Page 42 of Ashes of Honor

Hand in hand, we walked through a barren camp as one. As Lilia—she’d been present. Imprisoned. Dry, gold and green overgrown grass tickled my exposed ankles. The surrounding air was filled with smoke and the undeniable scent of sickness. Chaos ensued around us as people were shoved, pushed through what I could only presume was a workers’ camp. There were no soldiers, only guards.

Crack.

The sound of a whip blistered my ears. A screeching, inhuman scream followed. I turned my head. A man covered the battered, beaten body of a teenager. His hands were covered in soot and ash as he coughed up blood. He pleaded with the guard, voice hoarse, desperate. Begging for more time. Swearing they could continue. That they just needed a moment.

His pleads went unanswered as the boy was pulled to his feet and dragged away. As Lilia’s eyes, as our heads turned, we took in more of the camp. The edges of it were lined with metal cages as far as the eye could see. Behind them, sloppily constructed buildings made of earth, the only light filtering through from small windows no longer than a foot, one on each side.

The man clambered and stumbled after the guards only to be met with a sharp jab to the jaw. He fell, hands clutching at the side of his face. The lower portion of his jaw hung, unattached from the upper portion.

The scene changed. We passed through a side alleyway of tents in pristine condition. The flaps lay open on a few and here was where the horrors unfolded. Women and children alike were strapped to metal chairs, the leather bounding their arms in place containing them from fighting back against the injections placed intravenously into their wrists. Vials of blue and green bubbled in the background.

Suddenly, we were on our ass. A snapping, fresh Pansie was led out of one of the tents. The teenager from the previous vision. His skin was chapped and gray, his dark hair patchy, revealing the pointed tips of his ears that were hidden before. He yanked, tugged as the guards fought to guide him through the tight alleyway, but his newfound strength was unmatched. We watched in horror as he tore free.

His movements were a blur—fast, animalistic. An alarm sounded and the vision flickered, shifting from night to day before finally going out.

My study surrounded us once more. Lilia’s grip on my hand had the blood rushing to other parts of our body. The cold touch and tingling sensation of our hands asleep from however long we were stuck in Lilia’s head jarring. I was drained, my eyes closing as I sat up straight. One glance at the others and I knew they were near their limit but our work was not done. They wouldn’t stop until it was.

Lilia’s dark hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, strands plastered to the curve of her cheek. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pupils dilated, her entire frame shaking with tension as if on the brink of collapse. Guy sat rigid, his unshakable composure fractured. His jaw was clenched tight enough that the muscles twitched, hands trembling against his knees. A deep crease carved between his brows, and though he swallowed hard, he said nothing. Aileen was frozen, lips parted slightly, as if caught mid-gasp. Her eyes jumped between us, rapid and unsettled, working to grasp the meaning of what we’d witnessed—what it meant

My own hands curled into fists, nails pressing into my palms to keep me grounded. My throat was dry.

But we weren’t done. We wouldn’t be until we had answers.

“Are you okay to continue?” I asked, Lilia’s dark hair plastered in sweat against her face. “I saw a flicker briefly. I believe that you have more to share.”

Lilia drew herself together, wiping a trembling hand across her forehead. “I’m okay.” Her next pause came with a bit more strength. “This is for our people, right? Good people.”

“Yes, honey,” Aileen answered though her hazel eyes wandered to me. The nonverbal questioning ifshewas truly in the shape to continue with our efforts.

“But we want to make sure that you are okay too,” Guy added, the sincerity behind his words not matching the hesitation in his eyes. “This is a lot for any mind, let alone a young one.”

We all wanted to go on. Were desperate to. This was the most information we’d been presented since we started digging months ago. Things that could only be told through the eyes of someone who had experienced it firsthand thanks to Ronan’s tech.

“I’ve lived through worse,” Lilia said, ominously. Haze took over my clouding eyes, her vision sucking us back in.

We walked the cold, misted streets of a pristine city. This was the present or the future. I wasn’t quite sure. The only thing damning my assumption that it was The Before was Covert’s propaganda, plastered across the brick and stone facades of the buildings lining the street. A green-and-white sign hung from a fully functioning streetlight, swaying slightly in the breeze. Bank Street.

People stood on both sides, black sedans passing through the nearly silent streets. Though the area was full of people, no one spoke. Dark, heavy bags were apparent underneath their eyes. Exhaustion could not fully encapsulate the state they were in. Some sported suits, while others wore dilapidated clothing. Clean, but clearly worn past the point of acceptable in The Before. The streetlights were on. The hum of HVAC units filled the air, an invisible current wrapping around us.

Electricity. The coal stained hands. It all made sense now. Ronan was mining. Though he may have aimed for a sense of new-normalcy in his territory, the defeated faces of his citizens warned he faced the danger of rebellion, if only given the chance.

The vision flickered again, and then, I saw Alexiares and Riley. Arguing in the streets in front of the capitol building, buttheir words were unintelligible from the distance I stood. Wild, curly hair sneaked into the building behind them. They were distracted, no longer paying attention to her with their focus on whatever they were discussing. She glanced back at them, sorrow and regret displayed across her soft features. With a deep breath, she stepped inside and went fully out of view.

I glanced down, trying to figure out who I was watching this through. I saw a teenager reflected there—long, dark hair falling in unkempt strands, a gaunt face framed by hollow, haunted eyes. The ragged boots I ‘wore’ took one step, then two steps forward, following close behind her.

Another flicker and we were inside. I peered around the corner of a dimly lit long, narrow hallway. Amaia and Ronan’s voices could be heard arguing from the other side of a door. A ripple of energy passed through the hallway—a shield settling into place. Not the kind we used in battle, but one of air, subtle and almost imperceptible, yet unmistakable in its intent.

Flicker.

Chaos. Running. Screaming. My heart-rate picked up, this time, I felt it as my own. Terrified of what I was about to watch unfold.

Flicker.

Amaia and I were face-to-face. Hopelessness soured her expression as her fire raged around her.

“Stay close to me,” a voice said. The voice of the girl, whoever we were lurking through the eyes of.

The world around us erupted, and then went black.

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