Shanakee's Tale: a dystopian novella
Author: D. Wink
Date: 2018-02-14 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: ★★★★★ "It snared me right from the first and held me until the ending." Conall Hubbert is a future scientist, possessed with the last prediction of his genius algorithm: The Prometheus Prophecy. He has to be the first to find Prometheus and protect him from the hands of the global government and terrorist fanatics. Conall puts on a mask to infiltrate Outer Area Three – a village in the Scottish Highlands where poverty and ancient beliefs rule the society. But he is not the only one: Both his greatest rival and a terrorist group have their spies already in place. The life and friendship of thre
Rights: All rights reserved (#224914457874252)

Shanakee's Tale
a dystopian novella

D. F. Wink

Shanakee’s Tale. A PROMETHEUS DYSTOPIAN TRILOGY novella (prequel)

Copyright © Diana Wink (2018). All rights reserved.

dfwink.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in the review.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Requests to publish work from this book should be sent to:

diana@dfwink.com

Editing by Luke Gerwe

Cover Design by Carlo Neira

Created with Vellum

PART I

AIDEEN

This was the underground. It sheltered the secrets of the future, secrets she had been chasing for nearly a decade. Her nerves were tight with tension, but not from fear. From anticipation.

The lights flickered in the long black corridor. For all she knew, all of it could be virtual reality ground she was blind to. The darkness was cold. She walked down that corridor with quick and certain steps, as if she belonged there. The leather boots echoed against the concrete. The LEDs flickered unnervingly.

Voices.

She had to be close.

Aideen’s hands were wrapped in black leather gloves that she kept in the pockets of her long beige cloak. It fluttered with the speed of her steps. Her long red hair was wrapped into a careless bun. She felt the gun at her side, ready to draw it at any second.

It took her five years to find this place. The hackers concealed it with more care than their IPs. The air smelled moist and void of oxygen. This was the moment she had worked towards as long as she could remember. Her life pointed towards it, but she suppressed the hope that threatened to rise inside her chest. Would she really find the answer here?

The voices sounded hollow, and she realized that most of them were voice commands. Hackers rarely used keyboards anymore.

The metal door separating her from those voices stood unlocked. Aideen took a deep breath.

The door flew open, nearly unhinged by the force Aideen crashed it against the wall with. She held the gun in front of her and moved before the others could react. Her lenses scanned the space — bare stonewalls, metal chairs, bunk beds and dirty mattresses. Five hackers spread across the room, each of them engrossed into the virtual reality on their lenses. It smelled of sweat, fast-food and too many people in a windowless room. They lived here. It was their reality. Those milliseconds it took them to shut off the virtual world were the seconds that sealed their fate. They never stood a chance, not against her who had been trained since she was a little girl, still in school. At least not in the real world.

She sprinted across the room, beating the first of them unconscious with one single punch, and giving the second a bleeding nose. Before the third hacker — an unkempt and bearded male with a dirty “FSOCIETY” t-shirt — could pull out a gun, she shot him in the knee. His scream of pain echoed across the room while she snatched the gun out of his hand. As she raised her weapon towards the two in the far right corner — a girl of maybe eighteen and a boy with washed out pants — they had their arms raised in defeat.

Aideen had swept the room like a hurricane, but now, silence had settled over them. Only the moans of pain echoed between the walls, coming from the bearded hacker.

“I’m looking for Conall Hubbert.” Aideen’s tone was calm. “If you can help me, you might live.”

Silence.

“We don’t know any Conall Hubbert,” a muffled voice behind her resounded, and she turned to face a middle-aged man whose nose she had broken. She’d anticipated the resistance. The hackers were a sworn community, a betrayal would not come easily.

Aideen went across to the bearded one whose face was red from pain. She pushed his upper body down and started quenching his injured knee. His screams echoed across the room, his face twisted. He desperately fought to break free, but her grip was too strong. After several seconds, she let go and pointed the gun to the other knee.

“Wait, wait, wait…,” Panic ruled his expression. “We really don’t know any Conall Hubbert. Not down here. Or anywhere else in the net.”

Her elbow smashed against his jaw.

“If he were in the net, we would have found him by now.”

“Depends on how clever he is …” an ironic voice resounded from behind.

It tickled her nerves. You know nothing, boy. But she resolved to ignore it.

Instead, she approached the girl, grabbed her hair that felt like straw in her palms, and pulled her to the middle of the room, the gun still extended. She yelled.

“Please, please,” the boy next to her mumbled. “We really don’t know any Conall Hubbert! But I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Everything I can!”

Aideen watched him with knifelike precision.

“All right. Tell me where I can find the forbidden books.”

The boy’s reaction betrayed that he knew nothing, so she wouldn’t waste her time with him. Instead, she pulled the girl further, towards the other end of the room. Her cries echoed between the walls.

“How about the two of you?”

She grew anxious. She couldn’t leave this place empty-handed. She had to find at least something.

The hacker Aideen had knocked out had awoken by now. It was a man in his forties, beard mixed with gray and black, obese and unkempt. Looks were not important in the underground. He could be whomever he wanted in the virtual reality—a wise king, a muscular warrior, a beguiling maiden.

“All the books have been burned,” he said with a shaking voice, “You know that after the digital reform …”

Aideen punched the girl in her stomach, and shot her directly in the foot. The girl crashed to the concrete floor, yelling curses from the top of her lungs.

“Don’t tell me what I already know!” Aideen’s voice grew more aggressive. It was all part of the tactic—pushing them towards a wall, slowly, breaking them. Hopefully, they would break soon.

Bleeding-nose spoke, his voice barely audible.

“After the purge, all the books that could be saved were smuggled to Skye Island. That’s where they still keep them.”

“Skye Island is deserted.” she replied.

But he shook his head.

“That’s what they make you believe. Fifteen years ago, when the purge began, it was all over the dark net — a call to summon all the books, bring them there. To some castle. That’s all we know, I swear.”

A castle on Skye Island.

On the outside, she would not let her relief show. But she got what she came for. They just had to follow the books now.

She knew what she had to do. This was the uncomfortable part, but Aideen had learned over the years how to shut down and do her job. She had to, if she wanted to survive.

She raised her gun and shot them, one by one. The “FSOCIETY” t-shirt was soaked red with blood. The girl on the floor stopped screaming. The hacker with the injured knee collapsed on his chair. As Aideen turned around to face the boy, whose eyes filled with panic and shock, he yelled: “But you said we will live!”

Her voice was steady.

“I said you might.”

The boy collapsed to the ground, and she looked away, hoping those dead faces would soon vanish from her nightmares.

Aideen turned around to leave, through the door, towards the long dark corridor. She pushed an earpiece into her right ear.

“They didn’t know Conall. But I know where the books are. If we follow them, we’ll find him.”

On the other end, a deep male voice replied:

“Where?”

“Skye Island. In a castle.”

“I will lead a division there today.”

“Do you want me with you?”

“No. Prepare for the journey ahead. After all those years …” he suddenly stopped. He was enjoying the triumph, Aideen figured. She could barely believe it herself.

“Good job.”” he said, and his voice was gone.

CONALL

Conall slammed the book shut and threw it to the ground. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, read the title. He had studied it twice now. He had studied all of them multiple times. But it was no use. He stepped back and shivered. The castle had grown cold over the first month of autumn, and it was drizzling outside. A wooden table stood in the middle of the room, covered in piles of books. Before him spread a dark wooden floor, scarlet walls and a massive beautifully carved fire place where a small fire was burning. All of it — the floor, the walls, except for the fire place — was the stage for the huge biomatrix Conall had created with the last remains of paper he found here in the castle.

He had the naturosphere on the left, the psycho-sociosphere in the middle, and the technosphere on the right. Notes were pinned, nailed or glued to the wall according to which system they belonged to, interconnected in-between each other by markers Conall had pitilessly painted all over the walls. Biomatrix theory was the foundation of future science, showing that social orders emerge from nature, and technology and everything produced by individuals originated in psychological and social systems in return. Thus, it represented all the systems in the universe. In fact, the matrix had grown so large that Conall was running out of space, and would soon need to occupy the walls outside of the room.

Here was everything he had accomplished over the last eleven years. He had studied all of the books in the castle — biology, chemistry, laws of physics, all of the historical books they’d been able to preserve. The countless pieces of paper where he had scribbled historical events, theories, laws, and patterns stared back at him. Still, it was only a poor imitation of the algorithm he had created once.

It was so quiet that he could hear his own breath against the crackling of the fire. But he had grown accustomed to the silence. It helped him think. He looked around, desperate. Even after all those years, he seemed unable to outthink World5. The fact that it was a computer program didn’t console him in the least. Time was running out. How could it have calculated the scenario? And where would it originate? He had studied all the effects of causation, he was sure of it. According to those effects, the lifecycle of the new world would end in six, maybe even seven decades. So why? Why had the machine calculated the Prometheus Scenario?

A loud noise made him spin around. The slamming of the front door echoed between the walls of the empty castle. Conall made a deep breath. He had grown so used to the silence, being in solitude for a whole week now, that the intrusion made him angry. Several seconds later, he saw a familiar figure entering the room through the two doors that lay widely open. It was Jed, a man in his late forties, a little bit younger than Conall. He was thin and his cheekbones marked a longish face with decisiveness and wisdom. He wore a dark blue cloak and a hood that had protected his brown hair from the rain, but his slightly wrinkled face was wet. He made a deep breath as he entered the room, and leaned his body against the doorframe.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten anything?”

Yesterday, Conall thought. He had forgotten about food, so deep had he sunk into the state of ecstasis. It was the only way he could think faster, leave his consciousness behind. Ecstasis had become something the world had been chasing more and more in all its forms, he had heard, but Conall himself had become addicted to the ecstatic feeling of knowledge long ago. To the rush of solving problems.

Jed was right, of course. If he kept up like this, he soon would become dizzy and unable to think. But Conall didn’t answer. He stubbornly stared at the crazy mess that the room had become.

Jed’s eyes rolled across the countless notes, pondering. Conall had explained the matrix to him once, and he had no doubt that he could grasp at least some of it, although he was forced to leave university while still in his Bachelor’s degree. He had initiated the smuggling of books all across the British Isle back then, spread it all over the dark net.

“Anything?,” he finally asked.

Conall just shook his head, painfully admitting the defeat.

“Maybe it had been a mistake after all …, “ Jed began, but Conall interrupted:

“We’ve been over this. World5 has never made a single mistake. It’s me who’s missing something.”

Conall stared at the room again. He had mapped out the patterns, knowing that there was an infinite ray of them, repeating themselves in a breathtaking cosmic kaleidoscope. Since Einstein had demystified the nature of time, future science had opened a door to mastering the direction time was moving towards.

Jed approached with slow steps.

“Conall …,” There was this parenting tone to his voice that Conall detested. “You’ll never be able to reverse it, all of it. You won’t be able to bring Kyla back.”

Kyla. Why did he have to bring her up? A pain spread across his chest at this name. It had been five years since she had vanished. No note. No goodbye.

“I know that time is irrevocable. The future is the only thing I can change.”

The future could be mapped out. But the fact that the world was a deeply interconnected reality, in an infinite process of becoming, where everything emerged and evolved from prior conditions, entities, and systems and thus created continuity between past, present, and future—in short, antecedence —made it a highly complicated task. Seeing all of those interconnected laws and systems in the universe was close to an impossibility for the conscious human mind. This is why Conall was constantly looking to be in ecstasis. Plato described it as an altered state where our normal waking consciousness vanishes completely, replaced by an intense euphoria and a powerful connection to a greater intelligence.

“At least come to the village for several days. Get something to eat.”

“There’s no time left. For all I know, he’s somewhere out there already, and I have to find him.”

“Well, if he’s out there, you should finally leave this place, for the sake of the gods, and look for him!”

He sensed that Jed was losing his patience.

Still, Conall dismissed the comment with a wave. It was a pointless discussion. Where would he even start looking? He turned to face the windows, and observed the blurred shore while the sizzling raindrops carefully caressed the glass. Jed walked across the room and extinguished the fire.

Conall drove his fingers through his unkempt gray hair. The window reflected a tired and disheveled figure that stared back at him. Has he really grown so old already?

“The drone will return soon.” Jed said, waving him to the exit. “Let’s go.”

Conall threw one last look across the room, scanning the notes, memorizing them. He was reluctant to leave.

Jed cleared his throat impatiently and raised his eyebrows. “It’ll still be here when you return. C’mon, I’m starving!” Jed gave him a warm smile, and Conall was thankful for it. He had to admit that if it wasn’t for his regular visits, he would have probably lost his mind already. As useful as the ecstatic state was, it was also dangerous, toying with the unconscious and messing with the mind.

Finally, Conall gave in and left the room. But the anxiousness that had grown stronger with every passing year refused to leave him. Time was running through his fingers. Soon, it would be too late.

JOHN

John was asleep. But he wasn’t dreaming.

He saw her clearly in front of him, the girl with the fiery red hair. It was straight and long, and it danced with the wind while flames burned all around her. Her dark eyes reflected the fire, and pierced him into the depths of his soul. Although he had never seen her before, he knew her. Their fate was neatly intertwined. Screams were all around them, and she fought her way towards him. He wanted to run. He wanted to stretch out his hand for her. But she seemed too far away. Unspeakable fear filled him suddenly. He was unsure why, but it ate him like acid. He tried to breathe, but the oxygen was swallowed by the fire. So all he could do was scream. As loudly and as desperately as he could.

His own scream awoke him. John instantly straightened up in his bed. His body as well as the fur he slept on were drenched with sweat. He cursed. Yet again, he would have to wash it. He closed his eyes, but her face was still in front of him. Not clearly, but more like in a memory long gone.

Hopefully he didn’t wake his grandfather. The fire in the middle of the hut had burned out, only the coals were still hot. The cold of the wooden floor instantly shot up his bare feet as he walked over to check on the old man in the other corner of the room. He was asleep, snoring through his thick nose hair. John rubbed his hands against each other from the cold. Autumn was coming. As he started to light the fireplace, there was a dump knock on the door. Who would come here in the middle of the night? John walked over, feet still bare, and carefully opened the door to a slot. Two pairs of boyish eyes stared back at him.

“You’re alright?”

Arthur’s voice had grown deep over the last months, and he was proud of it. His blonde hair was done into a bun, and stubble marked his longish face.

“We heard you scream …”

“No, you heard him scream and woke me up,” Sena murmured through clenched teeth. He was grumpy about his sleep. His tall and thin figure hung nearly lifeless, like a puppet, and dark circles marked his blue eyes.

John opened the door and motioned the boys inside, a finger at his lips.

“I’m okay.” he whispered.

“See, I told you.” Sena rubbed his eyes. “I’ll go back to …”

But Arthur snatched his arm and pulled him in so that the poor boy, still half asleep, nearly stumbled over his own feet.

“What was it then? Another one of your nightmares?”

Sena made an annoyed breath, accepting the fact that tonight, he would not find any rest.

“Not a nightmare,” John replied, lighting the fire so that he could finally get a little warmer. But the flames would take time. “A memory.”

“A future memory?” Arthur’s eyes lit up with excitement. “What did you see?”

John hesitated. Normally, he gladly told the boys about those memories, but this one was different. It was intimate, private. And somehow, it scared him. He shivered, either from the cold or from the images that popped up in his mind again.

“Fire.” John said in a distant voice.

“Fire?” Sena repeated, lost in thought, “Where?”

Here, John thought instantly. But he was too scared to say it out loud.

“What else?” Arthur pushed. He was always excited about those things, especially as many of the future memories had proven to be right. But they have always been smaller things, nothing like this. As soon as John wandered back into this memory, his heart began to beat like a drum.

“A girl.” he murmured involuntarily.

“What girl? Was she pretty?” Arthur’s voice grew excited, but it was far away somehow. John was transported into this memory yet again, and the girl’s eyes hypnotized him. It was stronger than reality itself. Tears gathered in his eyes. Sena stood up, his voice alarmed.

“Leave him alone!” he said to Arthur. Then to John, “Hey. Let’s get out of here, get your mind off this nightmare.”

Only that it’s not a nightmare, John thought, and nodded slowly.

“Good idea!” Arthur was already up. “Let’s do something crazy tonight!”

Sena made another annoyed breath.

“Oh no … not another one of your crazy …”

Arthur ignored him.

“Let’s go swimming in the lake!”

“Are you mad? It’s ice-cold and who knows what’s down there in this pitch …”

“You want to distract him or not?”

“But there are other ways to …”

“That’s just perfect!”

“Would you stop interrupting …”

“C’mon John, let’s go, we’ll make it a dare! Whoever goes in last is a coward.”

Arthur shot a daring look to Sena, and took John by the arm, pulling him outside without waiting for an answer.

“I need to get my shoes,” John protested.

“You won’t need them for swimming!”

Sena ran in front of them, blocking the door with his body.

“Let him get his shoes, it’s still a long way to the lake,” he said with decisiveness, completely awake now. Arthur gave up.

“Alright, but if you take too long, you might be the last one there.” His eyes laughed with excitement. The three of them put their heads together.

“One,” Sena said unwillingly.

“Two.” John was already thinking about where he had left his shoes.

“Three.” Arthur instantly stormed out of the house, sprinting into the darkness. Sena rolled his eyes, waiting for John. As John slipped into his worn leather boots, Sena said: “Are we really doing this?”

John winked at him. Excitement had seized him as well. “Yes, c’mon!”

Both of them ran into the pitch black night. Only the half moon shone their way to the lake that was half a mile away.

When they finally arrived at the water that was perfectly mirroring the night sky, the countless stars and the moon, all of them were out of breath. It was a good thing that they were hot by now, John thought, the water even seemed inviting. Arthur was already tearing his clothes off. He would really do this. Sena hesitated, but as John started to undress, he would not be the one to chicken out. The competition began. Arthur was the first to run into the ice cold water and scream like a madman while simultaneously laughing.

“C’mon you snails! Faster!” His voice echoed in the valley. John was so ecstatic that when he and Sena both ran for the water, he welcomed the ice cold of it, even though it pierced him like needles. He screamed, all of them did. When the water finally covered their torso, John realized how cold it was. The three were still laughing through rattling teeth, splashing the water back and forth as a mighty voice echoed in the valley.

“Arthuuuuuuur!”

Arthur’s smile instantly faded, and he lowered his head.

All of them quietly waded through the water to the shore. A tall, edgy man was standing there—Alasdair MacIan, Arthur’s father and the leader of the Outer Area Three clan. He had both his arms crossed while his expression was filled with anger. He was a huge man with flowing white hair, beard and mustache. His wrinkled face looked tired, but his blueish eyes pierced them with reproach.

“What is all of this?” His voice was deep, husky and harsh.

The three boys just stood there in silence, avoiding his eyes, covering their nakedness with their hands, suddenly ashamed.

MacIan made a deep breath. “I hope you know that it’s the middle of the night! Your mother and I were worried to death.”

“It was just a … ” Arthur began. Big mistake, John thought, but Arthur could never hold his tongue.

“I don’t care!” MacIan interrupted, “Get dressed, all of you! We will discuss your punishment in the morning.”

With this, Alasdair MacIan turned, and walked back to the village. As soon as he was swallowed by darkness, the boys threw each other stealthy glances and burst out into wild laughter.

Then, suddenly, everything returned to John with such a force that it felt as if two strong hands were squeezing his throat. The fire, the cries. He was suffocating, desperately trying to inhale the air around him. But he couldn’t. He just collapsed to the cold earth, and fought the blackness that tried to envelop him in vain, thinking: Arthur will be in so much trouble.

CONALL

The wind blew around their ears while the island seated in fog spread in all directions. Bleak mountains stared at Conall, and the cold fresh air felt invigorating in his nose and on his skin. Only now he realized how much he had missed real life, how the theories of science had preoccupied him, snatched him with its claws into an abyss he was unable to recover from. He tried to fight it, but his thoughts returned to his cave, the books, and the question he had been unable to answer for nearly a decade now. Or maybe it was just his mind, yearning for the addictive sensation of ecstasis?

