and drags along its surface, making it look mysteriously like…
Like an electronic tablet.
Alexander has seen a tablet before. Of course he has. The Holy American Empire is littered with remains of pre-Fall technology. Every one of the Six Survivors is. The difference is that none of it works.
But the columns behind him have electricity running through them. Who says this place doesn’t have all the technology that comes with that too?
The mother ushers her son to leave, and when he rises, Alexander catches sight of what he’s playing. Some kind of fighting game with men in togas.
Alexander could laugh at the absurdity.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?”
The boy’s mother stands in front of him, her voice more worried than suspicious. She must have approached without Alexander even noticing.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he can’t think past the tablet that belongs hundreds of years in the past.
“Honey, are you alright?”
The kindness in her face makes Alexander want to break down and tell her how he ended up here, but he just manages to stop himself. He’s an intruder in a place clearly meant to be hidden away. Who knows what they’ll do to him if they know he doesn’t belong?
He’s still searching for something to say when an older man bumps into his shoulder. Hard.
“Looks like you’re in the wrong Arc, boy.”
“What?” he asks, lost for words.
“Your Arc in Kallipolis,” the man explains. “Probably a Six or Seven by the looks of you. We don’t do beggars here in Three.”
Okay, well now he has a lot more words. Most of them expletives.
The mother seems instantly more put off by Alexander now that it’s been decided he’s from a different ‘Arc’ than her own. Given that he was just called a beggar—he is a prince, thank you very much—he can only assume a higher-number Arc is not a compliment.
“He’s right, honey. You’ll feel better at home,” she assures him, ushering her son off after the old man, just slow enough not to seem rude.
That’s some classist bullshit, he decides, not exactly sure what to do about it.
The barista that the mother was so entranced by—Caeneus, says his nametag—hesitantly approaches him once he’s alone in the road again.
His hair is bouncy, and his skin is a rich, deep brown—he’s very pretty. Alexander wishes he could appreciate it, give a flirty wink or something, but instead he’s having a panic attack.
“Are you okay?” Caeneus asks.
Hell, he really needs to pull himself together. He’s always been good with people. Good at getting what he wants from them. And right now he wants information, water, food, and a bed. In that order.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” he says with a few slow, unconvincing nods.
Caeneus squints, sizing him up. “You’re not from here, are you?”
Well, that’s great.
He opens his mouth to explain himself, but before a verbal trainwreck of epic proportions can ensue, Caeneus cuts him off.
“You’re from the countryside. Not just a different Arc of the city.”
Alexander’s brows push together.
“Right?” Caeneus tries to confirm.
“Yeah. The countryside,” he coughs, throat still burning from the salt in his lungs.
“What a dream, dude. I love Kallipolis, don’t get me wrong, but I really want to just breathe in some fresh farm air.
You know, I’ve never even left the city.
My mom’s been out there though. She told me that…
” Caeneus seems to catch himself beginning a rant and sheepishly backtracks.
“Well, you’re from there so, you would know, I guess.
It must be a big change to be in the city. ”
“Yes. The city. This great city of—” he crosses his fingers that this leap in logic is correct “—Kallipolis.”
“Yup! So are you homesick? Is that why you look spooked?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” He shifts his hips and wets his dry, sandy lips with his tongue. He notices Caeneus’ gaze flicking down to his mouth, then back to his eyes a few times.
Ah, that’ll be useful.