3. Alexander
ALEXANDER
Maybe they read minds here. That’s the only plausible explanation Alexander can formulate right now.
The man shakes his shoulder gently. “You’re Alexander, right?”
All Alexander does is stare back, wide-eyed.
“Yes, sir. I mean, Councilman,” Caeneus responds for him. He looks surprised too, but more starstruck than horrified. “This is him. Alexander, introduce yourself,” Caeneus tells him, through smiling teeth.
Did these people know he was coming? This could all be some sick joke that his brother is playing, sending him to the middle of nowhere and hiring people to drive him mad.
No, his brother isn’t nearly that creative. If he wanted Alexander out of the way, he would put him on a ship and let him drown at sea. Which he did.
Caeneus’ eyes bounce between Alexander and the man—the Councilman, apparently—and he then speaks for Alexander again.
“Councilman, I think Alexander might be a bit… taken aback by your presence. He’s from the countryside, as I’m sure you know.
Pulled up from the Producer Class to be an Auxiliary.
But even lower-level Guardians don’t come all the way down here to escort new recruits, so for a Councilman to do it…
Well, whatever he did must have been truly amazing. ”
“Absolutely,” the Councilman says. Then he turns to Alexander with an empathetic smile.
“I know this is unconventional, Alexander. We usually trust new recruits to make their own way to the Academy. But we very rarely pull people up over seventeen, so the Council thought it would be best for me to help you acclimate. When I got pulled up I had not even half your composure,” he says, chuckling conspiratorially.
His teeth are a striking white against his chestnut skin and close-cropped black hair.
“I always try to lend a hand when someone new is recruited.”
New recruit, the countryside, his name.
How does the Councilman know everything about Alexander?
Or, more accurately, how does he know the story Alexander came up with no more than five minutes ago?
This is suspicious. Simply implausible. Alexander knows it is.
But for once he just wants things to be easy—to be one of those people for whom ‘too good to be true’ is true.
And, anyways, the worst thing that could happen is that this Councilman guy takes him away and shoots him in the head. Which, honestly? That might be better than feeling like a fish so out of water it’s left the atmosphere.
Plus, if he really is being taken to this mysterious Academy, that could mean free food, a bed, and access to information. All of the things on his list.
So Alexander silences the part of him that knows there’s something else at play, and lets himself believe that this truly just worked out for him.
“Yes, sorry, that’s me. Alexander. I can’t believe you came yourself, Councilman. So generous, sir, really.” He flashes the Councilman his winning smile and offers a hand. The Councilman favors him with an appraising stare, then returns the handshake.
“Firm shake. They teach you that in the countryside?”
Alexander adopts a more innocent, country-boy posture. “Pa takes first impressions very seriously, sir.”
The Councilman smiles. “Please. Call me Bios.” He turns to Caeneus. “You should too, if you’d like. What’s your name?”
“Caeneus, Councilman.” Caeneus cringes. “I mean… Bios. Forms, this is crazy.”
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” Bios says with a laugh before motioning to the street. “We should probably get moving,” he says to Alexander. “We’re a ways away from the Academy and I’d like to get back before the sun sets.”
“Yes, sir. Can I say a quick goodbye to my friend here?”
“Of course. I’ll just wait across the street.” Bios nods to a fruit stand facing Caeneus’ cafe.
“Thanks, man,” Alexander says, once Bios is far enough away. “Without you I probably would’ve stood there gaping like a fish forever.”
“Yeah, probably,” Caeneus agrees. “But you’d be a hot fish at least.”
“Well, who am I to deny that?”
Caeneus laughs, then says, “But seriously, don’t worry about it. And don’t let them intimidate you. The other Auxiliaries, I mean. You deserve to be there as much as they do, even if you’re coming late.”
“I’ll try to remember that. But just, thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“I sure hope not.”
Caeneus winks, leaning down to compensate for the inch or two between them, and whispers against Alexander’s ear, “If you’re ever around here and want to go for that drink you know where to find me.”
He pulls back, and Alexander smirks. “I might just take you up on that, you know.”
“Oh, please do. And even if you just want to visit, like, platonically, you can do that too. Or if you ever need help or something. Or a coffee.” He awkwardly points to the sign of his cafe. “I like you. I’d like to be friends.”
Alexander has never met someone so undeniably sweet. Interested in more than saying they slept with a prince. He hears himself proclaim, “I’d like to be friends too,” surprised to find it’s genuine.