It was a long march from Dunvegan Castle to the Skye Village, and the only moment they could cross the area unnoticed by the drone that roamed the island in a regular pattern. This island still fascinated him. It was grim, and the colors were always fading into the gray of the sky. But there was a mystery to this place that captivated his heart. He remembered how a group of students had fled here nearly fifteen years ago, he among them. They had been some of the first settlers on Skye, reclaiming a place that had been deserted for many years due to the waves of people streaming into the large cities. They were also the ones who brought piles and piles of books with them from the university library to protect them from being burned. Others followed the plea over the course of the next years, and Jed had named it solemnly “the island of forbidden knowledge.” It had been long ago, but Conall still felt the defeat of this escape deep in his bones. His life had been a triumph since his Cambridge years —the coding of World5 and its victory march throughout the world as the first algorithm that advanced future science and changed the course of history, up until it literally rescued the world. They had been able to prevent a global economical collapse and a devastating world war. Change the course of history, shape the future. He had felt like a hero back then. Until everything changed.

The wind carried a loud cry, and it tore Conall out of his musings. Had he only imagined it? He exchanged glances with Jed, who signaled that he had heard it as well. Only a second later, another cry resounded. Voices were shouting and murmuring in the distance. Both sprinted into the direction the sounds came from, and as they ran around the curve, Conall instantly recognized the blue trucks that stood at the edge of a crumbling street. The Global Peace Army. His heart made a leap. Why would they even come to this godforsaken place? Could they have discovered the village after all? They had taken so many precautions, but the government’s eyes were everywhere.

Quietly, they moved closer and pressed themselves against a hill from where they could overlook the situation. A group of around fifteen soldiers had caught three of the people from the village—two women carrying some water and food from the fields, and a young boy. They always went in small groups, in case of discovery. Still, so close to a main road? Over ten years of uneventful peace had made them careless. The wind was too loud to make out the words. A soldier slammed his fist into the woman’s gut, and she stumbled backwards. There was a pause, another punch, and then he pulled out his gun. Conall panicked.

“We have to do something!” He turned to Jed.

Jed remained perfectly silent for a moment and watched the scene tensely. “And what will we do?”

Conall’s heartbeat accelerated. Of course they stood no chance, but it still didn’t provide a justification to watch those people die.

“I don’t know,” Conall protested, “But we have to do something. We have to fight.”

“Fight?” Jed suddenly pierced him with his expression. No other words were needed.

Conall knew full well what Jed — all of them, in fact — thought of violence. How they despised it, believing that it was an endless domino effect of pain and death, which they refused to be a part of. And with how much cold blood they’d always put this idea over the lives of their own people.

Conall shook his head. “We cannot walk away.”

“True. We have to wait and see if they betray the location of the village. We have to know if the village is safe.”

“That’s it? Just let them die?”

Conall’s heart ached even as he imagined it.

Jed let out a deep breath, nodding.

A shot resounded in the valley and Conall trembled. One of the women lay dead on the ground, and blood streamed across her coat and her gray woolen sweater. The soldiers took the other woman and the young boy to task. One of them held a knife in his hand, ready to chop off anything to get the information. Before they’d kill the last one, maddening time would pass. Conall was not sure he could bear it.

And then he suddenly saw him.

He stood amongst the soldiers, but he wasn’t dressed as one. Cold sweat ran down Conall’s forehead. Was it really him? His back was turned towards him, and a long black cloak trimmed with leather flew in the wind. The hair was longer then Conall remembered, and nearly gray already. Maybe he was wrong? But the posture, the way he slowly walked over to the woman, raising his black leather glove to slam it against her face. Everything in Conall trembled when the figure finally turned, revealing a glimpse of his face. Manasseh. He could never mistake those dark eyes, nearly as dark as night itself. A ghost from his past he feared would come haunting him one day.

But why now, after all those years?

“You know the man,” Jed mumbled.

Conall nodded. Manasseh had grown old, so old that Conall for the first time became aware how much time had passed already. But there was still this unpredictable sparkle in his eyes. Everything suddenly came back to him, the hate, the rage.

“Is it him?”

Jed knew the story only in parts, but enough to anticipate the hatred between them. Suddenly, Conall realized that they did not come here looking for the village. They came looking for him. And he wouldn’t let others die for it. Without another word, he got up and climbed down the hill behind the vehicles. Jed’s voice echoed in his back, but was quickly drowned by the wind.

Conall tiptoed towards the blue trucks and watched to the scene from behind them. He was only feet away from the first soldier, and quickly recalled everything he had once learned as a student in self-defense class. It had been a long time since he’d fought, but the muscle memory remained. He attacked the soldier from behind with a grip around his neck, throwing him to the ground and disarming him. Still, he instantly felt how his strength had diminished, his muscles grown sore. Movement began around him, but he still could fight off two more soldiers before he was surrounded and swallowed by them, his arms in a tight grip, beaten and kicked until he knelt in the muddy ground.

When he raised his head, Manasseh’s dark eyes stared back at him. They hypnotized him with a wave of memories and emotions so conflicting that he thought he would explode if he concealed them any longer. After everything that had happened, he had never looked Manasseh in the eyes again, never confronted him. Instead, he fled like a coward, because he had no choice. Now that the moment of confrontation had finally come, he saw that Manasseh had not forgotten either. The same rage stared back at him, the same reproach and disappointment. Traitor. It was as if past and present finally came to a full circle. It gave him a warm sense of satisfaction.

In those seconds, while Manasseh’s eyes openly gave access into his soul and the hurt he had been carrying for all those years, Conall saw the man he once used to know, or at least thought to know. And again, this question tore at his heart, threatening to burst it open: Why? Why have you done this to me?

Manasseh made a movement with his hand, dismissing the moment, and the soldiers pulled Conall to his feet. Why was he here? Had he come to fulfill his final revenge?

“A shame you never came crawling out of your hole.” Manasseh’s voice sounded tired, deeper and sharper than in his memory. “You made me crawl in instead.”

Conall felt the taste of iron in his mouth, and spit blood on the ground before he replied: “How’d you like my farewell letter?”

He saw Manasseh cringe, but only was a split of a second.

“Not as much as you’d like me to.” He approached and stared into Conall’s face. “But tell me, old friend, could you find the solution to the riddle?”

He smiled slightly, as if the two of them shared a secret. Conall’s pulse accelerated, but he suppressed it. No, he couldn’t know. “What riddle?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Conall?” His voice was challenging. “Do you really think I’m that petty to care about an old feud?”

No, and that’s the problem, Conall thought. But Manasseh couldn’t know. The virus had destroyed everything.

“So tell me—have you found him? Have you been able to outthink our program and prove yourself the mastermind you always pretended to be?”

Conall’s breath accelerated, but he couldn’t let it show. For all he knew, Manasseh was just playing a game of manipulation. A game he was brilliant at.

But suddenly, Manasseh struck him in his gut with such force that Conall thought he might faint. The punch contained all of the rage and the bitterness built up during the years.

Manasseh was so close that Conall could feel his warm breath on his face while trying to recover from the pain.

“I saw the prophesy,” he whispered only for him to hear, “The last coup, the last prediction our brilliant program spit out before you sent it into oblivion and destroyed our life’s work!”

Manasseh yelled the last words and stroke out again. This time, the ache was strangling Conall and his vision blackened for a short period.

Conall’ hands trembled with shock and pain. He panicked as the realization crept over him. Manasseh had known all along. For all those years, he too, had been looking for him. And what would happen if he would find him first? All was lost then. Everything.

“So now, for your own sake and for all the people rotting on this island, I hope that you were brilliant enough to supersede World5. This is your chance to make amends for your betrayal.”

He made a pause to take a deep breath.

And what about you, Manasseh? a bitter voice inside of Conall whispered, How will you make amends for yours?

Manasseh framed those words with unmistakable finality: “Where—is—Prometheus?”

A silence so tense and daunting enveloped them that nobody dared to breathe.

Conall knew that Manasseh hated him deeply for destroying World5, a program he could impossibly entrust into the hands of this monster. But even more, he hated him because he knew that he would never be able to recreate the code without Conall. Because Conall was the mastermind behind their invention.

“If I knew, I’d never tell you …” Conall’s words resounded between the mountains as the restless wind blew around his ears. But I don’t. I failed.

Without a warning, Manasseh raised his weapon, and shot the young boy who stood behind him. The woman yelled in shock, her eyes wide with fear. Conall shook

“See. Your careless words killed an innocent boy.” Manasseh’s voice sounded complacent.

This brutality had destroyed every ounce of resolve Conall had just seconds ago.

“Please,” he murmured, his eyes on the woman, too young to lose her life. He didn’t know her by name, but he had seen her numerous times in the village. She hadn’t been with them from the beginning, but she came several years later. A student from Edinburgh University. Her eyes pleaded with him. “I haven’t been able to find out. I couldn’t do it.”

Manasseh smiled. “Well, you’re probably not that smart after all.”

He nodded slightly, and two soldiers with metal sticks began to smash them against the woman’s body, one after another. The wind carried her screams, the sound of bones breaking and skin bruising, while Conall was fighting tears.

I don’t know! I don’t know!

Panic rose inside of him. Europe, probably the British Isle, as the scenario would originate from here. And according to the prediction, he had to be alive by now. But this was all Conall knew, because it was easy to derive from the prediction. He knew nothing more, and his hands shook with a powerlessness he felt yet again.

They would kill her. Manasseh would kill her.

She was on the ground already, instinctively protecting her head with her arms while the metal continued to hit her body and break her, bone by bone.

“Think, Conall,” Manasseh whispered, his voice as calm as a lake.

Conall tried to steady his breath, closed his eyes, the room in Dunvegan with the biomatrix clearly in front of his mind’s eye. Think! Think! He scanned it, looking, searching for anomalies, anything. Her screams grew duller, but she was still breathing. Panic overwhelmed him. She would die. And he would be the next to be tortured. Was he really unable to see it? Cold sweat dripped down his spine. Think!

And then there was something. A note saying Glencoe Massacre that struck Conall like never before.

He tore his eyes open.

“Area Three. Area Three!”

Manasseh watched him for a moment longer, then nodded, and the blows ceased.

How could he have missed it for so long? This one simple but clear hint that he suddenly became aware of. Like it hadn’t been there before.

“Area Three,” Conall repeated. Had he really just given it away that easily?

It was an impulse of the moment, the result of the shock that had gripped him. He just wanted to save that innocent woman that lay beaten in from of him.

But suddenly, Manasseh raised his weapon and shot her. Just like that. Her heavy breathing stopped abruptly. Conall’s heartbeat accelerated with rage, and he clenched his fists. Instinctively, he fought the arms that gripped him to throw himself at Manasseh. He hated him, but maybe, he hated himself more for having made Manasseh who he was today, for having given him that power.

“Take him to the trucks. We leave for the city,” Manasseh commanded.

“What will you do to him?” Conall cried, “Kill him?”

Manasseh stopped for a moment, and watched his captive with interest.

“Maybe even I have overestimated you.” he finally said, “You don’t seem to have grasped what our program had predicted. But I will let you in, because you will rot in a laboratory cell for the rest of your life anyway. Prometheus is the dawn of a new era. A new species. A new evolutionary step for humankind. And I will pave the way for this step.”

Conall’s eyes widened. Had Manasseh’s madness no end? It seemed like his obsession for the ideal world had grown so deep it knew no end.

The soldiers snatched Conall by the arms, punched him in his stomach so that he thought he might pass out yet again, and tossed him into an army truck.

Now, everything was lost.

AIDEEN

The scent of salt filled her nostrils, carried by the heavy wind that came from the coast. Here she was, putting on yet another mask. Her car was parked a safe distance away. Aideen hoped she had hidden it well enough as it was her only escape route in the middle of nowhere. She walked towards the northern hills of the Welsh Outer Area—a grim place, deserted and cold now that the summer was over. Her brain vibrated with a sensation of an incoming satellite call. The connection came from the mandatory RFID chip implanted in the dawn of the bio-technological reform. This chip held everything needed to be part of society—all the accounts, IDs, insurances, monitoring, and connected the brain directly to the world wide web. But there was no internet out here in the Outer Areas, so it had to be a satellite.

Manasseh’s deep voice resounded on the other end through the earpiece, crackling: “It’s Area Three.”

She felt her fingertips tickle with anticipation. They had found him.

“We have a spy there already,” Manasseh continued, and Aideen was annoyed by this unnecessary complication. “But I want you there. Proceed with the plan. Find him, you are the only one who can.”

A navigation map appeared in her lenses that Manasseh sent via the connection. Area Three was in the Scottish Highlands, in Glencoe.

“I’m on my way.” Aideen replied.

“I know.”—a pause, a reminder that he always monitored her carefully—“Good luck.” With these words, the connection was cut.

Aideen put the earpiece in her pocket.

It was a lucky coincidence Snowdonia was on the way to the Highlands. Aideen took out the lenses, and hid them in a small box before she went any further, just to be sure. Sometimes she suspected they hacked her visual connection as well.

She continued to walk across the valley at the feet of the hills, wondering if this was a wise choice, getting involved with the Sub. But the movement had been growing in the past decade into a number even the government was barely suspecting. Know your enemy, they said, and she needed to know both of them.

A cloaked figure appeared in the distance. There was probably a whole army hiding in the hills. Aideen cringed at the thought, and covered her long red hair with a headscarf, following their customs. Even from the distance, she recognized the shape of a woman, wrapped in linen and wool, her head and even face covered with a scarf, except for the eyes. She was not surprised they sent a woman. Contact between members of the opposite sex was considered out of bounds in public. When Aideen approached, the woman took the scarf from her face and revealed youthful features, big dark eyes, striking red lips, and a neatly formed nose. She was young, maybe even younger then Aideen, but she held herself with mature confidence.

“My name is Kaahla.” Her voice was steady. No accent.

Aideen nodded and introduced herself in return. She watched Kaahla with interest. How would someone so young get involved with such an organization? What was it that was driving her? Kaahla might be wondering the same, it occurred to her.

“I just got the call. We found him.” Aideen had to raise her voice to compete against the wind.

“Where?”

Aideen hesitated.

“You have to promise not to intervene. Never to reveal my identity.”

Kaahla nodded.

“We just need to know the location to protect our interests.”

Aideen nodded.

“Area Three. You guaranteed immunity and protection.”

Kaahla smiled.

“Of course. As long as you deliver.”

Alive or dead, Aideen remembered. This was the plan. But only one option was good enough for her own purposes.

“Once you’re ready, send us a signal.” Kaahla passed her a pill with a yellowish gel inside, “But swallow this first to get an encrypted connection.”

Aideen took the pill, having trouble keeping her hands steady. It felt like it was her against the whole world. Kaahla gave her a nod that contained a slight smile. A smile that set her at ease.

“Salam,” she said, and wrapped the linen around her face and left.

Slowly, Aideen walked back to her car with a strange feeling of unrest. The Sub had always evoked mixed feelings in Aideen, but it was the only organization powerful enough to protect her from Manasseh’s wrath once she would betray him.

The matte gray Toyota was parked in-between the bushes. She started the quiet electric engine to warm the inside a little and get her hands to steady. Then, Aideen took out a scalpel to make her masquerade complete. On the back of her right hand, where she chip was hidden, she made a deep cut. Blood ran down to her palm, and she quickly caught it with some tissues. She had resolved long ago to deceive Manasseh, and it was a difficult choice. Manasseh had recruited her when she was still a teenager in school, had mentored her and made her go beyond her limits. And as much as she despised everything he represented, she admired the man.

Aideen cut deeper. The injury had to look real, as if she had removed the chip completely. The scar that remained would be a sign of belonging to the Outer Areas. This was how they distinguished the outsiders from the city population. She clenched her teeth from the pain. Somewhere in-between the blood and the flesh, she spotted the tiny little chip, and resisted the impulse to tear it out right now. She had to finish her mission first. She had to kill Prometheus.

CONALL

The truck drove through uneven roads abandoned by civilization. It would be pitch dark inside if not for the several tiny windows that lit the space where soldiers sat opposite each other, and with them—Conall, driving towards his own destruction. He cursed Manasseh. He cursed himself. For the first time in eleven years, he had been this close to the solution of the riddle, yet so powerless to solve it.

A deafening noise resounded from afar. Conall suspected it belonged to a military helicopter, propellers already in full speed. The car came to an abrupt halt.

“Time to go to sleep, scientist.” Beside his black exoskeleton that provided his movements with speed and his blows with strength, the soldier wore a self-sufficient smile of disdain. He put a cloth over Conall’s head. His world went black. What would they do to him? Torture? Experiment on his brain? Let him rot in a cell? With his hands neatly tied behind the back, they dragged him outside. The fresh cold air of the Scottish mountains hit him with force after the long drive in the stuffy cabin. He tried to soak it in through the cloth for the very last time. The helicopter noise was overwhelming now while he was dragged further towards it.

They stopped abruptly. Something was wrong. He sensed it more then he saw or heard anything through the noise and the cloth that blocked his view. Why did they stop? Conall began to panic. He wanted to tear off this damn cloth from his head, but had no hands to do so. The grip dragging him suddenly let go, and he began tossing and turning when he was snatched again, and dragged into another direction, away from the helicopter. Conall nearly stumbled over his feet and crashed to the ground from the surprise and the speed those hands pulled him with.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hey! What is this?”

A hand was put in front of his mouth to shut him up, and a voice resounded in the distance: “Quiet.”

Was it Jed’s voice? Conall couldn’t believe it, this was so unlike Jed. He would never go to this length to save one single person, not even for old friendship’s sake.

They stopped after a while. When the cloth was removed from his head, it was Jed indeed who stared back at him, along with three other men from the village. While his hands were untied, Conall looked around wildly. They were safely hidden at the edge of a forest. Between the trees, the trucks just drove into the massive helicopter, and it rose into the air. They were leaving. No chase, nor pursuit. Conall turned to face Jed with a confused expression. How on earth did he do this?

“We distracted them by staging a fake attack at the helicopter,” Jed explained, “Then we swapped you with Thomas. It was fate that they’d put this cloth on your head, otherwise we stood no chance.”

“Thomas?” Conall’s voice shook. There was somebody else in this helicopter instead of him? “They’ll kill him when they find out!”

Conall was trembling now.

“He made the choice himself. He volunteered.”

Thomas. Conall tried to remember the guy. He had grown very detached from the village in the past years, especially since Kyla had vanished. But he still knew many from the old Cambridge years, Thomas amongst them. Once a chemistry student, now in his late fifties, height and body shape pretty similar to his, warm eyes, always in a good mood. Why? Why would he do such a thing?

Conall made a step back.

“I didn’t ask for this … You had no right to sacrifice another man …”

“Thomas made the choice himself. It was his idea.”

His chest suddenly ached. Manasseh would vent his whole spleen on Thomas once he found out he had been framed, robbed of the satisfaction of revenge. This would not be a quick death. Conall’s hands trembled. They had no right to do this.

“Thomas did it so that you could finish what you started.” Jed said, “You are the only one who can.”

It struck Conall with strange alienation that Jed suddenly showed so much interest in this whole endeavor. Maybe after all those years, he finally came to believe in the prophecy himself?

Conall had difficulty processing it, all of it. For eleven years, he had been staring into books and scribblings, alone with himself and his thoughts. Eleven years. He somehow longed for the embrace of solitude again, longed to return to his castle where he alone was king.

Now, everything was happening too fast. Manasseh had already started the hunt for Prometheus, for all he knew. How could Conall even compete with a global army?

“They’ll come back to look for me,” he murmured.

“They won’t find the village.”

Jed was right, the village was in a forest one could only access thought a tiny cave in a mountain, right behind the fairy pools. The forest was so dense that everything inside was hidden from the eyes of a drone, plane, or satellite. The hideout had stayed undiscovered for over a decade now.

Conall took a deep breath. He had no choice. At least he had to try and fight Manasseh, find Prometheus and protect him. Or her. Whoever it was. As overwhelming as this task suddenly seemed, the heat of battle seized Conall. He still remembered how it felt to be young, and it was as if his whole life had led to this moment. He could not let Manasseh win, not again.

He had created World5.

And he had to protect the future his algorithm had predicted.

ARTHUR

Arthur jogged along the valley towards the village in the late afternoon sun. The last sun rays of the fading summer caressed his face and the involuntary proud grin he wore. He carried a dead rabbit he had slain during the hunt. His moderate shooting skills improved with every year, and his father had sent him as a messenger to the village to announce the good news and signal the preparations for dinner to his mother. Arthur was the only one amongst his friends who enjoyed the hunt. Sena was too sensitive, and John plainly detested it. Sometimes he was glad. John had a natural talent for the hunt—he had a feeling for the animals, an instinct of sorts, and an eye of an eagle when it came to shooting. He didn’t need yet another reason to envy John. On the other hand, Arthur was often swallowed by loneliness and felt left out—he was alone in the woods amongst experienced men while the boys chitchatted during their work in the fields. But today, he was proud of his accomplishments. For once, his father had not sent him home preliminary as a punishment.

