I take one. It’s good. I take another, while he watches me carefully.
He's not just feeding me. He's learning what I like. Nobody on New Terra ever bothered to find out. And now he has asked me a question I don't know how to answer, and he’s not going to forget he asked it.
Running again is looking better than ever.
Between bites, I look around, thinking about escape. I’m also thinking about his hand, still on the table where he left it. I make myself look away from it. The rooftop is ringed by a wide lip of black stone. Beyond that, there are other rooftops, some higher, some lower, all woven together by canopies and bridges. It's an aerial city, each platform a part of the larger network. Movement on the other platforms is minimal, just a few figures in drab armor. The platforms weren’t visible from the ground.
I follow the line of the wall, looking for weaknesses. None. The walls are too high to scale from below, too smooth to climb without gear. I look for escape routes, a way to jump from one roof to another, but the gaps are wide. Rythar could probably jump it. I've seen him move. A human couldn't. The only access is the staircase we used, and I know better than to think it's unguarded.
As I scan the horizon, the jungle no longer looks like a monster waiting to eat me. It’s beautiful, like the way we used to have parks topside on New Terra. But it’s so much more than that. And much less dangerous—as long as I stay with Rythar.
The food may not be a bribe, but the sleep, the bath, the full stomach, and the lack of pain are all making me feel better than I have in years.
Rythar speaks. “Eat more.” It’s more of a reminder than a command.
I look up. “You can’t expect me to eat as much as you do,” I protest. But I reach for a different type of protein and take a hesitant bite. It’s salty and tender. Savory and pleasant.
He leans forward. “You are thinking very hard. Not about food. Do you have an answer to my question?”
I swallow and shrug. “No. I’d rather find a way out.”
He smiles, just a little. “There is no way out.”
“What about a way in?”
“There is no way in without my permission,” he says, certain. His eyes flick to the jungle, then up to the sky.
I look away, up at the sky. Above us, the shield shimmers in the air. It’s almost invisible unless you know how to look for it. It’s a subtle distortion, like a heat mirage, running from the edge of the rooftop up into the clouds. From what I’ve seen of Xythean technology, it’ll be impenetrable. Even if New Terra sent a rescue team, they’d never get through—not on the ground through the jungle, and not through that shield in the sky. I’m stuck. The warmth fades, replaced by a chill.
If I’m not trying to escape and I’m not hoping for rescue, then what am I doing?
Everything I’ve done for years has been about survival, about getting back to a life I still recognized as mine.
That life is no longer waiting for me. And I don’t know who I am without it.
I turn back to him. There is a question sitting in my chest. It’s been sitting there since the bath, maybe since before that. If I am going to survive what is happening to me, I need to know the answer. "How are children raised here?"
He raises both eyebrows, the surprise clear on his face. “You ask a strange question.”
“I haven’t seen one child since I came here. I want to know what happens to them.” The words come out emotionless. “Are there any? Are they kept in a nursery? Are they trained for war?”
“Tell me the answer to my question, and I’ll answer yours,” he says, eyes leveled at me.
“No. Never mind. I don’t want to think about children, anyway,” I lie.
The corner of Rythar’s mouth quirks. “I changed my mind, too. It pleases me to discuss children with you. The Reach is an ideal location on Xytheos to raise children, though there are very few born. Some of the other biomes are difficult environments for the young, so I host them here.”
“You raise them?” I say, stunned.
“No. They are raised by the parents, of course. The mother and father. Together.”
This revelation is almost as shocking. “You mean, as a family?”
He nods. “There is nothing more important. The bond is not just for mating. It is for all of life. The children born in the Reach are raised in small homes in the jungle, away from the fortress. Most become warriors, but they may choose their path. Our children will be raised in the fortress, of course, but we will also have a small home in the jungle.”
My mind races to reconcile this. The idea of raising a child in a place like this, sheltered but also wild and free, sounds… almost good. Having alien babies goes against everything I was ever taught. I’m starting to wonder if maybe I was taught wrong.
Rythar’s hands are scarred and massive. Could they hold a baby tenderly? Would he want to? The image almost makes me laugh. But I don’t. Instead, I watch him watch me, waiting for the next move.
