Читать книгу Scars of Iron - Ivy G. Shadrick - Страница 4

Humankind has conquered all that had identified us as a species. Does the title of ‘human’ even fit our current state of existence?

As our society stands, we may never be capable of comprehending true human nature, for all thirst for knowledge has ceased.

Are we now lesser beings for our loss of imperfection?

Have we become more like the gods of the Mortalis Era? Or are we now closer to the ants of the earth, content in their small and insignificant lives?

We have nothing to fear. There is no need for more than we have and there is no worry about tomorrow.

There is no one word in our current language for the feeling of sheer perfection in life and the complete emptiness in which it brings.

-A.A public entry

[DELETED]

I caked a layer of powder over the thick, jagged scar stretching from the nape of my neck to the base of my jaw. And as I stood from my vanity, I scowled at the image and headed for my front door. Pulling on a thin grey sweater and boots, I stepped into the crisp morning air.

A small self-driving transport appeared in front of my house, and I confirmed on my handpin that it was what I had ordered. I pulled the door of the carrier open, instead of waiting for it to open on its own. And I slipped in.

“Lithiah Everette?” the robotic voice of the transport asked.

“Yes,” I replied, my words quiet and tired, “to The Honey-Baked, please.”

The carrier rolled forward and started down the street. I kept my gaze fixed out the window and watched as the new-rising sun lit up Sehver.

I checked to see how much longer I had until arrival and heaved a deep breath, lifting my handpin and checking the news. The holograms materialized in front of me and allowed me to scroll through numerous trivial headlines.

Crown Prince, Axameum Aeronius, visits Talimere. One title read. It was the only headline that piqued my interest, so I clicked on it.

Another hologram popped up, and I started to read the article mindlessly. No pictures of the prince appeared, but a birds-eye view photo of the Queen’s palace in Talimere adorned the first slide.

There were never any interesting news stories, but the Queen allowed the journalists to continue to write. One of the many useless jobs available.

Then the transport slowed to a stop, and I lifted my eyes to the dark grey and pale yellow sign that read The Honey-Baked. Shoving my silver card against the panel on the door of the carrier, I switched off the news article and stepped out. I pulled my sweater over my chest again, gripping the thin fabric and fighting to absorb more warmth into my skin.

The front door of the bakery swung open and I announced myself to the system, “Lithiah Everette, here for the morning shift. Hours: seven to three.”

“Welcome, Miss Everette,” the bakery’s system droned.

The lights rose from a dim glow to full brightness, and I walked over to the counter. The baked goods sat on their warming plates, ready for the first customers of the day.

I tied my long dark hair into a knot at the top of my head and pulled the sanitation gloves over my hands.

A high-pitched ring sounded through the building, and my eyes flicked up to the door. A school-aged girl stepped inside, offering me a slight dip of her chin as she strode toward the counter.

“What can I help you with?” I said, trying to make the rehearsed words sound as kind as possible.

“I’ll have one breakfast roll,” she said as pressed her finger against the glass and pointed to a small loaf of bread with melted cheese on top.

I grabbed the one she had gestured to and placed it in a light brown bag, setting it on the silver sliding tray.

“That’ll be two credits. Will you be paying with your silver card or blood verification?” I asked.

“Blood,” she stuck out her wrist and placed it over the scanning panel on the counter. Three small beeps sounded, the girl grabbed her food from the slider and went on her way.

The hours dragged on, and I slowly lost any small amount of energy I had possessed before coming to the bakery. Five credits an hour was not nearly enough for the amount of boredom in this job. But I couldn’t complain because the extra credits allowed me to be able to afford small luxuries and more than the allotted transport rides.

“Lithiah,” a voice sounded, Ecah’s. “It’s three. You can go home, I’ll take over from here.”

I grabbed my handbag and checked out for the day.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” I nodded at Ecah, his deep brown skin, glowing in the afternoon light. He offered me a small smile, and I left, ordering another carrier on my handpin.

“Lithiah Everette?” the transport asked.

“Yes, number twenty-seven Reignidle Road, please.”

The carrier started on its way, and as I sat silently in the back, I lifted my handpin again and continued the article I had started earlier that morning.

The person came to my door in the middle of the night, only three heavy knocks to sound out their arrival. I slowly pulled open my front door to reveal a towering figure, their face hidden in the shadows of a cloak.

My stomach churned as we stood there, thick silence filling the space between us.

The figure stepped forward and sent my heart racing. I scanned the mass of darkness, the only point of remark, a golden clasp engraved with an owl.

My body trembled and the balmy night air didn't soothe my shaking as the person rasped, “You are to break, in a world without brokenness, but you will shatter the earth as you do.” The voice was deep and rough, and very masculine in its pitch.

The figure shoved a book into my hands and left without another word, disappearing into the darkness.

The book’s decrepit leather cover had golden depictions of the Mortalis Era etched deep into its face. No title adorned the front, and as I inspected the small book my hand reached up to the back of my neck, and I brushed my fingers across the scar that sat there. I slammed my front door as if I could block out the image of the figure standing there.

An entire day, I awaited the stranger's return, my wandering thoughts tormenting my restless dreams.

Despair filled my heart until the entirety of my essence was in jeopardy of fading from the darkness and fear within me.

I sat at my kitchen table, gripping a thick blanket around my shoulders. And I rocked myself back and forth, struggling to fight back more tears.

My will power crumbled, and as my soul began to dissolve into complete emptiness, I yielded. And as I read the first page, I shuddered because, in it, a book written over a century ago was my name, “Aria Anekhire.”

I threw the book into the floor and made no move to pick it up. Then I dropped to my knees and wept.

All I had ever done to stay alive had been destroyed.

And my breaths were ragged as I sobbed, tears streaming from my eyes and falling to the ground. Shoulders shaking and knees stinging on the icy tile, I slammed my fists against the floor.

The blanket had fallen beside me, and I did not reach for the warmth as my tears continued to spill to the ground. My back ached, and my knuckles had become bloodied with the repeated impact against the tile.

The blood from my hands mixed with the tears still streaming down my face. And I reached beside me for the blanket, clutching it tight around my shoulders again.

Rising to my feet and regaining my composure, I knew that I was no longer safe. I knew that my life had flipped upside down, and I promised myself that I would be the one to end up with the power.

I heaved a final deep sigh and headed to my bedroom. Curling into a tight ball on my side, I finally fell asleep.