He was still at least half a mile from the village that beautifully spread out on the backdrop of the mountains. It looked mostly empty, fieldwork would go on until the sunset, and only some women and elderly were there this time of day. Suddenly, he thought that he saw a shape walking towards the village from the South. He blinked, panic rising up inside of him. Should he run back and tell his father? But when he looked closer, he noticed that the figure was limping, holding on to his or her right hand as if in pain. As soon as Arthur was sure that this person was no threat, he began to run faster. Closing in, he recognized the shape of a girl. She looked his age, twenty probably. Long silk hair the color of a tulip was carelessly carried by the wind. She looked tired and pale while she slowly limped towards the huts, wearing rags that looked like city clothes—a long beige coat, tight black jeans that were torn and dirty now, and strangely impractical looking boots covered in mud and earth.

She must have heard his steps because she turned her head towards him, and her green eyes stared into his. Arthur was captivated for a moment. Small freckles covered her carefully shaped features and strong cheekbones. She was stunning. There were more girls his age in the village, but he thought he had never seen a girl as beautiful. There was something about her. A menacing presence, an uncertainty that she suddenly brought into his life. While he still stared, she abruptly collapsed on the grass. Arthur was still in paralysis for a short moment, but then ran towards her, kneeling to find her breathing heavily. Her eyes were open and absently stared into the fading sky.

“Are you alright?,” he murmured, “Hey …” He touched her shoulder and she shrunk back, as if she had just now sensed his presence. Fear gripped him. How ill was she? The girl opened those thin lips with a heavy breath, and whispered:

“Water.”

Arthur nodded.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the village.” While he spoke, he helped her get up from the grass. An arm around her shoulders, the other still carrying the dead animal, he slowly walked her to his house. He noticed that the back of her right hand was bleeding from a deep cut. She had cut out her chip. A girl from the cities. His presumption was confirmed, and a mixture of horror and fascination overcame him.

It became a long and exhausting walk where she threatened to collapse with every step. Arthur’s heart was beating heavily against his chest, and he was very aware of her tender but muscular shape touching his. He scolded himself for the improper thought, but could do nothing about it. He barely could withstand the urge to constantly stare at this girl. How did she get here?

The leader’s hall was at the centre of the village. It was built just like a blackhouse, with a turf roof, but with wooden walls instead of stone. It was much larger and could at times accommodate the whole village when they gathered for a feast. The private chambers of the hall were in the far back, separated by curtains, decorated with wool and fur. They crossed the village and earned several stares from the inhabitants.

John was at the far end of the village, at his doorstep, putting on his boots to get back to the fields. He also caught a glimpse of the two of them. John’s eyes persistently lingered on the girl. Arthur felt like time stood still for a moment when their eyes met, and somehow, John’s stare infuriated him. Was he only imagining it? The moment was gone as fast as it came, but it awoke a worry in Arthur’s heart. Or maybe it was jealousy?

They barely passed the hall’s door sill when his mother, a strong and mostly quiet woman, ran towards them. The girl nearly collapsed when Arthur tried to sit her down at the table, and ran for a jar of water. He had to force it between her lips. She looked even paler, barely able to perceive her surroundings. The fear in Arthur’s heart worsened. Would she die? The water still fresh between her lips, her eyes slowly fell shut, and she crashed to the ground before Arthur could catch her.

Arthur’s mother felt her pulse and her forehead, then nodded.

“She’s just dehydrated and tired. Give her some hours of sleep.”

Arthur nodded, not fully convinced, and took her tender form into his arms, carrying her to the back of the hall with a protective feeling foreign to him. He placed her into the soft fur, and stared at her for a moment longer. Her strikingly red hair fell down her shoulders and waist, and her chest slowly rose up and down. The feeling that warmed his gut at her sight scared him. Was he in love? He had been before, but it hadn’t felt anything like it.

You’re a fool. She is nothing but a stranger, he thought, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from her stunning form. But even while he left, he knew that she would haunt him.

It was dark outside. The three of them—Arthur and his parents—were dining in the candle lit hall. No word was spoken and the atmosphere was loaded with tension. When his father had heard of the stranger, his mood had shifted abruptly. Arthur knew that while he was a likable and warm character around trusted friends, he disapproved of every stranger who entered their village. But he didn’t care. He had done the right thing, and he refused to let his mood be spoiled.

Finally, Arthur heard the long-desired steps from the private rooms. When she finally descended from the chambers, the girl looked so different and striking that Arthur had to suppress a gasp. She had put on the clothes his mother had laid out for her—a long skirt, warm leather boots garnished with fur and a long dark coat made of wool that would keep her warm in the coming autumn nights. She had washed and her hair was tied into a ponytail, still falling elegantly upon her shoulders. Despite the shock she had experienced only hours ago, she was carrying herself with both confidence and caution, not avoiding the faces that stared at her but rather studying them. Her green eyes stared at Arthur with interest, and it was him who tore his glance away because he could not bear it any longer. He scolded himself for this, and his eyes wandered involuntarily back to her, as if attracted by a magnetizing force.

Alasdair MacIan’s deep voice broke the silence.

“Sit down. Eat.” His head hinted towards an empty seat next to Arthur’s mother, and Arthur felt that the invitation was cold and investigative. The girl hesitated only for a second, then the hunger got the better of her. The meat smelled delicious from the fireplace, and she swallowed the bite offered to her without any consideration for manners. Except for her chewing, the room had fallen back to the familiar silence. When she was done, Alasdair poured some ale into her wooden jar, and sipped on his.

“So. What brings you here?”

Arthur grew furious. Couldn’t he see how fragile and helpless she was? How scared? His father made it sound as if she involuntarily stumbled here on a pleasant late afternoon walk.

“My name is Aideen …”

Aideen. It was the first time he properly heard her voice. What did it remind him of? The song of the most beautiful nightingale. Arthur cringed at this thought. He was going completely nuts, wasn’t he?

The blood from the back of her hand was gone, but the deep cut was still fresh and the bruised skin red with inflammation.

Pull yourself together, he scolded himself yet again. And stop staring.

His father noticed the stare, and gave Arthur a cold look of warning. But Arthur ignored it. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away, even if he wanted to.

“I’m from Edinburgh,” she added, and fell silent again.

At look at his father’s expression gave away that he wasn’t buying it.

“Edinburgh,” he repeated, and paused. “No parents?”

Arthur instantly saw that those words made her uneasy. But she simply shook her head.

“None that I know.”

Arthur’s heart tightened with compassion. How had it felt to grow up without parents, not knowing where one came from? This had become the fate of all the city children who were born and raised in Raising Centres by governmental social workers. To Arthur, who had spent his whole life in Area Three, it seemed unnatural and cruel.

“How old are you, girl?”

Arthur instantly knew the purpose of this question. If she had been born before the social reform, she did have parents, parents who must have given her away to a Raising Centre. If she had been born after, she was just a product of science and DNA donation.

“Eighteen.”

So born after the reform? She looked a little older. Was Aideen lying in purpose? Arthur dismissed the thought. Her ordeal in the past days must have matured her looks. But he knew that his father was not buying it either. What would he do to her? Drive her out and let her starve? Even he couldn’t be that cruel.

Alasdair MacIan leaned forward, his eyes studying Aideen.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

It sounded like a challenge. Like a threat. Arthur suppressed the urge to interrupt his father and protect Aideen from these outrageous accusations.

But Aideen did not even flinch. She just let a silent pause settle over them, deciding what to say next.

“I was abused by one of my overseers.” Those words stung Arthur, and he saw that they hit both his parents with shock, even if they tried not to let it show. It was rumored that abuse and rape was common in this institution, but they have never heard it first-hand.

“He would find me anywhere, he said.” Aideen continued, ”He would access the data of my chip and thus my whereabouts years after I reached legal age. I had no other choice but to flee and cut this thing out.”

A strong wave of rage overcame Arthur, and impulse to kill this bastard who had hurt her, to protect her, whatever the cost. He clenched his fists involuntarily.

“It’s been a week since then. I’ve lived in the Neutral Area. But after five days, my supplies had run out.”

A cold chill ran down Arthur’s spine. The Neutral Area? Created as a place where both outsiders and city residents could pass legally to cross between cities, it had transformed into a set of ghost towns roamed by psychopaths, drug dealers and criminals. How did she even manage to survive it? The urge to protect her was replaced by another feeling. Admiration.

Alasdair just nodded. It was a strangely cold nod.

“I hope you understand the dilemma you put me in.” His voice sounded hollow. Dilemma? Arthur’s rage grew with every word his father spoke. “If you’re telling the truth, I cannot reject you and leave you to the mercy of the gods and nature, let you starve or be killed. But if you’re lying, you could put my whole village in danger, the people I am responsible for. I’ll need time to find out which of those two is the truth. Up until then, you will be our prisoner.”

Arthur nearly jumped up from the table, hands clenched into fists.

“A prisoner? But she is …”

A look from Alasdair made him shut up, a look so intimidating and threatening that Arthur’s voice failed him. But only for a second. When his father turned around, courage found him again, and his words came out so loud that he instantly knew it was a mistake.

“You can’t do this! After all that had happened to her!”

Alasdair clenched his strong right hand into a fist, and crashed it against the wooden table with such force everything on it rose up into the air.

“Have your hormones erased everything I have taught you?” he yelled. His voice echoed between the walls, and Arthur was sure that the whole village had heard it.

He fell silent, and lowered his head. This strange feeling slowly crept into his heart, this feeling that always rose when his father rebuked him. As if a small, disgusting voice was whispering into his ear: This is who you really are. A disappointment.

“Aideen. With me.”

Alasdair’s voice was still commanding and furious, but at least he didn’t drag her by the elbow. He just signaled with his head. Both of them left the hall and walked across the village bathed in darkness. But as Arthur watched them disappear into the night, he saw two familiar faces peaking out their huts to see what all the fuss was about: Sena and John. As Arthur was sure that his father was out of sight, he ran across the muddy paths and signaled them to him.

“What happened?” Sena whispered as the three of them put their heads together to conspire.

“We meet here at midnight,” Arthur replied in a hushed tone. “I’ll explain everything.”

His friends nodded and whispered one after another:

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Both Sena and John hurried to leave for their huts, but Arthur followed the footsteps into the direction Aideen had left with a long gaze. He let out a deep breath.

Damn it. He was in love, wasn’t he?

SENA

Sena didn’t need to tiptoe around the house at midnight, compared to—he was pretty sure—what Arthur was doing right now. His mother, Margaret, was wide awake and not particularly interested in her son’s whereabouts. Maybe because she trusted him, a trust that was mutual.

The fire was still burning in the middle of the hut, keeping them warm throughout the night. Sena stared at the flames, and his gaze shifted to his mother who lay on the bed made out of straw and fur, eyes fixated on the black ceiling. Margaret was plagued by nightmares, so she had nearly given up sleep years ago. Sena pitied her. He was barely able to tell the exact time of day now, as the moon and the stars were hidden by thick clouds. But he figured that it was time to go.

His woolen socks touched the cold wooden floor. He put on his boots that were already half torn from the years of use, and a coat his mother had made him for this winter. It enveloped him like a warm blanket.

“Will you be back soon?” Margaret’s voice resounded in the hut. Sena was a little surprised, but he smiled in the half light of the fire, and walked over to kiss her forehead.

“I will.”

Margaret nodded.

“Be careful.” She sounded tired.

Sena walked out into the cold night, but he only felt the icy wind on his face and around his years thanks to the coat. Luckily, it was not raining. John stood there already, switching from one foot to the other, wearing only a sweater. His grandfather had to be long asleep by now, a sleep nothing could disrupt so easily. They greeted each other with a warm smile and a slight nod, not uttering the evident suspicion that concerned Arthur’s absence. Something had happened this night at their hall. Sena had only heard the cries, and saw the shape of a girl vanishing with the clan leader into the night, and he was dying to know the meaning of those things. He both admired Arthur’s courage and frowned upon his stupidity to steal away the same night. Those were the times he did not envy him for having a father.

When John finally threatened to freeze and both of them thought of going back home, Arthur came running from the distance, gasping. He carried two blankets and a plate with cold meat.

There was no need to explain what had caused the delay, and Arthur motioned the boys to follow him into the night.

“What is the meaning for all of this?” Sena asked impatiently while they were walking.

“You’re always looking for meaning in everything.” Arthur mocked him with a grin, and Sena rolled his eyes. Then, Arthur told them the story, concluding with: “I figure my father brought her into this abandoned hut at the edge of the village.”

“What did you think of her?” Sena wondered, and Arthur hesitated, then just shrugged in response. The shrug seemed more like a defense mechanism. Sena tried to study him, to understand what it was that prompted him to look for a stranger in the middle of the night and defy his father to such an extent. Arthur was a rebel, no question of that. But was this move really only an act of rebellion? Sena had never seen Alasdair MacIan as angry as tonight.

Meanwhile, John had turned pale. Or was it just the moonlight that made him appear that way? John was only that quiet when something bothered him. Suddenly, Sena remembered that night when they had bathed in the lake. The thing that John had told them … A girl. John had dreamed of a girl. A cold chill ran through Sena’s body, and suddenly, the darkness that lay ahead of them seemed menacing.

The hut stood several feet away from the village. It looked tiny, even compared to the small blackhouse Sena inhabited, and it was neglected and uncared for. There was no fire inside, not even a sign of life. Full steam ahead, Arthur walked towards the wooden door and carefully pushed it open. It creaked, and only now Sena noticed a small light that came through the opening. It came from an oil lamp, and illuminated the empty hut. Empty but for a person sitting in the straw, crouched. As she looked up towards the intruders, the small light of the lamp danced in her deep green eyes. Aideen’s expression was marked by tiredness, but this did not diminish the fascination Sena felt in her presence. Those eyes captivated him.

“I …,” Arthur suddenly blushed, handing her the blankets and the plate with the meat, “I hope we didn’t wake you.” His tone was so shaky that it made Sena wonder. Aideen smiled, gladly accepting the gift and wrapping her tender form into the blankets.

“This is very kind.”

There was something crisp and alluring about her voice. Her left ankle was in a metal chain attached to the floor. Sena didn’t even know that this chain existed, nor the purpose of this hut up until this day. She really was a prisoner. But was this who they had become? A village that imprisoned helpless girls? A sadness rose up in Sena’s heart.

“You brought a friend?”

“Yes, this is Sena and this …” Arthur fell silent. “John?”

It was only when John entered the hut that the atmosphere began to feel heavy. Loaded. Maybe it was only because Sena remembered John’s dream? And because by the way John’s eyes shifted, only slightly, when he glanced upon Aideen, he saw that this was the girl he had dreamed about?

John incessantly stared at Aideen, not uttering a word. But inside those gray eyes played out a world of emotions—memories, realities, dreams. Even in the shadow of the hut, Sena saw tears rising in John’s eyes. What was it that he saw, that he remembered?

The heaviness lasted for a fleeting moment, and it was only Sena who had noticed it.

“We would like to keep you company, if you don’t object.”

How polite Arthur sounded, as if he was courting her.

“The longer you stay, the greater the chances your father will discover,” Aideen countered with a wink, and Arthur bit on his lips.

Sena liked this girl. He liked her a lot.

“I think we should get going,” he said with a smile. “Not that we don’t enjoy your astute company.”

Astute? Where did this word come from?

When Aideen smiled back, Sena felt his lungs tighten.

“Well, by the looks of it, I have nowhere else to be. Is this how you normally treat guests?”

“I’m really sorry.” Arthur’s voice sunk. “Sometimes, my father sees ghosts.”

Aideen shrugged.

“To be completely blunt, this is the best place I’ve been to in days, not to mention the food. So I’ll be fine.”

There was this smile again. It enchanted Sena, as did her mood despite her fate and this impossible situation.

“We will take good care of you,” he said, his eyes lingering on her.

She nodded, and only slowly, her smile faded again, revealing a hint of bitterness. At least that’s what Sena thought to perceive in the limited light of the oil lamp. In the meantime, John seemed to have lost the ability to speak. And when Sena looked over to Arthur, he realized that he was staring back at him with anger flickering in those eyes.

“Good night,” Arthur murmured. Even those words were sharp, and could not conceal Arthur’s sudden shift of mood. But why? Arthur nearly tore the boys out of the hut, and further away as they marched back towards the village. Sena knew that Arthur was only holding back for Aideen’s sake. As soon as they’d put a long enough distance between the hut, Arthur would explode. As usual.

JOHN

John’s hands were trembling. He vividly remembered this dream that had caused him to collapse. And here she was, coming to haunt him. When he saw her sitting there, he knew that he had a decision to make. A decision that was granted to him alone—to accept fate and live through everything despite the consequences, or to run. It felt as if two voices were yelling inside of him, and he did not know how make them stop. He was torn.

Sena and Arthur were involved into some kind of feud, but John barely noticed it. He was preoccupied with those thoughts that threatened to tear him apart.

“Who do you think you are?” Arthur said, suddenly stopping. John nearly bumped into him.

His rage was directed at Sena, who eyed him, half amused.

“What do you mean?”

Arthur clenched his fists, like he always did to soften the anger inside of him. He was searching for words, but found none.

“Well … she … I … it was me who …”

“Are you jealous?” Sena interrupted.

Arthur’s eyes widened. He was jealous, wasn’t he? But this meant that …

“I’m not jealous of you,” he replied. It was a lie.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not a threat.”

“Well, then you can relax, can’t you?”—a pause, while a cunning smile appeared in Sena’s face—“And watch me while I swoop her right under your nose.”

This was when Arthur exploded and ran towards Sena, fists ahead. John stood in his way.

“Hey!” He tried to push Arthur away, who was pressing in with raging eyes. “Stop!”

When Arthur finally gave in, John pushed him away, eyeing the two of them with reproach.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Both fell silent, and finally Arthur made a deep breath.

“Alright, I … I suggest, nobody makes a move. For our friendship’s sake.” His posture was still strong and threatening, “Promise.”

Sena hesitated. He was fighting with himself.

“Promise!” Arthur pushed, and Sena nodded.

“I promise,” it was barely a whisper.

“Good. I promise to stay away from her as well,” Arthur said, and this promise seemed to have cost him everything.

Both of them shifted their gaze to John now. He studied their faces, wondering if this was really true. His hands began to tremble again.

Will you run away, John? Or will you face your trials?

Those memories, those images played out in his mind’s eye again and again. But when the fear was gone, he realized that this was irreversible. That this was the only way he wanted it.

He lowered his head.

“I cannot make such a promise.”

Both of them stared in disbelief, lost for words.

“I …” How could he explain this to them? Something not even he quite understood? “… it wouldn’t be fair to make a promise I can’t keep.”

Arthur’s hands began to shake, and he clenched them into fists again. Was he really that serious about her? It was foolish, he had only met her today, and it wasn’t like she was the only girl around here. But John had known her for years, it felt.

“I don’t understand …” Sena began. And he couldn’t.

John wanted to explain it to them, make them understand. It hurt to disappoint them, to lose them. But there were no words he could find. So John remained silent.

“You think you are so special, don’t you?” Arthur exclaimed, furious, “You have been chosen by the gods, you are better than us, right?”

Arthur came closer, piercing him with reproach, barely holding back a punch. John endured the stare.

“She doesn’t belong to you! And you cannot predict the future! You just want to be special because your parents abandoned you.”

Sena looked back and forth between them.

“Arthur, stop,” he said, quietly, but Arthur paid no attention.

“You know what, you’re not special! And you never were … You’ll see, when you realize that she will be mine, not yours.”

With this, Arthur gave him a nudge. John remained steadfast, eyes not backing away from Arthur’s stare. Sena lowered his head.

“So here’s the thing.” A strong voice suddenly interrupted, and all of them shrunk back. Alasdair MacIan stood at the edge of the village, eyeing them. His fury from this evening had subsided. “Stay away from her, all of you. This is not a suggestion, it’s a command. If I see any of you near her or near this hut, you will regret it. Bitterly. Understood?”

Alasdair looked around, waiting for everyone to nod. His tone left no room for disagreement. His eyes remained on Arthur.

“As always, we’ll discuss your punishment in the morning.”

With this, he turned around and left.

Arthur threw one last look to John, miming: She’s mine.

Sena shook his head in disappointment yet again, and left into the other direction. Only John stood there for another moment, not noticing the cold anymore. His life was suddenly thrown upside down, and although he knew this day was coming, it still ached.