Caeneus beams. “Okay, then. Run along to your fancy tour guide. And good luck in the Trials. I think you’re one to watch.”
Alexander squeezes Caeneus’ shoulder. “I’ll see you,” he promises, starting for the cobblestone street.
“See you,” Caeneus shouts from behind him.
By the time they make it out of the Third Arc, Alexander is dead on his feet.
He’s sore from, oh, you know, his shipwreck, and this city is entirely made of stairs.
Bios has been pointing things out along the way: new fashions, well-known people, historical landmarks. And Alexander has been trying really hard to pay attention—he shouldn’t let new information go uncatalogued—but he cannot focus.
Bios definitely notices because a few minutes after passing through a marble arch proclaiming they’ve entered ‘The Second Arc: Home of Commerce’ he slows to a stop.
“You alright, kid?”
“Yes, of course,” Alexander lies. Bios mentioned getting back before dark. If Alexander goes too slow, will Bios deem him unworthy and leave him here?
Bios is not convinced. “Are you sure? I know a good coffee spot.”
“If you have to get back, I don’t want to—”
“Don’t worry about that. You look like a shade right now and I’d rather you not take Er’s journey to the underworld and back before we get to the Academy.”
Alexander tries to find it in him to insist they continue on, but he’s always been weak for coffee.
“Yes, please.” His head drops down, and he puts his hands on his knees.
Bios chuckles, patting him on the back and walking towards the busy streets with a, “Follow me.” It’s probably pathetic how quickly Alexander scurries after him. But he’d do anything not to be alone again.
They venture through a square overtaken by business casual, everyone walking fast like they’ve got somewhere to be. Townhouses line the streets, multipurposed as businesses, restaurants, and homes. It reminds him of the pre-Fall San Francisco he’s seen in old photos, but without all of the color.
After a stressful few minutes of weaving through crowds, they finally reach the coffee shop.
“Alright, this is it. You sit. I’ll go grab us some drinks,” Bios insists.
Alexander complies, then belatedly realizes that he probably should have offered his assistance.
He’s not a prince here, after all. No one to wait on him hand and foot.
“Thank you,” he remembers to say just as Bios enters the shop.
The Second Arc, Alexander decides as he looks around, is much more austere than the Third Arc. Marble adorns every building, and the streets are well-paved cobblestone, flat and smooth.
The wealth difference between the two Arcs is clear as well.
The playful hustle and bustle of the Third Arc is replaced by suits and messenger bags and people leaving the cafe with enough cups to feed an army.
He’s pretty sure the cafe is a chain store given the mermaid logos on every mug, cup, and table.
Or, siren logos, he supposes. That’s what the Ancient Greek mermaids were called, right? Because this country would think of sirens and minotaurs and centaurs rather than mermaids, sasquatches, and unicorns.
On the grueling walk, he pieced some of the puzzle together. The names, the columns, the myths. Whoever created this place must have done it with Ancient Greece in mind, though the Third Arc—and Alexander assumes those below it—did not commit as much to the design vision.
There’s one thing he knows for sure, though: Kallipolis, and the land that surrounds it, managed to fully protect itself from the Fall of Nations.
They’ve either existed under the radar for thousands of years, or they were founded right when things got hairy before World War V.
Somehow their invisible walls have kept them safe and secret all this time.
Of course, it wouldn’t be impossible for them to have been created post-Fall; the HAE managed to bounce back, after all.
But his country will never be able to fully reverse the damage from the nuclear holocaust. Even Nuevo Vatican, their well-kept capital, is littered with hollow skyscrapers and the skeletons of cars.
Plus, he doesn’t see any signs of Acute Radiation Syndrome here—a condition that affects at least forty percent of the known world’s population.
There are no remains of an unrecognizable world, leagues more advanced than their own. There is simply progress.
Alexander isn’t sure how he feels about that.
Bios interrupts his train of thought with a mug of hot coffee. “Dark roast okay?”
“As long as it has caffeine, I don’t care what it is.”
“The stairs are not ideal,” Bios admits with a laugh. “They were built a long time ago, probably for transportation alone, but now it also gives Auxiliaries access to every Arc when they need it. Though running down thousands of stairs isn’t very efficient.”
“Not really, no,” Alexander says.
“Just wait until we reach the Academy at the top. The view is unimaginable.”
Alexander hums.