“Morning.”
She sounded hoarse but awake. “Do we walk?”
“Yes. A short climb.” I offered her the canteen and a ration square. “We’ll reach the basin before midday.”
She looked past me to the seam of sky and the pale ridge beyond. “That’s where your people live?”
“That’s where we begin to disappear,” I said.
She nodded, as if that were answer enough.
The climb was slow but steady. The path wound upward along the spine of the ridge, narrow and switch-backed. She keptpace, leaning on the stick I had carved for her, biting down on the pain in her ankle without complaint. The sun warmed the frost into a sheen, and the smell of pine and stone filled the air.
I had walked this trail a hundred times, but never with anyone beside me. Never with anyone whose footsteps I cared to match.
When she paused to breathe, I let my gaze drift to the valley below. The wind caught her hair and tossed a few strands against her cheek. She pushed them back with a small huff of irritation, then smiled, embarrassed to have made a sound at all.
That smile did something I had not planned for. It reached places I had kept shuttered since the war.
“Almost there,” I said to cover the pause. “Do not look down.”
She looked down immediately, then laughed—a quiet, surprised sound that tugged at my chest.
“You have a terrible sense of reassurance.”
“Practice improves,” I said.
She shook her head but kept climbing.
At the crest, the world unfolded.
The basin lay hidden on the far side of the ridge, a wide hollow cupped by cliffs and forest, sunlight pooling between stone walls that glowed faintly green. Terraces stepped down toward a stream that vanished into the mountain’s throat. Homes were carved into the southern face, their entrances disguised by rock-veined doors and living vines. Smoke curled thin and white from hidden vents, tracing the morning’s calm.
Lina stopped short. Her mouth parted, and her hand tightened on the walking stick.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Like the mountain grew people instead of trees.”
Pride rose in my throat before I could stop it. “We built it to be unseen,” I said. “Beauty was… incidental.”
She turned to me; sunlight caught in her eyes. “Then maybe you should stop trying to hide.”
The words struck deeper than she knew.
Below us, figures moved along the terraces—Mesaarkans in work harnesses, a few humans among them. Children’s voices drifted faintly, bright as birds. The sight made Lina go still again.
“There are others like me.”
“Yes. Some were rescued from the bases before the cyborgs destroyed them. Some found us later.”
“Do they…?” She trailed off, not sure how to ask if they lived here by choice.
“They are safe,” I said simply.
The first sentinel appeared halfway down the path—a broad male with dark bronze scaling and a staff slung across his back. He saw me and inclined his head. Then his gaze slid to Lina, assessing.
“Traveler,” he said in the Mesaarkan tongue. “This one is human.”
“She is under my protection,” I answered in the same language. “A survivor.”