When he began to walk towards the village with slow steps, something felt wrong. As if a presence had been watching them. Eavesdropping on them. He looked around, but it was impossible to see anything in this darkness. He let out a deep breath, and went inside the hut where his grandfather was snoring louder than usual.

CONALL

Conall had passed by Area Three only once, by night, on his way to Skye Island. This was also why he had missed the beauty of this willful place. True, all of the Highlands rang with fascination in their own way, but this place struck Conall with a deep sense of meaning. It was not as grim and solemn as Skye. Majestic was the best way to describe it, he decided. The way those sublime mountains were situated around Glencoe valley, the waterfalls running along the stone, all of it evoked awe in Conall’s chest. Maybe this feeling arose because he had remained in Skye for so long, forgotten how it felt so see more colors and daylight. The village of Area Three lay directly at the feet of the mountains, aside from the main asphalted road that was crumbling. The rare sunlight was reflected by the small lake while the inhabitants of the village were running their daily errands, tilling the fields and preparing for the early morning hunt. Conall watched the village with reverence, allowing himself several deep breaths before descending into the valley. Those people had no idea about the extent of the role they’d have to play in global history. They seemed so unremarkable, so common. But if Conall had learned anything in all those years of studying, it was that things were never what they seemed. And somehow, those mountains seemed to hint at a foreboding of their own, signalizing with their might that this was more than a usual village in a common Outer Area. But what was common about the Outer Areas anyway? Created from the rebellion of the people who fled from those reforms he was party responsible for when the Global Union was created. Most of them had been necessary to prevent the collapse and destruction of our world—the geo-political reform that provided Global Union for political autonomy and got rid of every nationalism, the bio-technological reform to ensure sustainability and abolish poverty and global warming. But it was the social reform that had caused the biggest refugee wave.

Conall felt a burden, wondering for the thousandth time if he had wronged the world by creating World5, a machine programmed with a scientific algorithm to predict the future with an accuracy that blew every scientist’s mind. Conall cursed Manasseh yet again, cursed his unreasonable and fanatic ideals he was determined to impose on humankind, thinking that he was creating a better world. Conall had no other choice but to plant a virus into World5 back then. He could have impossibly surrendered such power to a madman.

The people who were still in the village during those early morning hours had noticed his approach from afar. He tried to mask his dismay with a friendly smile, but the conditions of the village instantly got to him. Conall had spent so much time in Skye that he had become blind to the development outside of the island—the poverty, the complete absence of civilization, medical help or even proper hygiene. The houses here were simpler, dirtier, created rather for practical than decorative purposes, with stoned walls and roofs made of turf and straw. The cattle lived wall to wall with the inhabitants, sometimes even without the benefit of a partition. Unlike on Skye, there was no place for science here, nor education, only simple and plain labour to survive the long winters and famines. And the unexpected raids on the whim of the government.

Conall knocked on the big double door that was supposed to be the entrance to the leader’s hall, and entered hesitantly without waiting for an invitation. The spacious room was decorated with furs of all kinds, several tables and fireplaces and antlers on the walls. It was rather dark despite the early morning light that had trouble entering through the small windows. A huge man with white hair, beard and mustache was strapping a gun over his shoulders. This kind of shotgun that had been long outdated in the cities. He turned around when the heard the unexpected visitor and lifted an eyebrow. The man was approximately Conall’s age, maybe a little younger, but he dominated the room with unmistakable authority. This was how Conall had always pictured a highland chief.

Conall cleared his throat and introduced himself.

“Skye Island …” the man repeated in a slow tone. He hesitated only for a second. “Well, it had been a long journey. My hunting party is waiting but let me invite you to a quick sip of ale first.” He leaned the gun against the wall, and walked over to a wooden counter with several jars. “My name is Alasdair MacIan.”

Even his name suited him like the leather jacket and boots he wore, and the fur that held his neck and torso warm.

They sat down at a long table opposite each other. Conall was thankful for the ale. In fact, he hadn’t drunk a sip of it for over ten years, so it was hard to suppress the relief he felt when it finally touched his tongue and slowly slid down his throat.

“So, Conall,” Alasdair began without detours, “Why here, of all places?”

All those three days it took Conall to walk to Glencoe, the answer to this question was all he had been thinking about. He had played out several scenarios in his mind, the truth even. But the truth would do him no good, he decided.

“I used to be a scientist and found a home on Skye for several years. But I had a fallout with the leaders there about … a moral concept.” While he talked, Alasdair did not even as much as flinch. He pierced Conall with a persistent and unnerving stare.

“Anyway …” Conall continued, clearing his throat again. Was he really such a bad liar? He did‘ot even lie, he only left out the truth. And still it made him anxious. He had definitely spent too much time on Skye. “I decided to leave and look for another home, a place to stay, were I can just work, build a life for myself, a simpler life …”

With every word Conall spoke, he felt the stare of MacIan’s cold eyes on him. A stare that made him shiver.

“What moral concept?” Alasdair leaned back and watched his opposite from head to toe, not trying to conceal the gesture.

“About whether one should be able to protect himself and the people he loves by fighting back, or just endure the violence of the government.”

Bingo. He added the government on purpose, knowing that this was their sore spot. Alasdair’s eyes shone with interest.

“And which side where you on?”

“You see, I haven’t always been only a scientist.” This time, Conall leaned it. “I learned how to fight while in college, I know how to shoot, and I would protect what is dear to me at all costs.”

Alasdair gave no answer. Instead, he left a long silent pause, and just stared at Conall. He was daring him, it seemed. After another slow sip, he said: “So you can shoot?”

Conall nodded.

“Maybe you’d like me to join in for the hunt?”

No answer came. Just another deliberately slow sip.

“You know that a stranger who can shoot is not necessarily a man I will provide with a gun,” he finally said, and his voice sounded menacing. Alasdair leaned in. “Two strangers in two days. This had never happened before. So lucky for you, our hut with the chain is already occupied.”

Two strangers? So someone had already come here before him? Someone Manasseh had sent? Whoever it was, he was in chains for now, and it gave Conall a small sense of calm.

MacIan stood up, took the shotgun, and went for the exit.

“Join us as soon as my wife has fed you. She’ll be here any minute, I’ll inform her.”

Conall nodded, admitting to himself that this man intimidated him. Alasdair opened the door, and threw Conall one last stare.

“Maybe you didn’t lie to me,” he said, “But you didn’t tell me the truth either. A man has his secrets, I know this better than any other. But you are not a free man here until you have proven yourself.”

With this, he left the hall.

Conall exhaled, and closed his eyes. Only now did he notice the tension that hung in the air. For all he knew, even Alasdair could be Prometheus. He had the guts, that much was sure. But it wasn’t guts Conall was looking for. It was the ability to manipulate time.

AIDEEN

“The Sub?” Aideen heard Sena’s voice somewhere in the backdrop of her own thoughts, “My mother had mentioned it once.”

The boy sat opposite her, his long legs crossed, the eyes with dark shadows underneath staring at her with interest. Today, it was him who had brought her some food and water. They alternated with the other one who had found her, the rebel with the blonde hair and the firm nose.

No sign of the third one, and still, it was somehow him who she was thinking about. Those pitch black locks that fell into the expression that stared at her with shock. As if he had expected her here. She shook those thoughts off.

Three days in chains were three days too many. She needed to win their trust, infiltrate the village to seek the one this whole mission evolved around. Sitting in this cold hut, Aideen grew restless and impatient. Those boys who flirted with her at every opportunity began to unnerve her, and it became harder to put on a beguiling smile. She knew the worth of devoted men, so she forced herself to wear this mask a little longer. It was easier with Arthur, their conversations remained superficial and he was content with listening to the sound of his own voice.

But not Sena.

“This name had also been a rumor here for several months now.” He continued, “What do you know about them?”

Aideen robbed her hands against each other, listening. She was waiting. Waiting for the blow of the hammer to rescue her from this pit.

“A movement against the Global Union,” she replied, “much more proactive than the Outer Areas, more violent, I guess.”

“They follow some kind of religion, I heard.”

Aideen nervously stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth, chewing, anticipating.

This boy with the dark locks reappeared in the back of her mind. Why did he never return?

“Aideen?”

She blinked and forced herself to focus.

“Ahm … yes?”

“I was wondering if they follow any religion.”

“Who?”

“The Sub, you just told me that you’ve heard of them as well.”

She shook her head.

“Yes, right. Well … they do, as far as I know. In fact, the Sub is short for submission, submission to their one and only God. Monotheistic, which is very rare.”

“Mono ... What?”

“Monotheistic. Their worldview includes only one God instead of many. And they believe in him without any hint of doubt.”

Sena paused, suddenly lost in thought himself. They had been talking a lot about religion lately, the old Gaelic beliefs that the village had accepted, and whether it was such a dangerous concept that the government had abolished every religion long before their birth. Sena had a strange interest in those matters, and Aideen played along.

“What do you think of them?” he asked without looking at her.

“I’m not sure … They follow a cause beyond themselves. Their devotion and peace of mind is something that makes me wonder.”

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

Sena lifted his eyes, and stared at her. His stare suddenly pierced her, as if there was a slight hint of madness in his eyes. The same madness she sometimes saw in Manasseh’s eyes. But it was quickly gone, and Aideen was not sure anymore if she had only imagined it.

Then, suddenly, she heard the voices from afar, and closed her eyes in relief. They were coming. Soon, Sena heard it as well, and rose to look out of the window. When he turned, his eyes were wide with shock.

Don’t forget the mask you’re wearing.

“What is it?” she said, trying to sound worried.

“Global Soldiers.”” His voice was merely a whisper.

JOHN

John was ploughing the field as the day slowly came to an end, wondering where the hack Sena was.

“ … the rumor that there will be a feast in the hall soon …” he heard the fragment of the speech the girl next to him was giving, and involuntarily ignored her. Even if it was rude, she did not seemed to mind. She just blabbered on, and John made a deep breath.

His friends had avoided him for three days now. He minded their ignorance even more than their disdain. The way they pretended not to acknowledge him stung him like a knife. Should he have made another decision back then, should he have promised the inevitable?

Also, another stranger had arrived at the village yesterday morning, and it caused him even more headache.

As he lifted his eyes, three blue trucks were driving along the asphalted road. The Global Peace Army. He was unsure why his heart began to slam against his chest like a drum. Was Aideen in danger? He did not know. Those future memories were hard to piece together, they were like a puzzle that showed a distorted image he did not always understand.

The girl had finally grown quiet. Movement began on the field as they were not the only ones to notice the approaching doom. John threw away his plough when Margaret approached.

“Where is Sena?”

Her hands were trembling as she looked around in panic.

“I think I know,” John murmured, looking at the hut that stood offside the village, “I’ll go and get him, alright?”

He put a hand on her arm to calm her down.

“Would you look out for my grandfather?”

She nodded, whispering:

“Please, hurry.”

John began to run while dozens of Global soldiers dismounted the trucks. They looked menacing in their black shells, completely masked in blue helmets and eyewear that functioned like a supercomputer. All of them wore weapons.

John ran faster. John was ploughing the field as the day slowly came to an end, wondering where the hack Sena was.

“ … the rumor that there will be a feast in the hall soon …” he heard the fragment of the speech the girl next to him was giving, and involuntarily ignored her. Even if it was rude, she did not seemed to mind. She just blabbered on, and John made a deep breath.

His friends had avoided him for three days now. He minded their ignorance even more than their disdain. The way they pretended not to acknowledge him stung him like a knife. Should he have made another decision back then, should he have promised the inevitable?

Also, another stranger had arrived at the village yesterday morning, and it caused him even more headache.

As he lifted his eyes, three blue trucks were driving along the asphalted road. The Global Peace Army. He was unsure why his heart began to slam against his chest like a drum. Was Aideen in danger? He did not know. Those future memories were hard to piece together, they were like a puzzle that showed a distorted image he did not always understand.

The girl had finally grown quiet. Movement began on the field as they were not the only ones to notice the approaching doom. John threw away his plough when Margaret approached.

“Where is Sena?”

Her hands were trembling as she looked around in panic.

“I think I know,” John murmured, looking at the hut that stood offside the village, “I’ll go and get him, alright?”

He put a hand on her arm to calm her down.

“Would you look out for my grandfather?”

She nodded, whispering:

“Please, hurry.”

John began to run while dozens of Global soldiers dismounted the trucks. They looked menacing in their black shells, completely masked in blue helmets and eyewear that functioned like a supercomputer. All of them wore weapons.

John ran faster. John began to run while dozens of Global soldiers dismounted the trucks. They looked menacing in their black shells, completely masked in blue helmets and eyewear that functioned like a supercomputer. All of them wore weapons.

John ran faster.

ARTHUR

Arthur had been forbidden to go to the hunt for the past three days now. Instead, he was expected to vegetate in the hall and think about his behavior. Even the older stranger had been taken to the hunt, twice now. Thankfully, his mother would allow him several hours outside if Alasdair was not around. This gave him the opportunity to take care of Aideen once in a while without sneaking out into the night. The hall was dark. Arthur was fed up with waiting. Just waiting for his mother to return and beg her for several more hours outside of these walls.

His anger towards John had subsided quickly, especially since John had stayed away from the hut. But why had he refused to make the promise? Was he expecting that things would fall together, just like that? Arthur missed his friend. But he refused to admit it, to make the first step. It was John who had to apologize.

Suddenly, the double door flew wide open. Daylight streamed in with a swarm of soldiers that stormed the hall. The large and empty space suddenly seemed narrow. Before Arthur could even process what was happening, they snatched him and searched the hall. Arthur’s thoughts were rattling. Global soldiers. Here. One of them took off the helmet and eyewear. His face was only slightly wrinkled, his features perfect and intimidating, the brown hair combed back and cluttered.

“Has someone entered your village in past days? A girl?”

Arthur suppressed every reaction and shook his head.

Several blows hit his body, one in his guts, one against his shin, and one into his face. The third broke his lip, and warm blood gushed into his mouth.

“Stop lying, boy! She’s not worth protecting, she’s a fugitive!”

Arthur hesitated, expecting more blows to hit him, even harder now. But he would not cave.

“And may I ask what are her crimes?” a voice resounded from the door. Alasdair’s voice. The first wave of relief was replaced by panic. Arthur knew that his father would do anything to protect the village. He would hand Aideen over to the authorities, and there was nothing Arthur could do about it.

“They are none of your damn business,” the soldier replied. “But if you must know, she fled the city without permission.”

“I thought the Amendment of the Free Will allows every citizen to leave and go as they please, as long as they have a chip.”

“Yes, and as long as they’re of age.”

So Aideen was indeed under twenty-one. And this bastard of an overseer had probably filed a complaint or a search warrant, because he wanted her back in his claws. A cold shiver ran down Arthur’s spine. He imagined how they would lead her away, how she’d return into the hands of this monster. Please. Don’t. Everything inside of him was pleading while he instinctively tried to pull away from the strong grip that held him.

His father gave no answer, so the soldier pressed: “Where is she?! And I won’t be asking twice.”

Another pause. Please. Arthur wanted to catch his father’s glance and shake his head as a signal, but he was too afraid to raise attention.

“We haven’t had any strangers in Area Three in years.”

Arthur closed his eyes in relief. Whatever happened now, it was the first time that he admired his father for his courage, an he was glad for it.

The soldier began to scream while he walked towards Alasdair, hand raising a weapon.

“I will turn this whole village upside down! How dare you defy me, you pig!”

Arthur feared that any second, a shot would resound between the walls. He tore at the grip again, but was powerless, earning yet another blow instead. His father still had a shotgun around his belt, and with a quick movement, he snatched it and was about to lift it when suddenly, a figure stormed in from behind and hit the approaching soldier with the shaft of a weapon so hard that he collapsed on the ground. From here on, chaos began. The soldiers stormed towards the exit while Arthur kicked one of his captors and bit the other. Both instinctively spun away, and Arthur ran like a madman.

He now saw that the person who had entered was Conall, the stranger who had arrived only yesterday.

“You cannot kill any one of them!” he yelled while they fought, “Killing a soldier makes you a terrorist. This would be the end for Area Three.”

Alasdair only nodded. While he prepared to fight back the wave of soldiers that streamed towards him, he quickly handed Conall a set of keys.

“Get her out of here,” he whispered, barely audible.

Arthur had now closed in on his father, and while Conall disappeared, he knew that they stood no chance against dozens of highly trained soldiers. He just hoped Aideen would be safe.

AIDEEN

The door of the shack flew open, and the boy with the curly dark hair stared between Aideen and Sena, who was walking up and down the dirty wooden floor. He jerked back at the sound, relieved to find that it was only John who entered. Sena stormed towards him.

“What’s happening out there, John?”

“Soldiers.” John’s voice was strangely calm. “You need to get to your mother.”

Sena hesitated.

“They’re looking for me, aren’t they?” Aideen’s voice sounded scared, and she congratulated herself for that.

“I’m not sure.”

“I can’t just leave her here! They might come any minute, and then what?”

It was evident how panic slowly ceased Sena, crept over his body like a snake.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have the key soon. I’ll get her out of here.” John gently placed his palm on Sena’s shoulder, calming him. “Everything will turn out well. Just make sure you mother and my grandfather are safe, okay?”

Sena watched John for a moment longer, then nodded, and left. What did he mean by that? He sounded so confident, as if knowing that this attack could do no harm.

It was the first time that she was alone with John, and she instantly noticed the tension. Aideen did not mind wearing her mask in front of the others, but with John, it felt like he was watching right through it. As if lying to him was redundant, even ridiculous.

John stood there and studied her, when shouting voices emerged from the distance. Feet were running towards them. John didn’t flinch. His gray eyes remained on her, swallowing her shape in the corner of the tiny shack. But she wouldn’t be intimidated. Instead, Aideen just stood there, and stared back at him. The closer those voices came, the more it seemed like time slowed down. Her heart began to slam against her chest. Why? She was not afraid of the attack. It was those eyes that somehow made her palms sweaty and her heart racing. Slowly, as if in a dream, the door flew open and four soldiers streamed in, one after another. As if caught in a time bubble, John repelled the attackers without even having to look back. His eyes were constantly fixated on Aideen. He anticipated their every movement, and brought them down with several skilled hits. One by one.

Aideen could not help but let her shock appear all over her face. How did he do this? Was he the spy Manasseh had mentioned?

Two more soldiers passed by John without him being able to deter them, but Aideen instinctively stoke out. The soldiers were much stronger than her due to those exoskeletons and the AI that supported their reaction speed. She was unsure if she could take two at once, but she was trained and swift, so she avoided the blows and slipped right by them, striking out where she knew the skeletons had their weak spots. What she had forgotten about was the chain, so when she lunged back, it pulled at her ankle and threw her down with one movement. Her head crashed against the wood. John, who saw the struggle instantly, had overtaken one of the soldiers. But the other went for an attack while her ears still buzzed from the hit. Suddenly, Aideen felt her ankle free from the metal. When she looked up, a man in his fifties, gray beard and strikingly dark eyes, was bending over her foot. He stood up and tore the soldier’s helmet off, robbing him of both protection and the AI. A punch in the face sealed his fate. When the stranger offered Aideen his hand to get her up, he stared at her, as if trying to determine who she was. He did not look like he belonged here, although all the signs were there—the old scar on the back of his right hand, the shabby clothes. But what was it about him that made Aideen wonder?

“Conall?” It was John’s voice that came in-between heavy breaths. The man nodded.

“You need to get her into safety,” he said, but Aideen interrupted.

“I’ll surrender. I cannot let them destroy the village …”

“They won’t,” John said.

“How influential is this man looking for you?” Conall asked.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think that he has much power.”

“Then we’ll have to take the chances and surrender. They’ll turn the village upside down, but as long as they don’t find you, they won’t have any leverage to do harm.”

“They don’t need leverage,” John said. Suddenly, his voice was crushed, but he quickly pulled himself together, and continued, to Aideen: “Take some blankets in case we need to spend the night.” To Conall—“I’ll take care of her while you make sure the MacIans behave.”

Conall nodded.

“I think the soldiers have overwhelmed them by now. They might have no other choice.”

With this, they parted ways. But what both did not see was how Aideen took a knife with her she stole from one of the soldiers on the ground. Something was wrong with John, and she needed to find out what. Somehow, the thought of being alone with him the whole night scared her, and nothing had scared her for a long time.

CONALL

Conall wished he had more time to think, but the way to the village was short.

He couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. The way she fought, with skill and precision. The way she held herself, no hint of fear. Who was she? And why was the government looking for her? She said that this man had no power, but Conall suspected it was a lie, or that she just didn’t know better. In fact, he suspected this man was Manasseh. And if it was so, he would come back soon. No matter how hard Conall tried to push that thought away, it still remained: She is Prometheus.

