Nico leaned over the counter of the boarding house. “We’ll take a room for two nights. On the first floor, no room service.”

“One bed or two?”

“Two.”

“Where are you from?”

“Oxver…”

As Nico talked with the concierge, I looked around. The boarding house was one of the only buildings outside of the city’s walls, which were visible through the windows and cast a deep shadow over the inn. The lobby was plain, with a small fireplace surrounded by wicker furniture. The chairs were filled with a family of four, who were playing a game with a deck of checkered cards I didn’t recognize.

Two keys clattered onto the counter as the concierge accepted Nico’s payment. He assigned us to our room with a wave of a hand, then turned back to his paperwork.

Our room was on the first floor, facing away from the city. As we passed through the hall, Nico grasped my shoulder and brought his mouth to my ear. “Be careful what you say inside,” he whispered. I nodded, hoping that his warning was just a precaution.

The room was simple but clean, with two small beds, a bathroom, and a microwave. Two sliding doors opened to a patio in the back. I appraised it appreciatively–the amenities far exceeded those of my apartment in Karakul. Nico had explained that we were able to stay in the inn because travel was more common in the southern regions, where the impact of war was much lesser than in the border and industrial cities.

We stepped back outside to drag the bike to the side of the boarding house. It had run out of gas about half a mile from the city, and the chain had begun to run choppily. “I’ll need to trade it for something when we go inside the walls,” Nico said as he tied it to the patio.

I resisted the urge to comment on his familiarity with the route and pulled the saddlebags off the bike. When I was finished, I stood on the patio and took a few deep breaths. I could see the road we’d taken down the hill, as well as the wheat fields in the distance. It was evening, and the moon illuminated Westborren’s natural beauty.

It had been a long day of travel. My arms and neck were sunburned, and I was covered in dirt from the spray of the motorcycle. Blood had soaked through the bandages on my ribs, and I felt as stiff as a marionette. Before showering, I downed a couple biscuits and drank my fill from the tap.

“I’m going to bed,” I called to Nico.

“Okay,” he said from outside. “I’ll be a while. I’m going to plan our trip into the city tomorrow.”

***

I woke up to a warm sunrise over the wheatfields. Nico was lying on the ground, fiddling with the bike in the doorway. He was soaked in grease and a dark liquid. Near his arm, the radio played the day’s news. Between the waves of static, a reporter was discussing Amberasta’s newest campaign: the bombardment of Solokia’s walls. The army had yet to break through, but the reporter seemed to think that victory was imminent.

Nico flicked off the radio as an ad ran for the Amberastan Army. “Good morning,” I yawned. He grunted in return. I refilled his canteen, and he downed the water in one one drought. “How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“A couple of hours,” he said. “It’s useless, I think the chain’s no good.” I nodded, then leaned back on the doorframe and watched as he worked. When the sun hit him just right, the scars under his left eye and at his fingertips lit up with a silvery sheen. He still seemed tense, but I imagined that his curtness toward me had lessened slightly.

“The gates open at eight o’clock,” he said from under the bike. “They close around five, so we’ll have nearly nine hours in the city.”

“I’ll pack a bag for us,” I said, retreating back into the room. I pulled on jeans and an old grey t-shirt, brushed my hair until each tangle disappeared, then let it down to cover the bandages on my shoulders. I glanced in the mirror. I looked the same―too thin, with limp blonde hair―but I felt different, and my eyes seemed to shine. The further from Karakul we traveled, the more confident I became.

My stomach grumbled, snapping me out of my reverie. I hope we’ll be able to get breakfast in Westborren.

***

A large group already pooled in front of the gates. There were several farmers with horse-drawn carts of wheat and corn, waiting to sell their goods in the city, reminiscent of the local vendors in Historical Amberasta.

I turned to Nico, leaning in to make myself heard above the babble. “Do the residents here get their food locally?”

“Yes. All the commercial farms in this area are required to support Keon’s army, so the residents get their goods from small farms. That’s how they circumvent Keon’s rations.”

I glanced around again. Sure enough, the people in the crowd seemed healthier than the citizens of Karakul. Their hair was long and full, and their skin was unpitted. “I had no idea that there was a place like this in Amberasta,” I whispered to Nico.

He moved closer. “It’s not as perfect as you think. You’ll see when we get inside.” Almost reflexively, he adjusted the cap over his dark hair.

With a grinding sound, the gates began to open. I watched in awe as the sun glanced off the newly revealed city. It was spectacular in its disorganization–historical architecture was interwoven with modern buildings and lean-tos, all spilling over each other. The houses were befitting of a village, with small balconies and slanted shingle roofs.

The crowd pushed forward, moving as one until it began to disperse in the main square of the town. Shouts filled the air as the farmers began to set up their stands. Customers were quick to rush forward, jumping at the opportunity to feed their families. Others entered the shops, banks, and apothecaries. I looked around eagerly. To my right, a clothing store leaned against a general store the color of terracotta, and a vendor stood near a six-foot tall cage of messenger birds.

Suddenly, a delicious smell wafted through the air. A large wooden sign that read ‘The Golden Grain’ hung over a nearby doorway. To my left, a waiter pushed through a pair of double doors and into an outdoor seating area. I peered at the tables curiously, seeing plates piled with rich food I didn’t recognize.

“Wow,” I breathed.

“Let’s go,” Nico said, surprising me.

“Is it safe?”

He glanced at the tables. They were occupied by all a manner of people, with skin tones varying from deep brown to as pale as porcelain. They spoke with strange, unfamiliar dialects, and it was obvious that they weren’t from Westborren. “We’ll fit right in,” Nico said. “Westborren has always been a hub for travelers.”

***

I stared at the pile of food with wide eyes. There was a golden biscuit with a dab of butter, a spoonful of honey, and a bowl of grits. It smelled heavenly. I licked the honey off of the spoon, exclaiming as the flavor burst over my tongue. From across the table, Nico pulled down his mask to eat. He smiled slightly as he offered me half of a round pastry.

“What is this?”

“It’s a pancake. Don’t eat it too fast, or you’ll get a stomachache,” he warned. “You’re not accustomed to food this rich.” I nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the plate. Around me, I saw the morning sun glinting off of the buildings and heard the sound of warm conversation.

The city itself seemed to glow–a little paradise in a hellish country.