The next morning, Zack woke to sunlight slicing through the gaps in the wooden hut. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around, but the spot where Eli usually slept was empty. A cold shiver ran down his spine. The unease from the night before came rushing back in full force. Where was he?

  An inner conflict flared up. Today was his trial day with the Wall Defence Force—his chance to escape this life, this city. But loyalty spoke louder. Eli would have done the same for him; of that he was certain. He couldn’t just abandon him. It was an agreement, an unwritten law of their friendship.

  He shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed the door latch, and burst outside. He sprinted through the narrow alleys, mud splashing up around him, his eyes scanning everything. To his surprise, he spotted Eli not far from their hut, sprawled out in the long, wet grass, morning dew clinging to his clothes. He’s sleeping, Zack realised. Relief and anger crashed into each other inside him.

  Zack marched over and gave him a hard kick in the side. “Where were you?!” he shouted, his voice rough with concern that quickly turned into frustration.

  Eli groaned, pried one eye open, and looked at Zack with a glazed stare. “With a lovely lady,” he mumbled, his words slurred by alcohol. It was obvious Eli was suffering from a brutal hangover. His eyes were bloodshot, and the stench of strong liquor clung to him. As Zack looked at him, the relief faded into the familiar irritation he always felt over Eli’s reckless behaviour.

  Zack’s annoyance was plain to see. He hauled Eli upright and fixed him with a hard stare. “Go home, Eli.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Dad,” Eli replied sarcastically as he wobbled on his feet. He rubbed his forehead and grinned, though his eyes remained red and exhausted.

  Zack didn’t give him another glance. He turned and ran as fast as he could towards the WDF building. The streets of District Fire were unusually crowded today, but he dodged people and carts with ease, his feet flying. This was his chance—his only chance. The thought burned through his mind. A way out of this foul city, out of this misery. He ran on, focused on the stone walls of the WDF headquarters as hope for a better life swelled in his chest.

  The sun was already high when Zack, breathless and soaked in sweat, pushed his way into the stone building of the Wall Defence Force. The cool, musty air inside was a sharp contrast to the heat of District Fire’s streets. A man with a hard expression stood behind the counter, looking him up and down.

  “Miller, you’re late,” he said, contempt clear in his voice.

  “Sorry!” Zack blurted out, hunching his shoulders apologetically.

  The man sighed and rolled his eyes. “From today on, you can call me Ronny. Come on. We’re going to see the boss.”

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  Zack followed Ronny down a long, dark corridor. Wooden panels lined the walls, broken every few metres by photographs and painted portraits. Zack noticed the names and inscriptions, but what struck him most were the dates: Born: 1215, Fallen: 1238 or Born: 1221, Fallen: 1245. These weren’t portraits of heroes, he realised with a jolt. They were all dead soldiers.

  Ronny’s voice cut through the silence. “There’s about an eighty per cent chance you’ll be on this wall within two years.”

  Zack swallowed, pressure tightening in his chest. Every lifeless gaze seemed to remind him of his fate. But the thought of Eli—of getting them both out of District Fire and away from this endless struggle—was stronger. He had to climb the ranks. He would end this. He would create a better life for them both.

  They emerged into a courtyard—a surprisingly green garden with a long stone staircase that vanished into the clouds, clearly leading up to the top of the massive Wall. Three figures stood in the centre, deep in conversation.

  Ronny pointed. “That guy with the afro there, that’s William.” The man was shorter than Ronny, with dark skin and a small black afro. He laughed awkwardly, scratched the back of his head, and glanced around nervously. “But as you can see, he’s busy. You’ll meet him later.”

  Zack’s gaze drifted to the other two. A much younger man with a glossy black bowl cut and a friendly smile caught his eye and gave a brief nod before returning to the conversation. The third was a young woman. Her back was to them, but her long black hair, reaching down to her lower back, drew his attention. She stood perfectly still, like a statue, staring up the staircase. What did this place mean to her?

  “We’re heading up the wall now to see how strong you are and which rank you qualify for,” Ronny said. He started up the steps, and without a word, Zack followed. The climb was heavy, but each step brought him closer to the top of the wall—and the truth waiting above.

  The sunlight reflected mercilessly off the stone steps, and the air began to shimmer. As Zack climbed higher, the heat grew more and more intense. The oxygen seemed to thin, every step heavier than the last. This wasn’t a normal climb; the heat was unbearable, scorching his skin. He panted, his chest burning with every breath.

  “How much further?” Zack rasped.

  Ronny, moving effortlessly, glanced back with a crooked smile. “This is the test, Miller. We’ll see how far you get.” And he kept going.

  It hit Zack like a splash of icy water—or the idea of one. He realised it suddenly: the WDF soldiers he’d seen in photographs wore special heat-resistant suits. This was the test. Not fighting an enemy, but battling the elements. Battling your own body. Ronny’s words echoed in his mind: this determines your rank. The pressure was crushing, but his determination burned hotter. He had to keep going—further than anyone else.

  Zack clenched his teeth and forced one foot in front of the other. His legs turned to lead, burning, shaking, screaming in protest. Breathing became almost impossible. The heat was no longer sweat—it felt like his skin was slowly melting.

  Just before the world went black, he heard a sharp female voice nearby. “Ronny! He’s about to pass out!”

  He was aware of the voice but couldn’t look up. His strength was completely gone; his body gave in. He heard Ronny’s voice somewhere far away, calm and indifferent. “Well, he got further than the average rookie.”

  Zack’s legs buckled and he fell. The world tilted. But instead of smashing into cold stone, he felt a soft, springy landing. His head rested on something warm and comfortable—so soft and pleasant that he instinctively stayed there.

  Then the female voice spoke again, much closer now. “Comfortable, are you?” The light, teasing tone was unmistakable.

  Zack opened his eyes, dazed and confused. He looked down and realised what his head had landed on. His hands were gripping something soft. He squeezed reflexively, as if to check whether it was real. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze travelling upwards… and then he saw.

  Large, rounded breasts, barely concealed.

  The realisation came with dreamlike delay—and then slammed into him. A wave of heat surged through his body, far hotter than the sun itself. His face burned crimson. He let go as if he’d touched fire.

  “Huuuuuh?!?!” he yelped, a sound somewhere between panic and total disbelief. Without waiting another second, he bolted up the stairs, his legs now driven by pure embarrassment, his shouted “SORRY!!!” echoing behind him as he vanished upward.

  If you’re still reading at this point—thank you.

  Chapter 3 will raise the stakes a lot. Feel free to comment, it really helps.

  What do you think of this chapter?