She was a stranger, but was it a coincidence that she stumbled upon Area Three right now? She reminded him of his own daughter. At this thought, his heart began to ache, and he pushed it away. They just had to get it through this night without any major incidents. Maybe the soldiers would leave.

Conall closed his eyes for one last moment of calm when one of the soldiers had noticed him from afar. Two ran towards him, strangling him, grabbing his arms and dragging him to the middle of the village, where most of the inhabitants stood by now. There were only several elders amongst them. Life expectancy was not very high in these parts of the world. At least seven or eight children under ten dragged at the trousers or skirts of their parents, suppressing cries and tears of fear. Alasdair MacIan stood firm, his eye beaten up and several bruises marking his face. His son, Arthur, stood next to him, lip bleeding.

The soldiers were searching the houses. The breaking of dishes and crying of women resounded all over the village. For the first time in eleven years, the powerlessness of the simple people against the government dawned on Conall. He remembered the night he had to flee the city, broken, betrayed, helpless. His life’s accomplishments smashed into pieces. Human dignity seemed of no importance out here. It was as if the people turned into monsters once given power over others without having to fear consequences.

Can’t you see it, Manasseh? Is this cruelty your idea of human progress?

But maybe it was exactly this power that had corrupted him as well.

The dump sounds of pain and breaking bones resounded here and there. Conall just hoped nobody would be raped today. He was kicked into his knee, and pain spread all over his body while he kneed on the ground.

“Where have you been?” the rude voice of a soldier asked. It was the blonde officer he had knocked down in the hall. When he recognized him, he could not suppress a cunning smile, and earned a hard slap on the cheek in return. “Answer, bastard!”

“Kids sometimes play in the abandoned hut at the edge. I went to check for them.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“I just met several of your men and kicked their asses pretty good. No big deal.” Those words came out with a smile and a warm sense of satisfaction. Another blow hit his head, this time harder. But it had still been worth it.

“Hughes! Torres! Go check the hut and the surroundings! See if anyone fled or if there are any casualties. Keep searching!!”

With this he left to torment others.

“If we survive this,” a familiar voice whispered, and Conall turned to see Alasdair next to him—“you have my permission to build a house.”

For the first time, Conall saw a smile cross MacIan’s face.

AIDEEN

She strolled across the forest, putting on an earpiece. The darkness concealed her movements.

Aideen had excused herself on the pretext of emptying the bladder, and constantly looked back to make sure she was out of earshot.

Manasseh’s voice resounded on the other end.

“So?”

“It’s done,” she whispered, “You can summon them back.”

“Good.”—a pause—“Anything else?”

Aideen hesitated.

“No. I’ll need more information. But now that they trust me, I’ll get it.”

“I know you won’t disappoint me, Aideen.”

She closed her eyes at those words, and took a deep breath.

I won’t. At least not for now.

Manasseh cleared his throat.

“Keep in touch.”

He was gone, and Aideen allowed her several moments to think before she returned to John.

John. Even as she thought about him, her heart pounded against her chest. Who was John? She clutched the handle of the dagger she had stolen. It was hidden under her shirt, and gave her a small sense of safety.

John looked up as she approached, and a lost smile crossed his face. It made him look fragile.

Who are you, John?

The knife still safely at her back, she sat down into the grass and enveloped herself into one of the blankets. They watched each other for a moment in the darkness, their expressions illuminated by the dim moonlight. It was getting very cold, but they did not dare to light a fire. Soon, the army trucks would leave, Aideen thought to herself. Until then, she needed to find out the truth.

“Where did you learn how to fight this way?” Her voice was nonchalant.

“I should probably ask you the same,” he replied, and he winked at her.

If he really was the spy, he wouldn’t know about her identity. This was part of the agreement, part of the law. An agent’s true identity — something most valuable to him — was only revealed when he became a traitor.

“We all have our secrets,” he added.

His voice carried a hint of resolve while he brushed away the dark locks from his face. A beautiful face, strong features, glistering gray eyes. His body was muscular. It had to be, the way he had overtaken those soldiers. He had to be the spy. Unless … Her hands froze for a moment. Unless it was him who she had been looking for. Aideen made a deep breath, knowing that she had to play the game.

Brushing away her strands of red hair, she closed in on him.

“Tell me yours.”

John turned to face her, searching her expression thoroughly.

“I know things,” he whispered.

“Like what?”

He paused.

“Like the fact that you won’t forgive your parents for abandoning you to the Raising Centres.”

He dropped this truth on her like a bomb, and it tore her into pieces. She instinctively jerked back, eyes wide, staring at the man who just had revealed her darkest demon. How? Was it just a trick? Countless children have been abandoned to the centers in the dawn of the Social Reform. She forced herself to ease, take a deep breath.

Aideen shrugged.

“A lucky guess.”

But John was not impressed. He just watched her with those sharp eyes that made her heart leap, her gut tighten, and her breath heavy. Nobody had ever looked at her this way.

“You hate the Global Union and everything it represents because you blame them.”

Every single word pierced her heart. This also could have been a lucky guess, but the way he spoke, the way he said those words, it felt as if he truly knew.

He closed in on her, so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. Her heart raced while she gripped the handle of the knife at her back, her hands under the blanket, hidden from his eyes.

Who are you?

Slowly, he whispered: “You came here,” while he talked, he pushed his hand tenderly under her shirt, closing it around her grip, and taking her knife slowly from her hand, “to kill me.”

Everything inside Aideen trembled with the sensation of his nearness. The hands of fate pulled at her, dragging her unto the abyss she was suddenly unable to withstand.

His lips touched hers with a sensation of a universe imploding, and exploding again. John pulled her closer to himself, intensifying the kiss like something he had longed for in a long time. A small voice in Aideen told her to protest, to stop. But she couldn’t. She did not want to. Instead, she abandoned herself into his embrace, allowing herself one single moment of weakness.

John was not intimidated, he was sure of every movement as if it was happening for a thousandth time, undressing her, tenderly wrapping her into the warm blanket again. Aideen felt a contradictory sensation of safety and danger in his presence, and it was the danger that allured her. She craved it as she craved him. And while she felt her skin against his warmth, she knew that John was as fascinating as he was dangerous.

ARTHUR

“To understand future, we need to understand the nature of time,” Conall’s voice resounded between the construction work of the house. He loved babbling about his science stuff, and Sena was the only one who listened with genuine fascination. “Centuries ago, the relativity principle showed that time is not some sort of clock in the sky that ticks at the same rate for everyone.”

Arthur sighed.

His father had assigned all three boys to building the house with the newcomer, probably with the secret intent to initiate a reconciliation between them, seeing full well how their friendship had crumbled over the past weeks. But Arthur was only annoyed because it prevented him from hunting practice. And he hated Conall’s long monologues nearly as much as he hated being near John.

John, who had seized the opportunity to play the hero and take care of Aideen. Up until this day, she knew nothing of what Arthur had done for her in the meantime, and she had also avoided him since. At least, she avoided John even more evidently. Whatever happened back in the forest, it didn’t put John in a good position.

“I myself find it hard to grasp,” Conall continued, “that time is neither universal nor separate from space. Every individual has his own personal measure of time according to the theory of relativity.”

Blah, blah, blah. He was talking a lot about time, it occurred to Arthur.

“So what does it depend on?” Sena replied.

“It depends on where you stand and how you are moving,” Aideen’s voice resounded in-between the stones and piles of wood, and Arthur instantly looked up, “Your mother sent me with some food.”

She smiled, and carried a basket with bread, meat and ale. It smelled delicious, but her appearance was enough to enchant Arthur.

“Welcome to our amazing world in which a clock in motion ticks slower than a stationary one, and a stick will start to get shorter at great speeds,” Conall replied. It was like they had formed a secret pact with their theories and science language Arthur was not at all interested in.

“So you have created this program, this algorithm that predicted time with absolute accuracy?” Now John joined in on the conversation, carrying more building stones on a cart. Aideen made a step back, and her smile vanished. She avoided his looks at all costs.

Conall nodded.

“Me and … a former friend. 99.99% of accuracy, to be precise.”

“What did it show you?” Sena wondered.

Conall made a deep breath. Clearly, those memories held hidden emotions.

“The absolute collapse of the world and its economy if we didn’t make radical changes.”

“But how could it be so accurate?” John again, trying to sound intelligent.

“Well, there is the principle of causation. Patterns of the past are repeated in the future. And those patterns help us foresee the future. Ergo, the future of the world can be mapped out and pictured.” While Conall went on, Aideen began unpacking the basket, and Arthur went to help her. “The more systems in the universe are added to the equation—nature, psychology, sociology, technology, economy—the more accurate the prediction. And our algorithm could consider endless universal laws and systems. But to say that something is determined does not mean that it’s inevitable.”

During those last words, John threw a look towards Aideen that disgusted Arthur. Not that the look was improper, it was just familiar, intimate, and spoke of a connection between them Arthur envied. When he looked at Aideen, she had suddenly turned pale.

“Let’s take a break,” Conall said.

As if they haven’t been taking breaks all day long.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He wanted to move on, get this construction over with to go back hunting, and away from those eggheads.

“So does it mean that it was some sort of machine that allowed you to travel in time?” Sena continued asking those ridiculous questions while they sat down. Aideen was still pale as a ghost, and Arthur began to worry.

Conall laughed.

“Not really, at least not into the past. Time always moves forward. If we go wrong in space, we can just go the other direction. But time is irreversible.”

Arthur unpacked the meat and opened his mouth for a huge bite when suddenly, Aideen ran off without any warning, and the sound of vomiting resounded around the corner. Everybody grew quiet as they eyed each other back and forth. Arthur still held the meat in his hands, paused in the middle of the movement, mouth still open. Then, he shrugged, and took a bite.

AIDEEN

Aideen entered the hut she was living in for several months now. She had just thrown up, for the third time today, and for at least five days in a row. During all those five days, she felt incredibly sick, especially in the mornings and at the sensation of certain smells. She had never felt that sick in her entire life, especially because in the cities, there was proper health monitoring and every illness was defeated before it even began. Was it the food? The nervousness?

She slid down the wall into a crouch and buried her face in her palms, trying to breathe away this sickening feeling. Steps echoed in the hut. As she looked up, she saw Margaret crouch next to her. Margaret was a great hostess and a cynical woman with a certain distaste for life and a love for irony. Aideen quickly came to enjoy her companionship.

Margaret fell silent for a moment, and also leaned back against the stone wall that was cold as ice.

“What will you do now?” she whispered.

“See how I can adjust.”

“So you intend to keep it?”

Aideen looked up.

“Keep what?”

Margaret studied her face for a second.

“The child.”

Aideen jerked back, eyes wide.“What?”

There was the expression of pity in Margaret’s eyes, and she put her hand on Aideen’s arm. Her skin felt rugged from the daily work.

A child? No. This couldn’t be. She had to be mistaken.

There were no words that Aideen could find to express the shock. She just felt how warm tears rolled down her cheeks. It was a child, wasn’t it? Now that Margaret said it out loud, Aideen realized that she had somehow known from the first day on.

“I’m sorry.” Margaret whispered, “Let me help you. Nobody will know.”

Aideen nodded, brushing the tears away that still kept coming. A child would mean her downfall. The destruction of every plan, everything she had dedicated her life to. How could she have been so foolish, so profoundly stupid?

“Yes. If it’s a child, I don’t want it.”

Margaret nodded.

“Say no more. I’ll be back soon.”

With this, she left Aideen to suffocate in loneliness.

SENA

The streets of the village were deserted, it was getting late already. Sena ran, looking for John. He finally found him as he was leaving Conall’s still unfinished hut, at the far end of the village. He pushed him hard, suppressing the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

“What’s wrong with you?” John protested, and Sena looked at him with spiteful eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it? The night in the forest … How could you do this to her?”

He pushed him again, and John became angry.

“What are you talking about?”

“So this you don’t know, do you? I thought you knew everything!” Sena’s tone was mocking. His inner voice told him to calm down, to keep his voice low or else people might hear them, but he couldn’t. It was as if his anger carried the darkness inside of him, the demons he tried so hard to bury deep down where nobody would find them.

“Sena,” John said, his voice as calm as ever, “What is it?”

Sena made a pause, and took a deep breath.

“Aideen’s pregnant.”

John made a step back, his eyes wide. Sena paused, watching at this man he used to call friend. He never thought John would be capable of such a thing. Now he realized that he hardly knew him.

“She is devastated,” Sena whispered through clenched teeth. “She wants to get rid of it. You have to talk to her … And if you won’t be there for her, I swear …”

The anger in Sena resurfaced yet again. How could John have treated her like that, diminished and humiliated a woman that was so special, so different?

“I’ll be there.” John said, steadfast, “Where …”

But before he could finish, a loud cry resounded from between the houses, and Arthur came running towards John like an infuriated bear. He threw himself at him with full force, pushing both their bodies to the wet ground, hammering his fists into John’s body and face.

“You traitor! Scum!”

Arthur yelled all kinds of insults while his blows kept coming. Sena hurried to tear him away, only to collect another blow himself. The anger inside of him rose, and with a loud cry, he lifted his fist and slammed it into Arthur’s face. Arthur flew onto his side, astonished by the force of the blow. But it only took him a second to recover. He ran towards Sena, and before they knew it, all three of them were in the middle of a desperate fistfight.

It was only when Alasdair’s strong hands seized Arthur, and his voice drowned their sounds of battle that the boys parted.

“Enough!” MacIan sounded like the roar of thunder. “What is this? All of this? Isn’t it enough that the soldiers butcher us, but now you start a dispute in-between yourselves!”

Arthur was out of breath. John’s nose was bleeding and Sena’s skull buzzed.

“He got Aideen pregnant,” Arthur said without hesitation, and he had such disdain and bitterness in his voice that Sena threw him an unbelieving glance. Alasdair looked over to John.

“Is this true?”

John nodded, slowly rising from the ground.

A silence enveloped them. Sena looked back and forth between those two boys he had grown up with, the bitterness and pain of disappointment creeping inside his chest.

What would Alasdair do to John, who had ignored his instructions? Ban him from the village? Sena cursed Arthur. Didn’t he know how hard it was to raise a child on your own?

He didn’t. It was only Sena who knew what it meant to have no father.

With a head movement, Alasdair motioned John closer and the two of them walked for several steps for a private conversation. The disappointment in Sena’s expression had to be very apparent, as Arthur could not hold the gaze and lowered his head, moving away. But Sena didn’t try to hide it. This time, Arthur had gone too far. Both of them had.

After several minutes, John ran off. Sena watched him leave while the sun was setting. He followed with slow steps, strolling across the village, not knowing what to think of this whole mess. He just wished things could go back to normal, but deep down, he knew that they never would.

As he approached his hut, the front door stood slightly ajar. At the fire, he could see how John and Aideen spoke. Sena smiled bitterly. There was so much pain behind the smile. As he watched Aideen slowly wipe her tears away, brush her red hair to the side and absently watch the fire while her thoughts still rattled in those green eyes, he knew that he would always love her. Over the past weeks, she had grown so dear to him. She was the only one who had never made fun of him, on the contrary, she seemed to understand the ceaseless search for a deeper truth that nagged at him, and it was as if she was slowly guiding him to find it. As if with her, life suddenly made more sense.

In that moment, Sena knew that he would never be able to forgive John.

AIDEEN

The silence at the other end of the line made Aideen uneasy. Regret saturated her chest. She just wanted to reverse time and this terrible mistake she had made.

Time always moves forward, the voice of Conall rung in her head. If we go wrong in space, we can just go the other direction. But time is irreversible.

Silence.

Aideen wore the earpiece while she went on a lonely walk around the mountains. It was her who had called Manasseh. She considered it the only sensible thing to do, but now, she was not so sure anymore.

“This is really unfortunate.” The way Manasseh said those words made a cold shiver run down her spine.

She had always been afraid of the man. He was unpredictable as he was shrewd, but he was also a genius. It hurt to disappoint him more than she had assumed. What would he do now? Remove her from the mission maybe. This was her biggest fear, because this mission had been everything to her. She needed to find Prometheus and terminate his existence before anyone could lay hands on him. But the months in this village had given her nothing. Except for … John. The still small voice inside of her whispered that it was him. But she refused to believe it.

“You can’t return to the city, nobody can know.”

Pregnancy was a highly complicated matter. Although forbidden by the law, it still raised several ethical issues. Most pregnancies were terminated by the mothers themselves, but if they refused … Aideen made a deep breath. She could not return to the city in her state. Especially not as a special agent.

“You have a year,” Manasseh finally said. “Give birth to the child. It might even help you infiltrate them.”

Aideen closed her eyes while the wind carried her long hair. One year, pretending to be someone who she wasn’t. But hasn’t she done it her whole life? She had always been wearing masks.

She forced herself to concentrate on the mission instead. No matter who Prometheus was, she resolved, she would kill him. Even if it was John.

“But Aideen,” Manasseh continued, and his voice became very urgent. “Always remember that you won’t be able to keep the child.”

“I don’t want it anyway,” she murmured.

“You will change your mind soon, believe me. And when it happens, remember that giving it away is only for the best.”

She remained silent. Giving it away. Like her parents did with her.

“Aideen?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Contact me only when you’ve found him. It’s too risky.”

“Alright.”

With this, he was gone.

Aideen walked amongst the wilderness of the Highlands for a little while longer. It was too quiet. She preferred the turmoil of the cities—the never ending noise and the masses streaming past each other. Maybe it gave her the illusion that she was not alone. Because this was what she felt right now. Alone. Lost. Void of any purpose but to destroy this world that had made her this way.

JOHN

John stood at the edge of the lake, next to the mighty mountains that surrounded the valley. The full moon was perfectly reflected in the water, and the sound of wind and waterfalls flew around his ears. Only moonlight lit the space. He avoided eye contact with Alasdair MacIan, who stood next to him in his traditional Scottish kilt. He had made immediate arrangements, leaving no doubt that this was the only way John could remain in Area Three. The air was cold, and his bare feet touched the icy earth. It was an old Gaelic custom.

From among the darkness appeared Aideen. She approached with slow steps, her feet bare as his. A linen dress was wrapped around her body. Flowers decorated her red long hair that was braided. Margaret had done a great job, and she probably watched from afar, even if MacIan had allowed no spectators that night. John stared at Aideen. She looked lost, as if dressed up for a masquerade, and he wanted to stretch out his hand and comfort her, make her understand what she meant to him. But it was no use. It was too soon.

Here was fate again, dragging him into an eternal abyss. Memories and images haunted his mind while Aideen slowly closed in on him, images of bliss, and images of pain. He saw himself hug his little child, read out loud from a book he’d hidden under his pillow. He saw himself yell in incredible pain that broke both body and spirit. He saw Aideen, vanishing into darkness. Inevitable doom hung over this moment, and John forced himself to remain here, remain now, and enjoy what was given to him.

He soaked it in, everything about it. Aideen. She would understand far too late. But he couldn’t save her from it. John took her hand in his, and squeezed it, suppressing tears.

“I promise to love you until the day I die,” John said, looking into her eyes. “To protect you and keep you safe, to respect you and be there for you, and to cherish you until our last moment.”

The wind carried those words across the valley. Words that John meant with everything inside of him. Words he had heard so many times already.

Aideen blinked. She hated him, John realized. And it drew a knife into his heart.

Her first words came like a whisper: “I promise to love you until the day I die …” As soon as they were out, the rest came naturally.

He smiled, the knowledge that she lied weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Both of them exchanged iron rings, a gift from John’s grandfather. As Aideen put the ring on his finger, her hands shook. An eternal covenant the city had long forgotten. So naturally, it meant nothing to Aideen. John took her hands into his yet again, calming them down. MacIan wrapped a linen cloth around their hands, murmuring words in old Gaelic John could not understand. But those word were beautiful, held a power hidden in them.

An eternal covenant. In this life, it would not last very long. John thrust the thought aside, and the pain that came with it.

Be here. Be now, he told himself.

“The covenant made by the gods shall never be undone by men.” MacIan finally said.

Tenderly, nearly hesitantly, John lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. She only stared at him with a heavy breath, took the hand out of his, and hectically left into the night.

Alasdair MacIan cleared his throat, and patted him on the back.

“Women are complicated creatures,” he said with a smile.

John remained silent.

“I’m sorry, boy, it’s heavy burden for someone that young,” MacIan continued. “But this is the only …”

“Don’t be,” John interrupted. “Everything’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

Alasdair smiled, and nodded.

