The soldier assigned to guard Jaysynn’s bunker was Sgt. Elrik. The young Emperor, in his usual fashion, had become something of a friend to the former Select. Unlike most of the other magic-users Jaysynn knew, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Like Dracon, who possessed great political power but did not lord it over his inferiors, Elrik thought himself equal with his fellow Thyrians. The loss of his abilities had been a shock, but he had adjusted to his new normality fairly well by comparison.
Jaysynn was about to put that rapport to its greatest test.
As Jaysynn, clad in casual clothes and carrying a full backpack, opened the door, he greeted the young soldier heartily. Elrik, who was standing at attention next to the door, acknowledged him respectfully.
“I have a favor to ask you,” said Jaysynn.
Elrik turned to him, looking puzzled. “My Emperor—”
“Please call me ‘Jaysynn.’”
It took a second for that to sink in. “Jaysynn, what favor could I possibly do for you?”
Despite the soldier’s acquiescence, Jaysynn hesitated to ask. “I would like to go for a walk by myself on the surface. Will you let me do that?”
“But General Dracon has given me explicit orders to guard you.”
“He doesn’t need to know. I’ll be back long before he comes to see me in the morning.”
“He’ll have my head for neglecting my orders.”
“I’m the Emperor, so I think my word carries a little more weight. Plus, we need all the soldiers we can get, so I doubt you’d get discharged right now.”
Elrik sighed. “How long?”
“Just a few hours.”
“Are you sure you can handle yourself?”
“You may not know this, but Dracon trained me himself. I’m more than capable of defending myself.”
“Just do better than you did earlier today,” Elrik said with a laugh.
“Thanks,” replied Jaysynn, laughing too. “I owe you one.”
“Think nothing of it, My Em—Jaysynn.”
With that, Jaysynn flew down the subway tunnel like a bird freed from a cage. He pulled a light stick from his backpack to illuminate his path, but only kept it on for short periods to preserve its battery. Since it did not run on magic, he had no idea how long it would last, especially from frequent use the whole week. Once he was in earshot of the entrance and saw the moonlight pouring in from above ground, he stopped. Checking to make sure nobody was around, he opened his backpack and produced his hooded sweatshirt, which he had stuffed inside. He unrolled it and slipped it over his shirt, pulling the hood over his head and face. Under the sweatshirt were bags of food and medicine that Jaysynn had scavenged from the bunker during the week. The medicine was given to him, but he doubted anyone would notice their absence. If they did, he would tell them he had taken them.
He zipped the backpack and slung it onto his back. He slunk down the tunnel, always watching for any bystanders. I can’t afford to be seen. Not now. Thankfully, the tunnel remained empty. Had the Underdwellers moved out? That wouldn’t surprise me. A lot of people have left the city. Not even a scurrying rat could be heard, although the musty air was still filled with their foul odor. That was not a good sign, although Jaysynn mused how it was a dishonor that even Thyrian rats had given up on the city.
He came to the entrance and quietly ascended the stairs. Peeking out to scan the street, he saw it was clear, so he ran into the nearest alley. There he climbed a fire escape, reached the roof, and started tracing.
For a little more than an hour, he ran through the dark city, leaping from rooftops, scaling walls, jumping over cars. The moon was nearly full, so Jaysynn had little trouble navigating the obstacles. But the cityscape had changed. He might as well have been on another planet. Debris blocked his paths. Buildings he had once climbed lay in ruins. Tracing, though, had taught him to improvise and find new routes, so he never stopped for long. He did his best to stay on the roofs and avoid disturbing the people. The Cataclysm already had them on edge; no need to aggravate that by sneaking around like a prowler.
I just hope they still meet at the secret places…if they’re still standing. He would soon find out.
Judging by the moon’s position in the sky, it was nearly midnight.
Jaysynn soon realized he was in Barathrum’s Slums, the “bad part” of the city. The unusually strong stench told him this. Here the poorest of the poor lived and worked. The streets were filthy and the buildings rotted, and the people often matched. No one from the Palace ever ventured there during their parades. It had, in many ways, been forgotten. But not by him. Ironically, the Slums had been spared the devastation wrought on the more opulent parts of Thyrion because of its distance from the Great Well. It seemed Dracon was right: everyone truly was equal now.
He jumped from one building to a shorter one, rolling to a stop. It’s still standing. Before the Cataclysm, this building had been a whorehouse. Now it seemed empty. All the better, he thought. I always felt…dirty coming here. It was necessary, though. The neediest people could be found here. Now to see if anyone is here.
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