“Good.” He patted John again, this time harder. Then, he hugged the boy with such force that it nearly crushed his lungs. John appreciated what was a burst of emotions for MacIan, a man he had come to cherish, when pain seized his heart yet again. If Alasdair only knew the end …

“Good,” MacIan repeated, and left John alone by the lake.

It was then that he felt this presence again. As if somebody was watching him. Was he only imagining it? He had learned long ago not to dismiss those feelings. It was too penetrating to be an illusion. But he could not give them meaning either. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

AIDEEN

She walked with quick steps towards the village, as if on the run. It felt like her lungs tightened, and she was unable to breathe. Had she just really made this promise? It meant nothing. It was just a means to an end. And still, it had cost Aideen everything to say those words. John had seen right through her, didn’t he? He knew that she was lying. But why then did he agree to this charade? Maybe, because it meant nothing to him as well.

Her lungs tightened even stronger. How could she have let it come that far? She had been the best spy in the northern hemisphere. It was absurd, just absurd. One year. Only one year.

And then what? She had to kill Prometheus, and once she committed this great treachery, where would she hide? Where would her unborn child hide? She shook the thoughts off. It was just a farce, nothing more. A job she needed to finish.

As she entered the empty hut that belonged to Margaret and Sena and began to gather the few possessions she had, there was something that looked like a piece of paper. Paper? It had been banned since the digital revolution. But some outsiders had managed to preserve some, she remembered. She felt the strange sensation of it between her fingers as she unwrapped it. On the inside was only one sentence.

I know who you really are.

Aideen looked around, panic tightening her throat.

There was nobody here. Who had written this message?

Her hands trembled as she reread the note.

Was it the other spy from the Global Intelligence? John? Who else would want to intimidate her?

She threw the piece of paper into the fire pit, and it slowly dissolved in the flames.

CONALL

It was night while Conall still stared at the new biomatrix he had created in his nearly finished hut. This time, he had written it out on the wood of one whole wall, sketched it from his memory. He had explicitly asked for one wooden wall instead of stone. Still, it was a poor substitute for his room in Dunvegan Castle.

Something felt off. Like a crack in the matrix spread out before him. As if he had made a mistake somewhere along the lines. But where? He stared harder. It was just a feeling every time he looked at the formation of patterns he recreated from memory. He was missing something. Had it been missing all along, or was he just unable to remember?

Suddenly, he questioned everything. Maybe it was not Aideen, she was just a girl he had projected the memory of his daughter to. Maybe it was not even Area Three.

But what exactly was he waiting for? It had become too quiet. He had been anticipating Manasseh’s next move, but nothing came. If Manasseh had been searching for Aideen, he knew maybe more than Conall did. And this scared him. Everything had grown too soothing.

Conall shook his head, symbolically clearing it to get a fresh thought. He stared again. And still it was there, this feeling creeping down his spine, sending a chill through his body.

Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. He could not point a finger at it nor could he put this feeling into words.

Something had drastically changed.

PART II

AIDEEN

I’m pulling you back. Take the child for a day’s walk south tomorrow night.

Those words rung in Aideen’s ears as Kaahla watched her approach while her dark robe danced back and forth in the wind. This was a risky move, defying Manasseh and switching sides so obviously. The thoughts had tormented her throughout the night.

It’s for the best. That’s what Manasseh claimed.

But it wasn’t. She just couldn’t abandon her son.

It was crazy, all of it. The year had flown by like the breath of wind passing through the Highlands. True, she did not want the child; she detested the whole idea of pregnancy. But the bigger it grew inside of her, the clearer she understood that her hatred came from years of propaganda. And that in fact, she began to love this creature more than anything else. She could not help it. It just happened. Maybe it was just hormones. And still, how was she supposed to hurt him the way her parents hurt her? It had destroyed her world, it had made her who she was now. Aideen could not allow the same hatred to destroy her little son, who was so innocent now. So with the first light of day, she swallowed the pill Kaahla had given her and made a secret call.

Kaahla took down the cloth that covered her face and head, and stared at Aideen. They met not far away from Glencoe, still in Outer Area Three territory so that nobody would notice Aideen’s absence. Her hands trembled as Aideen approached the only hope she had for the past one and a half years. The fear of losing her child had grown stronger with every day, it seemed. She felt as if it was suffocating her.

“A son?” Kaahla asked when Aideen stood in front of her.

Aideen nodded.

“It’s an honor. You should be proud.”

Her child was nearly a year old, the terrible night of the birth already forgotten. But what she could not forget was this message. I know who you really are. Since that day she felt watched, and knew that someone would come for her. Whoever it was.

“The condition remains the same, Aideen.”

Aideen closed her eyes while Kaahla’s words sounded far away.

“Can you fulfill the plan? Have you found him?”

Yes, and no, Aideen thought. It was John, a small voice inside of her was ceaselessly whispering day and night.

There had been signs. But things were never simple with John. Sometimes, she just thought that he was bipolar. Nightmares tormented him. One night, he woke up and stared darkly at Aideen. He stormed out, and then he came back about an hour later, apologizing. Things like that happened all the time, and she never really understood what went on in his head. Maybe even he didn’t.

Still, despite his peculiarity, she was taken with John. His presence still made her knees weak because he evoked the feeling as if he knew things. And he was as generous as he was loving, especially concerning their son. Day and night, he was playing with him, teaching him to walk and reading him from a small black leather book. She smiled at those memories. They were warm and comforting, and while Aideen had always struggled with her demons, it seemed as if John possessed none.

She had no other choice. There was only one way to find out who he really was.

Aideen nodded. “I think I have.”

“Good. If he passes the test, I’ve been told that you and your son will be protected.”

The wind rose again, and pressed Kaahla’s coat against her body. Aideen stared. The coat formed a very rounded belly. Kaahla was pregnant, and she was far along.

“I’m afraid it’s a girl.” Her voice sounded desolate.

Aideen lowered her eyes. She knew how girls and women were regarded in the Sub, and she despised them for it. Just as she despised the Global Government for their calculating methods. She despised the whole world, it seemed.

“We are waiting with a vehicle to take you to Snowdonia, you have two hours.”

Aideen nodded, and left.

The hut was crowded when Aideen entered.

Margaret took care of John’s grandfather, who had been slowly fading before their eyes. Their son was asleep in the far corner, red locks rocking back and forth by his breath. John was getting dressed in a coat made of leather and fur. He lifted his head towards Aideen to greet her with a warm smile.

“Here you are.” He got up, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “We should get going.”

Before having the chance to ask, Margaret’s voice resounded from across the room. “Where?”

“Aideen and I will be gone for several days,” he replied, and turned to bestow her with a knowing wink. “There is something we need to do.”

So he knew already? It should be no surprise with John, and still it made Aideen shiver. How much exactly did he know?

“Gone where?” Margaret suddenly got up, and Aideen instantly became aware of the tension that hung in the air.

“Nothing major …” Aideen walked towards the corner where her son lay, but Margaret nonchalantly blocked the way.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she said, her expression suddenly cold and demanding. John did not move. Aideen turned around and nodded.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

He hesitated to leave.

“I’ll be waiting right outside.” John threw both of them a suspecting glance.

When the door finally closed behind him, Margaret whispered: “If it’s nothing major, you won’t mind that I take care of your son.”

In that very moment, she drew a dagger and held it at the baby’s throat. Aideen jerked and suppressed an outcry. “We wouldn’t want to wake him, would we?” Margaret said. Her expression had transformed so drastically that Aideen had trouble believing it.

“I tried to help you get rid of it before it made you weak. I really wanted to make it easier for you.”

The realization slowly crept over Aideen, but she refused to believe it.

“It happened to me as well, when I got pregnant with Sena. He tied me to this goddamn place.”

The blade at her baby’s throat paralyzed Aideen. Was Margaret the spy? But how would she know of Aideen’s identity? She was not supposed to, this was the agreement.

“Margaret … please …” was all she could get out, trying to determine what to do next.

“It took me decades to restore the agency’s trust, and you won’t spoil it for me.” She paused, taking a breath, “If you don’t return in two days, Manasseh will come for the child.”

So she was the spy. And the fact that she knew who Aideen was could only mean one thing: Aideen was labelled a traitor.

“Did you write the note?” Her voice was bitter.

Margaret nodded.

“I wanted to warn you. But apparently, it was no use.”

Rage mixed with incredible fear in Aideen’s chest. Manasseh did not label her a traitor over a year ago already. He gave away her identity the day she had told him of her pregnancy. Anger rose inside her chest. She could impossibly leave her child here. Not with the prospect of Manasseh getting his cold fingers on him. But what choice did she have?

“Don’t be foolish Aideen. Just get back here in time, or don’t leave at all.”

The blade at her son’s throat flickered in the light of the fire.

If John was Prometheus, if he passed the test, they could return in two days to rescue her son. This was her only hope. The only thing she could hold on to now.

“Please don’t hurt him,” she pleaded, and left without being able to kiss her helpless child goodbye.

CONALL

John and Aideen were guided into a cave in a hill, along the railway tracks leading inside. It was an old mine.

Conall had seen them leave the village and followed to a vehicle where a hooded group of people awaited. The strangers’ faces were masked by dark cloth. Despite his age, Conall managed to cling to the back of the truck, and thus follow them unseen. He was thankful for every new development. The last year appeared like a black hole, no results, just this nagging feeling he could not place. He had nearly given up his life’s work, always toying with the thought to return to Dunvegan.

But after three hours of driving, he already regretted his decision. Rain was pouring all over his clothes, and the hands that were holding on to the metal of the truck grew icy. Little did he know that the drive would take them three more hours before arriving at the North of the Welsh Area. Conall could hear the coast somewhere close, jumped down and ducked behind a hill.

After they were gone for several minutes, he carefully entered the darkness of the cave, behind metal bars that hung loosely at the entrance. He nearly crawled along the wall, expecting the guard to return any second. Oil lamps hung from the stone walls, illuminating the corridor towards a steep stairway. As steps echoed, Conall tensed, approaching the staircase to catch the guard by surprise.

Conall attacked from behind and the guard slipped backward, crashing his head against the stone. He fell unconscious. Conall disarmed him and took off the guard’s clothes and mask, and pulled them over his own body. He carried the unmoving body to one of the trucks and tied him to the vehicle. Then he followed the staircase that plunged him into darkness.

Sounds of a waterfall echoed between the cold walls, and soon he could feel the drops of the water that clashed against the stone on his skin. An old mine elevator was lit by a torchlight. Conall opened the rusty door and pushed a red button. Slowly, the elevator descended until Conall was enveloped into pure obscurity. What was this place? And why on earth did Aideen and John come here?

After several minutes, numerous lights illuminated a huge space under him while the elevator still descended. Underneath spread something that looked like an underground city. For the most part, it was still under construction. Dozens of rectangular houses were built directly into the rocks, and many more were still in the process. The cave that hosted them was enormous. Some fires were lit here and there, and they gave shape to the city of rocks. Conall could not believe his eyes. As the elevator came closer, he realized that it was only one of the levels the city contained. Deep down, an endless abyss stretched to over more than ten levels. Several hundred people populated the city and its corridors. Those inhabitants seemed to have some kind of dress code. They were wrapped in elements of linen, leather, and metal, mostly black with touches of red and orange. All of them wore some kind of weapon, mostly daggers or swords. A hole far above in the ceiling provided some daylight and fresh air. The elevator finally stopped, and Conall stepped out into this wondrous space, trying hard to prevent his eyes from gleaming. He was fascinated. And he was scared. What on earth was this place? It smelled of incense and fire, and the scent of warm bread hit his nostrils. His stomach grunted after six hours of cold, and he felt dehydrated.

But his distress was quickly diverted by a crowd streaming into one direction, descending to the very bottom of this pit. He decided to follow suit, covering his face with more care, hoping to get through unnoticed. When he finally reached the bottom where the air was thick and moist, and the ground covered with cold sand, he had to peak above the heads to see what was happening.

They had formed a circle, and right in the middle of it—was John. They had trapped him like an animal. Nevertheless, John looked around as if he was in complete control. Conall held his breath, anticipating. What was the meaning of this spectacle?

A man came forward and unveiled his face to reveal a thick, black beard.

“May the One and Only God test this man to determine if he is the prophet he claims to be, may He seek his heart and soul and reveal his true nature!” he screamed.

The crowd roared. Conall clenched his fists. John? He was claiming to be some prophet? It all seemed like a sick game. And where was Aideen?

The sound of a steel blade cut the air, and before Conall even perceived it, John jumped and caught it, directly at the handle. It was some kind of sword, but it was formed like a half-circle. Everybody held their breaths at John’s stunt. Even Conall.

Another man came forward, sword in hand, and positioned himself, ready for a fight. John, fighting? All of Conall’s muscles tensed. John was no fighter. But all of this seemed like a crazy dream that made no sense anyway, so what did he know?

John tossed and turned the sword in his hand as if it was a toy, as if he had done nothing in his life but wielded it. How? He looked completely at ease. Then, he slammed the sword into the ground, burying it in the sand that lay at their feet. It was an unmistakable gesture. He refused to use weapon. Instead, he turned his back to his opponent, and closed his eyes. Was he going completely mad? It infuriated the man, and he screamed and ran at John with full force, sword raised.

Fight, John. Fight! Conall pleaded, barely able to hold himself back. He wanted to run and help the kid, but what use would it be if he gave up his identity that easily? It was as if time slowed while the sword approached John at full speed.

JOHN

John turned and evaded the attack. His opponent crashed to the ground from his own force, got up, red with anger, and made another run.

John hated to fight. He hated to hurt people and he detested violence. Yet here he was, tested like an animal and forced into battle. But he would not play by their rules.

He knew this place, it all slowly came back to him like a distant dream—these swords, these people, this very moment. He was not intimidated by their show of power, somehow aware that it was only superficial. His opponent screamed like a wild animal, and John just evaded his blow, snatched the weapon out of his hand with one strong pull, and threw it into the crowd. All of it felt natural.

The auditorium grew deadly quiet for a moment. Another man from the crowd sprinted towards them with two swords in hand. It was all a dance to John, and he even somehow enjoyed it. He didn’t know how and why, but he knew what they would do before they did it. He sidestepped, ducked, and avoided a blow. When the other sword struck his shoulder with a deep cut, John expected it and suppressed the pain that followed. He knew he needed to attack in order to finish this fight, but everything in him refused to. The man ran at him, triumphantly, but John turned around, snatched the first blade out of his hand, and struck the second so that it dropped out of his opponent’s hand. All of it went so fast that the man stared at him with wide eyes, disarmed. Another figure rushed to him, and John turned with his sword, the grip towards the man instead of the blade that would have spiked him. It was just a blow in his guts. The opponent behind him snatched the blade that lay on the ground and attacked. John ducked without even looking back, used his foot to sweep him off his feet. The sound of a body crashing to the ground rung thought the auditorium. John kicked the sword away into the crowd and threw the one he held away as well, looking at the defeated men who were both boiling with rage. He smiled.

Silence had again settled over the crowd. One could have heard a needle drop. John felt his pulse race, and sweat dripped down his forehead. As he looked around, around fifteen men stepped into the circle. Some held swords, some daggers. But all of them were eyeing him with a thirst for blood.

Fifteen men.

John’s pulse quickened. He would not fight. He would never shed a person’s blood, he had sworn it to himself. Never. And still, if he wanted to win, he would have to kill them, one by one. There was no other way to divert their attacks. He raised his hands in defeat and shook his head. Everybody stared. The first of them threw away his dagger and instead raised his fists at him, beating John down to the ground. Several more joined in and kicked him while he lay there, motionless. His body felt numb, pain spread everywhere. Skin and muscles were bruised, a rib cracked. John suppressed the urge to yell, not ready to let them know that they had broken him. He only held the arms above his head, bearing the pain that threatened to explode inside his body. But he would not give them the satisfaction. He would not be their puppet.

“Fight, you fool!” A loud voice resounded, and the kicking stopped. John opened his eyes with effort, and saw the man the voice came from. “Fight, or she will die.” He was barely older then twenty, his head covered in tattoos, his eyes mad with fury. He pointed to something John was unable to perceive behind the crowd. Slowly, while he got up, feeling every bone and muscle ache, he saw Aideen. A rope was tight around her neck, and she was at least ten meters away from him. The way to her was blocked by a crowd that looked expectantly at John, holding weapons of all kinds. Before he could even think, the platform she stood on was kicked away, and the rope around her neck tightened. Aideen hung there, gasping for air. John’s heart stopped beating. Not Aideen. Before he could even think or react, everything caught up on him, like a wave of time that suddenly froze.

Time stood still, almost. Not for them, only for him. They all stared at him with fury, a mob of people who were blind and deaf to the realities of this world. Aideen grasped for air in those last seconds of her life, the rope cutting into the skin on her neck, lacing up her throat. John did not know how it happened, just that it was so. He pushed all of them aside, slowly, while they did not even react. He felt like a tiny molecule moving faster then time itself. They stood still, like mannequins, and somehow, he pitied them. He pitied the darkness they lived in.

John walked up towards Aideen, picking up one of the swords he had thrown into the crowd and severed the rope above her. And while slowly, without any haste, she began to fall down into his arms, time began to speed up again.

CONALL

He blinked to make sure that this was real, forgetting to breathe.

Conall watched the scene in disbelief while the whole auditorium stood perfectly still, all eyes glued to John, who held Aideen in his arms. Had it really just happened? Maybe he was dreaming after all? Conall refused to trust his eyes. It seemed like magic, like an incredibly clever trick. One second, he was there, the other, Aideen was in his arms. He blinked again, the realization dawning on him. His heartbeat accelerated, his palms were sweating. It was him, wasn’t it? It was John.

As he looked around, he knew that he was not the only one who came to this realization. After the shock abated, the crowd erupted in a mighty roar. But instead of celebrating him, instead of bowing before him, they walked towards them and put both Aideen and John in chains. Aideen was half-unconscious and barely breathing. John had turned pale and threatened to collapse.

Still in shock, Conall gave in to the urge to run towards them, to protect the one he had been looking for his whole life. He pushed the crowd apart. He needed to help them. Conall was caught in a rush, and all he wanted was to touch the man who fulfilled the prophesy, make sure that he was real, and take him to safety. The people he pushed aside noticed him, but he did not care. As he was close to John, he noticed two figures arguing. One of them was the tattooed man, the other was a woman who was veiled from head to toe, only her eyes revealed. Conall stopped. He knew those eyes, like in a deja-vu.

“You promised me …” was all that Conall heard before the man raised his hand and slapped the woman so hard over her head that she nearly fell. As she turned around, the veil fell from her face and Conall gasped. He had known those beautiful dark eyes because he knew this woman. Or at least used to know her when she was a little girl. She had changed so drastically, that it was too much for him to take. And still, he could have never mistaken those neat features, those eyes that glistered like her mother’s. Memories caught up on him, memories of his holding her little hand, rocking her in the cold of night while they drove all the way up to Skye like criminals. Memories of the empty room she’d left behind over five years ago. No note. She’d just gone.

Conall had always assumed the worst. He had made his peace with it. How would a young girl survive in a place of anarchy such as the Outer Areas? Wild animals, hunger or criminals were only several ways to die out there.

And now she was here, of all places — Kyla, his daughter.

AIDEEN

They poured some water down her throat and it burned so bad that she had trouble swallowing it. Why would they want to torture her this way? And still the water kept coming. Then, they threw her into a dark cell. Only slowly, the senses returned to her.

There was some squeaking of metal. A door was closed. A door made out of metal bars. She was in a prison. But why? How had she gotten here in the first place and where on earth …

Steady breathing resounded at the other end of the cell. Slowly, her memory returned. John.

She tried to see in this pitch darkness, but there was not one ray of daylight.

As metal crackled she assumed that they had chained him. John was in chains, in a pitch black hole while their innocent child would soon be a victim of Manasseh’s calculation.

She slowly felt her neck and pulled her fingers back instinctively. A deep mark had cut into her skin, and it burned like hell. Had she just imagined it in her agony for breath? Or was it real? Had he really rescued her against all sanity?

“How?” she said, but out came only a desperate whisper, barely audible.

Silence.

Kaahla had betrayed her. She should have taken her son and fled. But was there an escape from Manasseh?

“I don’t know.” John’s voice sounded hollow. Tired.

It was him, wasn’t it? The one she had been looking for as long as she could remember.

“It’s as if … past, presence and future overlap. As if they’re the same.”

John was struggling, as if fighting back tears. Why? Fear filled her. Because of their son? Would something happen to their son? She straightened up, suppressing a heavy breath.

As she cleared her throat, it hurt so much that she wanted to scream.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Even without seeing his face, she heard how his voice grew heavy.

“It’s just that … I keep seeing those two scenarios. And both of them scare me … both of them are more than I can bear.”

She jumped up, and ran towards his voice, feeling his shape in the darkness.

“What scenarios? About whom?”

“About you, Aideen.”

Those words hit her like a wave, and this dark hole they were imprisoned in returned to perfect silence. When John continued, the words burned her with every syllable:

“You have a decision to make.”

“What decision?” she slowly responded, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

“Whether you will bring it to an end. Do what you came to do.”

What did he mean?

Her heart slammed against her chest. She did not respond, her throat felt dry and her breath accelerated.

“Whether you will kill me.”

Those words penetrated her like a wildfire. She had trouble suppressing the tears. The way he said those words made her instantly understand that he had seen it already. He had actually experienced what it felt like to be killed by her. And the pain that resonated in those words seemed like an endless abyss.

This was all too much for her to take in.

No wonder he had been distressed, even angry with her at times.

How could he even do this? Live with her? Rescue her, knowing what she had in store for him in return for his kindness?

She closed her eyes, even if it made no difference in the darkness. It felt as if the darkness of her own soul was strangling her. And this one question ate her away like acid, a question she was unable to answer: Why? Why had he still kissed her this night in the forest? Why had he protected her? The realization that he had chosen her, despite the fact that he still didn’t know if she would kill him—it was crazy. It was against all reason. Tears ran slowly down her face. She was suddenly confronted with this decision: Would she kill him?

And both of them scare me …

She lifted her head.

“What’s the other scenario?”

He didn’t answer.

“John?” She came closer, feeling his warmth next to her body, “What’s the other scenario?”

She heard his head turn away from her. He refused to answer, so she took his hand.

“Please John, I want to know …”

He turned around, and his voice was hard. “I suppose you deserve to …”—another last pause—“If you don’t … you will die.”

Aideen suppressed an ironic laugh. If there was such a thing a fate, fate was a bitch. “It would have been better if we had never met.” Aideen said the words with bitterness, remembering yet again what Conall had taught them about the nature of time.

If we go wrong in space, we can just go the other direction. But time is irreversible.

“I saw you in my future memories many years ago already,” John replied. “And when I finally met you, it was like a threshold I had to cross. I made this decision, and I don’t want to regret it.”

Aideen’s fingers tenderly touched his cheek. It was wet from the tears he had silently shed. For the first time, she really understood him. Slowly, she lowered her head into his lap, warm tears running down her own skin.

CONALL

Conall knelt in the cool sand, as did everybody around him. They lowered their upper bodies all the way to the ground, face buried in the rough grains, and he followed suit so that he would not attract attention. A high, gentle note pierced the air, and was caught by a multitude into a foreign song in an ancient language. It resounded between the stone of the cave, and it made Conall shiver.

He’d been wrong all along. About everything. Maybe he was just a foolish little man who vainly attempted to master time while it ran its course and mocked him for thinking that he could change any of that. What would those fanatics do to John now that they had him? They wanted to use them for their plans, of course. But who were those people? And most importantly: Why was his daughter with them?

The song continued for several minutes while the people around him rose and fell, bowing their upper bodies to the ground. It was a movement that brought them into an ecstatic state, a sense of oneness and peace, some form of worship. When it was finally over, the crowd, having had their share of violence and spectacle, began to subdue. Conall searched for Kyla. The veil was covering her face again, but he instantly recognized the eyes. Kyla. She was alive. Her sight evoked so many feelings—relief, joy, pain, and anger. He felt somehow alienated to find her here. A yearning filled his heart, a pain that he thought had been long gone by now.

She left with the crowd, and he followed on her heels. She turned towards a narrow dark corridor and then another turn, even darker. Suddenly, a shadow jumped at him pushing him against the wall and pressing a blade to his throat. He instantly felt it. Her full round belly against his body. Kyla was pregnant.

“It’s me, Kyla, it’s me,” he whispered. Cloth still covered his mouth, but at the sound of this name, she widened her eyes and stepped back. Conall tore the veil from his face. Both of them stared at each other. He felt suffocated.

Kyla. Here. Pregnant. Fury was rising up inside of him, fury from all those years that he thought he had buried deep down, in a place where it would never emerge. But he was wrong.

There were no words he could find. Anything he made up in his head seemed empty, void, useless.

For a second, he thought he might cry. He had forgotten how much he loved her. How much she meant to him. How much hurt her disappearance had cost him.

Kyla just stared, those dark round eyes even blacker in the half-darkness. She did not answer. Conall made a step closer, but she made two steps back.

Why, Kyla?

She finally shook her head.

“I have to go. You better leave this place, or you’ll end up like Aideen.”

“You know Aideen?”

Conall looked into her eyes, narrowing his to understand the unfamiliar person in front of him.

“It was you who brought her here …” Conall whispered his assumption out loud. Her expression confirmed the lucky guess.

“I only wanted to protect her.”

“From whom?”

“Manasseh.”

Conall shuddered at the sound of this name. It all dawned on him, slowly. Why Manasseh had not attacked yet. Why Aideen was such a skilled fighter. She was his spy.

“Just leave.” The cold in her voice made him even more furious. Had she really come to hate him so much?

Conall lowered his head. Why had she abandoned him? Run away, just like that? Did she have any idea the pain she had caused him? It all resurfaced now. He had been only a student when he had involuntarily impregnated her mother, a young and restless woman not interested in raising a child. But he had accepted the responsibility willingly. He had raised her on his own. He had even fled the cities for, her he had given up everything for, because he had refused to loose her because of the social reform Manasseh had imposed behind his back. How dare she treat him like this?

“I won’t leave without you. Nor without Aideen and John.”

“Then you’re a fool. They’ll kill you.”

“Not if you help me.”

She stepped away, shaking her head. “Why would I?”

“Because I’m your father!” He had intended to keep calm, but the anger took the better of him.

Kyla crossed her arms, eyeing him from head to toe with those big dark eyes. His eyes. It was such an irony that he had left the cities only to lose her still.

“That was long ago,” she whispered.

Despite the hurt, he wanted to reach out to her. To take her into his arms and stroke her head like he used to when she was little.

“Why did you leave?” There was no reproach in this question, only a desire to understand.

“Because I was fed up with hiding on that island. I wanted to go out into the world, to finally start looking for this prophesy of yours. Do something.”

Conall narrowed his eyes. Where did those words come from? They reminded him of something he’d heard so many times already. In this very moment, Kyla sounded exactly like Jed.

“Wait a minute. Did Jed helped you leave?”

Kyla shrugged. “Even if so. It was my decision.”

Conall clenched his fists. That bastard. Had he really always known where his daughter was without saying a word? Had he manipulated her into leaving? Conall suddenly realized that it was the only plausible explanation. Jed thought that if Kyla left, he would leave too, looking for her. But why? And had Jed really been capable of doing such a thing?

Conall shook those thoughts off. There was still time to find out, but they needed to make it out of here alive first.

“I saw this man beat you. I will never leave you here, I will never let anyone treat you like that.”

He yearned to kill this man. Over his dead body would he surrender what was most dear to him, now that he had only regained it. When he raised his head, he saw teardrops flicker in Kyla’s eyes, tears she instantly hid from his sight.

Her voice returned to the cold tone. “If you walk around the corner and several steps down, there is a small cave you will be safe in,” she continued. “Wait there for me until sundown.”

Without another word, Kyla turned on her heels and left.

The cave was dark, so Conall could not tell when night had finally fallen on them. As he was powerless to act, he decided to spend the waiting time with plotting a plan. There was only one place they could be safe from Manasseh for now. Safety was only an illusion now that he had found John, he knew it. He would plunge the world into chaos, he would destroy and question every reform they had undertaken when the Global Union had been established fifteen years ago. Manasseh was wrong about the prophecy. At least this was what Conall had hoped.

He went up and down, up and down, unable to sit still. He had finally found him. And he found Kyla. He could not bear to lose them again.

Kyla’s arrival felt like a liberation. With one single head movement, she signaled to follow her. They tiptoed around the sleeping city where the daylight was completely gone and only fires burned in the houses here and there. Without a word, they descended further down into complete nothingness. Kyla held a torch to light their way.

“Any guards?” Conall’s words sounded shallow.

“Only at the entrance to the city. Not in here.”

It was perfectly quiet in this pit of hell when torchlight finally illuminated a cell with two figures inside. Both lifted their heads. John was chained to a wall. Aideen jumped up and ran to the iron bars. Kyla fished out a set of keys and opened the door, then hurried towards John to free him.

“Conall?”

John sounded tired.

If he only knew that this is just the beginning.

“How much time has gone by?” Aideen’s voice shook.

“Several hours. It’s night now.”

Relief washed over Aideen’s face.

But Conall did not trust her. While in the cave, he had been trying to understand her motives in vain. If she was Manasseh’s spy, why on earth had she brought John here? He could not suppress the look of suspiciousness either.

“We’ll need to get your son and flee to Skye.” Conall said, reluctantly rethinking if he really could give away this hiding place to Aideen. He looked down at the scar on the back of her hand. It was probably only a farce. But there was time to decide later.

For now, they needed to get out of this unholy city as soon as possible. Sneaking up the steps, they crawled along the walls to stay in the darkness towards the elevator that would take them to the surface. It would get difficult from then on, but three of them were skilled fighters, not to mention John’s other virtues.

The elevator went up. So far, so good. Two armed guards awaited them at the gate, but they stood no chance again both John and Aideen. Conall stayed behind, keeping Kyla close to his side. They ran into the night that was cold and rainy, around the hill where they found four cars, and the barely conscious, half-naked and dehydrated guard Conall had strapped to the vehicle. John gave Conall an ironic smile at that sight.

“So … not just a scientist?”

Conall winked.

Luckily, the cars did not rank amongst the new models that were impossible to break into. The old ones still ran on petrol and were easy to ignite without a key. Aideen set to work while suddenly, Kyla froze.

“I … I’ll stay here,” she murmured against the wind that rose around their ears.

No. Conall turned around. He could not lose her, not again.

“Please …” But while he made a step towards her, she made a step back. “There’s no time, if they find out what you did …”

She shook her head.

“It’s not that simple.”

But there was no time for explanation, they would come any second, and all would be lost.

“Kyla …” He was lost for words.

Her expression was so lost that for the first time, he realized how much he had failed her.

“I know I was a lousy father.” He lowered his head. His obsession, the books and the studies, it had cost him his daughter. He did not even see how others manipulated her, snatched her away right from under his eyes. “Don’t make the same mistake, don’t sacrifice you child for your own beliefs.”

Those words were sincere, and he knew that they hit her at the very core because she was exactly like him. And he wanted her to be better.

She nodded when suddenly movement and sounds began to echo from the entrance of the cave.

Conall snatched her hand and ran towards a car, breaking the glass on the passengers seat and crawling in to start the ignition. He could not believe the next words he uttered: “Skye Island. You still know the way?” Conall was about to leave Kyla alone. Again. She stared at him in disbelief. The engine started, and he left the cabin for her to take over the driver’s seat. “Kyla?” His voice grew urgent. “Do you know the way?”

She nodded absently.

“I’ll be in Skye tomorrow. It’s too dangerous for you to go to Area Three. We’ll divert them, and you’ll have a safe passage.”

This was the safest way, and still he felt like he abandoned her yet again. He tenderly kissed her forehead, closed the door, and yelled, “Go!”

After one last glance, Kyla was gone into the night. Only now the figures emerged from behind the hill, running at Conall with all kinds of blades that glistened in the rain. He sprinted towards the car where Aideen had already started the engine. More figures emerged, and this time, they opened fire. Conall ducked and hid behind the car door before jumping into the back seat. Aideen pushed the gas pedal. Engines started behind them.

They needed to throw them off as soon as possible. Aideen knew exactly what she was doing, and it was a blessing in disguise. She drove along the main road for several minutes and then vanished from it into the dark of the forests where it would be nearly impossible to discover them, switching the lights off. When the sounds of the pursuing vehicles subsided, she stopped the car and took a deep breath.

John took her hand in his, tenderly stroking it to clam her down. After a while, he said: “You need to cut out your chip.”

Conall stared at the back of her right hand again. The fake scar must have been really thorough and painful in the making. John was right, Manasseh was probably monitoring her every movement through this chip as this micro-processor possessed every possible function one could imagine, especially GPS. If Conall wanted to take them to Skye, every tracking device should be eliminated anyway.

Aideen hesitated for a second. She was reconsidering her last tie to civilization, to her old life. Then, she searched the car until she had found a dagger.

In the light of the moon, she cut the scar open and reached into the depth of her flesh. Conall looked away, but he heard the dripping of blood, and smelled the scent of it.

She took a deep breath.

Taking out the chip was painful beyond imagination, Conall had learned it when he cut out his. The chip was connected to the brain, and a crash of this connection could lead to severe injuries, even death. Aideen clenched her teeth and gave a dump sound before she collapsed right on the driver’s seat. Conall felt her pulse. She was still alive, but she would need time to recover. He pulled her to the back of the car while John took over the wheel.

When Conall sat down in the passenger’s seat, he stared at John’s gray eyes for a moment longer. Into the eyes of the man he had been searching his whole life. His dark curls hung loosely into his face, and he stared back. It felt as if time had made a circle, and here they were. Did John even know who he was? What he was destined to do? But the way John returned to glance, the glistering in those eyes that evoked fear and terrible sadness, it felt like in this very moment, John knew more than Conall ever would.

John ignited the engine and slowly began driving through the dense trees of the forest, into the night.

AIDEEN

The sky had turned dark blue when Aideen finally opened her eyes. She instantly felt the missing connection. Now, she was officially an outlaw. It didn’t matter. John’s words constantly kept ringing in her ears.

Either she kills him. Or she dies.

Which one will it be, Aideen?

“Are you alright?” John’s voice sounded tender as ever, caring for her who did not deserve to be cared for. She nodded.

“How far are we?”

“Close,” Conall replied. “But we heard a helicopter pass by.”

Aideen’s heart made a beat. Manasseh. He was there already, either because he had traced her back to Snowdonia, or because she had cut her connection. They could not approach from the main road as they would be seen instantly. But John was already driving off road, aiming for a small place where trees could cover their vehicle.

John stopped the engine. When Aideen peeked from the trees, she instantly saw the mess. Blue army trucks stood along the main road, and soldiers just sprinted into the valley, blue helmets and black exoskeletons, guns that were connected to the artificial intelligence and their own brain. Conall dismounted without hesitation, but before Aideen could open the door, John turned around and snatched her hand.

“You have to make your decision now.”

Those words were so definitive that it cut Aideen’s breath.

“Now?”

“I will surrender to Manasseh if you don’t do it.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Wow, you really want me to kill you.”

“I want you to make a decision.”

“No, John, you want to be spared the decision yourself. Why would you even surrender to this man? This is crazy!”

John placed something cold inside her hand. The dagger.

“This is the only way,” he whispered. “Finish your mission, take our son into safety.”

It was true. He wanted her to kill him. Because he wanted her to live.

Her hands began to tremble.

This was all nonsense! How could he even know that they both couldn’t survive this? Maybe all would turn out well, and they could start a new life together. A better life.

But a look into his eyes made her realize that it was impossible.

Regret washed over her like a wave so strong that it crushed her chest and lungs. If she had only known that the past nineteen months had been the most precious moments of her life. That it would never come back. She would have enjoyed every second of it, savored every moment. How foolish we sometimes are, thinking that we are able to master time when it’s more precious than anything else given to us.

She took the dagger, her hand still shaking, looking into John’s eyes.

Then, she put it on the seat, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Aideen yearned for time to stop moving in this very moment, so that she could remain here forever, in his embrace, in a safety that was only an illusion. John returned the kiss with greed, reluctant to let her go. But time would not do her the favor. It was moving, always moving, and they were moving with it.

Aideen snatched the dagger and left the vehicle, running towards the village. She ran as if for her own life, surpassing the emotions that rose in her, directly towards their house. To her son, whom he would never see grow up. He was all that mattered now. The soldiers were entering the village already, waking the inhabitants. Shots resounded from afar, but Aideen was now caught in the rush of battle, sprinting towards the blackhouse that lay at the other side of the village. Her fingers clasped the dagger, the blood now dry on the sharp steel. Aideen tore the door open, and sprinted with such speed towards Margaret that she was unable to react and get to the child in time. She pulled her body against hers, and although Margaret was a trained spy, she was much older and it had been too long since she had been in battle. Aideen drove the knife between her shoulder blades, and Margaret let out a sharp cry. But she fought back, turned around and threw Aideen against the flames that burned in the middle of the hut. They caught her coat and began to burn her skin. Margaret gave Aideen no time to brush off the flames, and she threw herself at her with raging fury, throwing her to the ground, a stone in her hand. Aideen tore away her head just in time, and the stone hit the wooden floor. The dagger was out of her reach, but she pushed Margaret away and ran for it. As she turned around, Margaret was at the other end of the hut. At her son’s bed. He had his innocent blue eyes open, and stared at Aideen. Her heart broke for him while Margaret lifted the stone.

“Please!” Aideen cried. “He has nothing to do with it.”

“This is where you’re wrong. He has everything to do with it.” Margaret’s smile was cunning and full of hatred. What did she mean?

Aideen remembered her tender eyes as she met her for the first time. Had all of it been pretense? Had she only faked her worry, her care? Her heart clenched with sadness as she lifted her knife and threw it at Margaret with precision. Before she could even react, the knife landed hard in her forehead.

Aideen ran for her child. She wanted to spare him those horrors. She clung to him as he silently pressed his shaking body against hers, and brushed her fingers through his curly red hair, kissing him. The boy began to sob softly, but held himself with strength. She was proud of him.

Aideen peaked out into the village that had now become a place of chaos and death. The blackhouses were lit with bright red flames, and blood had covered the earth. Aideen clung to her boy, and began to run towards the car they left in the woods. Where was John? Didn’t he follow her into the village?

Suddenly, she heard a desperate cry to her left. It belonged to a voice she knew. Sena. A soldier was beating him, and then lifted his gun towards him.

Aideen ran for him, tearing the solder backwards with one arm, pulling the helmet off that offered the most protection. She put down her son and disarmed the soldier with another movement, shooting him with his own gun. Sena jumped up, eyes wide. His look instantly slid to what must have been a terrible mark on her throat, and he reached out for it, eyes devastated.

“It’s fine,” Aideen murmured, picking up her son.

Sena nodded. “Have you seen my mother?”

Aideen made a deep breath. Sena, the unwanted child. “She was killed by a solider,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

And she was, at least for Sena and the mother he lost today.

The big leader’s hall was burning in the middle of the village. Cries were rising from inside of it. She snatched her son and ran towards it, Sena following her.

“The MacIans …” Sena’s whispered, aghast.

By the looks of it, the hall would collapse soon. Where on earth was John? The voices on the inside died. No, not Arthur. The MacIans had taken her in, protected her. The guilt of her betrayal threatened to suffocate Aideen. All of it, those deaths, this destruction, it was her fault. She had brought it upon these innocent people.

She pressed her son into Sena’s arms.

“You guard him with your life.”

With those words, she tore a piece of cloth out of her half-burned coat, pressed in against her mouth, took one deep breath, and stormed into the burning building. It was insanely hot, the heat pressed against her like a heavy force. It suffocated her, and she had trouble holding her eyes open against the burning flames. Where were they? She nearly crawled along the flames, hoping they would not swallow her completely. The air was getting thinner.

A figure was lying on the ground. She barely recognized Arthur. His face was twisted with pain, and he coughed incessantly. But she had found him. She lifted his weak body, supported him and nearly dragged him towards the exit. He threatened to collapse any second. And if he did, she would never be able to carry him.

“Arthur,” she yelled, “It’s me! Hold on! You have to stay awake!”

He seemed to recognize her a little, but his consciousness came and vanished in waves. Aideen closed her eyes and thought of her little child. She wanted to make it out so badly, she wanted to have a chance for redemption. But she wouldn’t, would she? The fire was swallowing them. Where was the exit? The wooden roof behind them collapsed and she ducked. Aideen felt life streaming out of her with every breath.

CONALL

Conall stood waiting at the car when Aideen sprinted past him. He also made a run for the village, but John held him back. Conall turned to find John’s expression filled with tears. Panic was rising in his own gut. John took a deep breath for a second, and it made Conall nervous.

“We need to go, the soldiers …” he began.

“We cannot stop the wheel of time, Conall. We can only make decisions of where it will take us.”

John reached to the back of his sweater and took out a black leather book. He passed it on to Conall. It felt weirdly rough beneath his fingers. As he turned it, a cross was engraved into the leather. The symbol of Christianity, Conall recognized, one of the big religions to be banned from the new world over decades ago. A forbidden book.

Conall lifted his eyes towards John to find the gray of his piercing him like a knife.

“No matter what happens from now on …” John’s voice was haunting, insistent, “promise me you will take this book to Skye Island.”

Conall blinked. He did not understand the exact meaning of those words, but the way John formed them made a chill run down his spine. No matter what happens?

“It holds the meaning of everything.” John suddenly grabbed Conall by the elbow and shook him, “Promise me, Conall!” Conall made a step back, eyes wide. “Promise me!”

Still taken aback by the urgency, he slowly nodded. “I promise.”

AIDEEN

With the last strength left in her, she dragged Arthur out into the open, and collapsed on she ground, grasping for the oxygen that suddenly burned her lungs, coughing from a horrible pain that spread in her throat. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the crying of a child. Her child.

Slowly, she opened her eyes to see the her son’s eyes red with tears. Sena approached them, trying to feel their pulse.

“Arthur’s alive.”

While he was still speaking, the hall behind them had just collapsed with a loud crash, and emitted thousands of sparks. It buried the McIans inside the fire. Arthur’s eyes were wide open, and stared at the mess. Tears and shock rose in his expression. Aideen felt his pain as much as she felt her own guilt.

They needed to get away before Manasseh found them.

Everything happened all at once then. A soldier came running from behind Sena, lifting his gun towards the child. With the strength she did not know she had left, Aideen jumped from the ground and threw herself in front of her son, who was crying even louder now. A sharp pain shot through her whole body, tore the tissue of her skin, muscles, and inner organs. She felt all and none of it at the same time. She shock of pain could not overshadow the relief that her son was safe. And the knowledge that this was the end.

Someone had knocked out the soldier, but Aideen barely perceived it.

A tender voice resounded in the background. John’s voice. His cold hand touched her forehead and kissed her while she felt her life fade away slowly. It didn’t matter. John had their son. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were the rising flames, and a face that had become so dear to her. She had made the right decision.

It seemed as if John had aged all of a sudden, aged with the knowledge burdened upon him. He fought against tears, kissing her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered yet again into her ear, and it was true now as it was true the first time he had met her. Her hands began to shake with the pain and the realization that soon, she would be gone. Swallowed from the face of this earth, her existence vanished into the abyss of nothingness. She was afraid.

“I’m so sorry …” she said through her tears, and coughed.

“No, no, no, no …” John pressed his forehead against hers, his warm tears fell down her skin while his black locks caressed her, “Don’t be. Please don’t be.”

“I love you, John.” It was the first time that those words meant something.

She closed her eyes and was swallowed by nothingness.

JOHN

He had known it. He had seen it in his memories, and still it had shattered his world. The pain he felt was unbearable. Nothing compared to him seeing her body, now lifeless in front of him. Memories lost their intensity and clarity over time. This was real life. Everything in him hurt beyond reason. His insides seemed to explode any minute. He wanted to collapse, right here, right now, and die. Nothing made sense anymore, even if he had seen it coming.

More soldiers streamed towards them from the distance.

“John.” A hand shook him up. He lifted his head towards Arthur, who held his son. “You need to get him out of here.”

This little boy with the red locks stretched out his hands towards John, and John followed the plea. Sena’s expression was otherworldly while he forced his eyes away from Aideen’s corpse.

“Yes, John,” he murmured. “We’ll divert them.”

And for the last time, the three of them put their heads together, like in the old days.

“One.”

John looked into the faces of his friends, who had aged so much, and who had learned so much pain on that day.

“Two.”

His friends, who were still there for him.

“Three.”

They parted, and John sprinted towards the forest where he’d left the car, never looking back.

He knew that this was only the beginning of his ordeal. He did not know why or how. Memories kept coming back to his mind, memories of Aideen’s beautiful green eyes, his son’s clumsy attempts to walk, his crazy nights with the boys.

All of it was over now. He kissed his son on the forehead when striking pain hit his right thigh. John collapsed. The child crashed to the ground next to him, and began to cry. John turned around and saw a man he knew from his dreams. He was Conall’s age, wore a leather jacket and boots, and held a gun pointed at John. He wore himself with authority and strength. Manasseh.

“John?” he asked, and John nodded. The stranger’s eyes wandered to the weeping child, and John thought he saw compassion rising in them.

“Is this your son?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Aideen?”

Soldiers ran towards them from afar, and John knew that this was the end of it. For the first time, he was afraid. The man hectically knelt next to him.

“Dead.”

Although Manasseh tried to hide it, John instantly saw the pain in his eyes.

“I offer you a deal,” he whispered. “You surrender, cooperate.”

“With what?”

“You will be brought to a laboratory, they will test you, might dissect your brain. But we’ll have more success if you cooperate. And if you do … I promise your son will lead a normal life. Nobody will know that he’s yours, or Aideen’s. He won’t become their laboratory rat.”

John narrowed his eyes to see if the man was serious.

“Do you accept the deal?”

Aideen had meant something to him. As did the child that looked so much like her.

John took a heavy breath and nodded. The stranger nodded in return, picked up the crying child, and left.

“Put him in chains!” he yelled to the soldiers who approached John like a swarm.

John watched his son vanish. He hadn’t seen this in his dreams, but he had very often felt the pain of the torture to come. He accepted it willingly.

CONALL

From amongst the burning houses, Conall watched the scene while he held the black leather book in his hands. This damn book that bound him to a senseless promise. He was forced to watch, and his hands were tied. He saw Aideen die, then John being swallowed by the monsters after his conversation with Manasseh. He watched a little girl with silk brown hair and strikingly, along with other little children, being seized by the soldiers and dragged into the blue trucks. Conall wanted to run, to tear away the John’s child from Manasseh, although it was hopeless. If anything, he wanted to pick up a gun and shoot a bullet into this pitch black heart of the man he once called friend. And they had been friends once. As students, they had been ignited by the idea of an algorithm that would scientifically predict the future, created this program that changed the world forever. But Manasseh was the charismatic politician while Conall involuntarily became his science puppet. Manasseh was the crazy idealist who reformed the world behind Conall’s back the way he had seen fit. It was the social reform, the banishment of families and the creation of Raising Centres that had driven a wedge between them.

Manasseh had no children, so he would never understand. But Conall had Kyla.

Conall stared at the mess, and once again, he felt utterly powerless. He had promised to deliver this damn book to Skye, and he could not break this promise.

He had stared into John’s eyes and made this damn promise.

Conall fell to his knees, desperate, while the flames of the burning village danced around him, mocking his failure.

Had he been so wrong? Had it been neither Aideen nor John? Or had Manasseh managed to stop the turn of events, turn the wheel of time to his own advantage yet again? Conall wished he would burn in those flames. He felt as if his existence suddenly became senseless, pointless. Why had everything gone so wrong?

He buried his head in his hands while the sun rose over a village in ashes.

The ashes of his own heart.

Dim and solemn, it lay behind the waters, the mountains as if bleeding from their tops. Skye Island. Conall had left Area Three behind and walked for days and days, further north, past the last signs the old world had left behind. The few who had survived the massacre in Glencoe had fled to the mountains. The Glencoe Massacre, he remembered this one note on his biomatrix that had pointed him to the area in the first place, referring to a systematical governmental killing in 1692. Time had made a circle yet again.

Conall barely slept, plagued by nightmares, dragging one foot after another until he finally reached the Skye bridge that looked like a fish tail. He wanted to see Kyla.

He had eaten nothing, drank only from the small pools and lakes around him as he walked. It was as if his world collapsed all of a sudden, and he was not sure what had caused it. Where was truth, and where was illusion? Had Manasseh snatched Prometheus out of his hand, just like that? Or has all of it been a huge, huge mistake? Was Prometheus even real?

Conall had been convinced that the future could be studied and understood as systematically as the past. Time revealed that life on all levels behaved regularly and on purpose. In fact, the only foundation of science in general was the belief in those principles, those general laws that are regular and constant. But was it really so? He had promoted the case for future science, sure that it would enable humans to feel more in control of their lives and societies, having learned to conquer time. He thought he had conquered time with World5 once.

Now, it all collapsed in front of him like a house of cards. He was defeated yet again, and all he wanted was to see his daughter.

Conall walked past the loud humming of the waterfalls. The fairy pools stretched along the valley, oblivious and untouched. He slowly wandered towards the mountain with a crack directly in the middle. Inside, a hidden cave greeted him with darkness. It was long, and Conall was so exhausted and dehydrated that he thought he might collapse any second. When daylight finally hit his eyes, and he slowly adjusted to perceive the dense forest that stretched before him, he wanted to yell her name.

Kyla.

But he was too weak. Those small, moss covered houses that were build around the tree branches appeared in the distance. Conall collapsed and his world went blank.

He felt the warmth of a cozy Skye house and the tender crackling of the fire in the fireplace. They had bedded him in soft cushions and furs, and warm tea stood by his bed. The fire in a simple yet beautifully carved chimney warmed the small house, and as Conall looked around, he saw Jed’s figure against the backdrop of the flames. Jed slowly turned around, eyes marked with an unusual sadness. Conall hectically set up.

“Kyla, has she made it here … has she …” His voice was hollow, barely audible.

But Jed nodded, motioning him to stay in bed.

A woman entered the house and carried a small bundle towards Conall. She placed it in his arms. It was a child, ugly and red, barely several days old, and it slept soundly in Conall’s embrace.

“Your grandson. She named him David.”

Conall smiled towards the boy, and felt a love spread through his whole body with a warmth yet unknown to him. He had loved his daughter when she entered this world, but this was different. He was more mature, and it seemed he had more love to give than when he had been young and careless. Conall looked up towards Jed, and still his expression was grave. Without having to speak it out loud, he knew, and he was unsure he could bear any more pain.

“She died in childbirth …” Jed whispered.

Conall second-guessed every decision he had ever made. Maybe it would have been better for Kyla to be left in the raising centers of the government, never experiencing the pain, never having to die from a thing like childbirth. Had Manasseh been right all along?

But time was irreversible, and he knew it far too well. It proceeded with endless speed towards the future. And for the first time, the future scared him. It was completely out of his control.

Conall looked down to the small child in his hands. David. In this very moment, he swore to himself that he would spare this child all the pain and suffering he could not spare Kyla.

The woman took the child and carried it away, leaving him alone with Jed. A silence covered them, and it weighted heavily in the room. So heavily that Conall could not endure the rattling of his own thoughts.

Jed turned around. “What happened?”

Conall made a deep breath, and told the story, from the beginning to the very catastrophe he had brought upon Area Three. When he was done, he watched Jed’s expression growing graver and heavier. There was a long pause.

“There is something I need to tell you.”

Jed’s voice had grown so dark that it scared Conall. He thought about Kyla. Could this be true, that he had manipulated her to leaven back then? Was this the confession he wanted to make?

“The day I came to pick you up in Dunvegan Castle … I messed with your biomatrix. I slipped in a hint that would lead you to Area Three, hoping you’d mistake that new clue for false intuition … and you did.”

Even while he spoke, Conall could not believe that it was true.

“So you slipped in the note that said Glencoe Massacre …”

“I did not know that Manasseh would show up on the same day. I could never have guessed which proportions this tiny hint would assume.”

The pain, the blame, everything that had eaten him alive over the course of the past days, suddenly resurfaced. Jed had manipulated Kyla, it was his fault that she got pregnant, that she died. And then, when he did not get his way, he manipulated Conall yet again, and brought death upon an innocent village … Conall got up from his bed and stormed towards Jed before he knew what hit him, picked up a sharp iron fire tool and brought it to Jed’s throat, while pressing against it with his other hand, strangling him slowly. Jed gasped for air while Conall’s eyes were wide with fury.

“Why?” he whispered through clenched teeth, “Why! Why! Why on earth?” And while he strangled the man, he saw Manasseh in front of him. A manipulative, selfish monster.

Jed was struggling, his eyes and head turning red from the lack of oxygen. Conall wanted to see him suffer. No, he wanted to see him to die. As soon as he realized it, he shrunk back at this thought, at the person he had become. He climbed backwards, letting go of Jed, who gratefully soaked in the air.

“Why did you push Kyla to leave?” Conall asked, bitterness resounding in every syllable.

When Jed had calmed down, he looked towards Conall. His voice sounded rough and broken: “Are you so blind that you still don’t see it?” Conall threw him a questioning look. See what? Jed made a deep breath, massaging his aching throat. He slowly continued: “I did it for the idea. The idea that will change the world …”

The idea? What idea?

“Prometheus.” Jed continued. “It’s just an idea, Conall.” Those words hung in the air for a moment. “It needs to be spread, planted in people’s minds for Prometheus to eventually rise up. It might start with one person, and it will grown into a movement. But it’s the idea that will change this world.”

Conall stared at Jed. His words made so much sense that it hurt. An idea that will change the world. And Jed would do everything for an idea he believed in. But what about John? What about his abilities? Maybe he was part of some plan, as was this book he had given him. But it was the idea that needed to rise in people’s hearts first.

Conall clenched his fists.

Jed was a hypocrite. Even if he believed in Prometheus, he was not man enough to come crawling out of this hole and spread the idea himself. Do what was right. But Conall was.

“Give me my grandson,” he murmured.

“What will you do?”

Conall got up, walking to the bed to get dressed.

“I will leave this godforsaken island, and never come back.”

ARTHUR

Arthur stood in the middle of the village that had turned to ashes. They had spent several nights in the mountains where more people had died of their injuries. Barely a dozen had survived, it was all the massacre had left of Area Three.

He stared at Aideen while she was wrapped into linen by two women. Sena was there also, but he watched the procedure from a distance. His face had turned so grave during the last days that Arthur was afraid of him. Sena spoke to no-one. Arthur glanced at Aideen, the woman he loved. Would he be able to love anyone again? He was not sure. Her death had driven a knife through his heart.

And still, she had saved his life. Had given him a new chance.

Promise me you’ll find my son.

Those words rung in his ears day and night, words Aideen had whispered while they lay there on the ground, coughing. He thought that she’d been delusional back then from the fumes, and he had promised it. But now that her son was really gone, he knew that he had to keep this promise one day. He would have to find him.

Before they wrapped her face, he tenderly kissed her forehead. The body was only a shell, a shadow of this woman he had watched from the distance for over a year. She was gone. As were his parents, whom he was unable to bury. Arthur had cried himself to sleep during the cold nights in the mountains, mourning his father whom he had always disappointed. But this morning, when they descended into the valley again, he made the decision he would live up to being a MacIan. He would finally make his father proud.

“Take her to the others.” Arthur whispered to the woman who had been wrapping Aideen’s body. Over a quarter of the village had perished in the fire, their bodies never to be found. Still, there were dozens of corpses they would burn tonight, singing the old Gaelic songs his father loved. Arthur would introduce more of those customs, he decided. He was steadfastly determined to rebuild Area Three from its ashes. One after another, they would recover the houses, breed more cattle, and build a new leader’s hall. When he took over the command that morning, it came naturally. Nobody questioned him, they were glad that Arthur took charge of the chaos.

He sighed and walked towards Sena who was staring at the mountains, lost in thought. He did not react when he approached, and shrunk back when he tapped him on his shoulder. Sena’s eyes glistened with a strange madness Arthur had never seen before. As if he was somewhere else.

“I’m leaving tonight,” he suddenly said.

A cold shiver ran down Arthur’s spine. What had become of his friend? “Where to?”

No answer came. Sena turned away. After a long pause, he said: “I’m leaving to join the Sub.”

“But … they are dangerous. For all we know, they are a bunch of fanatics who …”

Sena turned around and pierced Arthur with such darkness in those eyes that it silenced him.

“You don’t understand, Arthur,” Sena said, his voice full of scorn. “You never did.”

But he did understand. He understood the pain in Sena’s chest and the need to fill this void with purpose. He nodded. “Just never forget that this is your home.”

With these words, he left to continue the preparation for the burial.

He thought of John, whose corpse they had never found. Had he perished? Had they taken him?

Several hours later, when the sun had crossed the horizon, they had piled up the corpses on pyres and lit the fires. The notes of the ancient Gaelic song rose in the air. Tonight was the night of the dead. Tomorrow, they would begin the day of the living.

Sena had left before the funeral, without saying goodbye. Arthur looked at the lake where only several years ago, John, Sena, and he had bathed during the night, innocent boys without a care in the world. It seemed an eternity away.

Arthur peered into the vastness of the Glencoe valley when he saw a figure against the sky that was still slightly lit by the fading sunlight. He narrowed his eyes, preparing to raise his dagger. But then he recognized him. It was Conall.

As he came closer, he saw that he was carefully carrying a small bundle at his chest. A child. Arthur smiled. It felt like a sign for a new life from the gods. A new beginning for all of them.

CONALL

The flames flickered and lit the curios faces gathered around the huge fire.

It was the feast Lughnasa where they celebrated the beginning of the new harvest. Conall looked around. It had grown very silent and the anticipation felt electric in the air. Even his grandson, who was six already, stared at him with wide, big eyes. Kyla’s eyes. They were expecting the Shanakee’s tale. The storyteller’s magic. Conall smiled, spread his arms, and began to speak: “Today, I will tell you the story of Prometheus. A god, a man, no one really knows.” Conall closed his eyes, emerging himself into the ancient myth he had grown so accustomed to tell. “Back in the ancient days, when the gods still walked among men, and the earth was raw and untouched, the gods saw the potential and power mankind could acquire, and they feared it. So they made a plan to rob mankind of fire, rob it of power, warmth and means of survival. This way, they intended to eternally rule over men. Submit them to their will.”

The audience stared at him while he intentionally distorted his face in anger.

“But Prometheus would not watch his creation suffer any longer from the suppressing hands of the false gods. It was him, after all, who had created mankind out of clay, and nourished it since. So he took a fennel stalk, lit it in the heavens, and brought it back to earth, this way restoring fire to humanity, and giving back their power and dignity.” His voice rose. “So what is fire but the power to live freely, be bold, and strong? What is fire but power to suppress your enemies?”

The reaction followed as intended. The people murmured in approval, and movement began in the crowds. It always happened when he told this story throughout the villages of the Outer Areas, here in the Highlands. But Glencoe was his home, and he was glad to be back. It had flourished in the past years, many houses were rebuilt, and the population grew steadily. Conall glanced over to Arthur McIan, who had proven to be a leader like his father. He still occupied the new big hall on his own, unable to get over Aideen’s ghost.

“But the gods were angry with Prometheus. They condemned him to eternal punishment. Chained to a rock of a mountain he hung for ages, suffering for our good, for what he had done for mankind.” Every time he said those words, he could not help but think of John. What had become of him? Conall hoped that he was dead, but he doubted it. Manasseh would not be finished with him that quickly. “An eagle ate from his liver every day, and every day it would grow back as Prometheus was immortal. So his agony continued for ever and ever. Never ending pain. He was ready to pay the price for the redemption of humankind.”

Conall made a pause, eyeing his audience with intention, one after another.

“He is still among us. And one day, he will rise again.””

Get Book one

Did you enjoy the book? I would greatly appreciate an honest review on Amazon or your favorite book retailer. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.

You can keep reading. Get “Prometheus Rising” – the first book of the Prometheus Dystopian Trilogy.

http://dfwink.com/prometheusrising/

About the Author

D. Wink is striving to kidnap her readers into make-believe worlds, blend the borders between past and future, and master her own curiosity. In her spare time, she directs movies and rewatches Christopher Nolan films, empowers creatives to tell stories themselves on storyartist.me and explores theatres, cities and wilderness with her bearded dancer husband.

Sign up to for D.Wink’s newsletter at:

dfwink.com/free

Facebook

Twitter

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Copyright
- PART I
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- JOHN
- CONALL
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- ARTHUR
- SENA
- JOHN
- CONALL
- AIDEEN
- JOHN
- ARTHUR
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- AIDEEN
- ARTHUR
- AIDEEN
- SENA
- AIDEEN
- JOHN
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- PART II
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- JOHN
- CONALL
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- AIDEEN
- CONALL
- AIDEEN
- JOHN
- CONALL
- ARTHUR
- CONALL
- Get Book one
- About the Author