Estranged

Challenge Accepted

Gringe and Aliyah finally reached the roof. The messenger brought them to the central railings at the roof’s edge, flanked on either side by the start of two entwining flights of stairs that winded down across the Ministry’s facade to the quad.

“Do you see, sir?” the messenger pointed into the distance, his breaths still ragged.

Gringe had noticed as soon as they’d stepped onto the roof. An army swarmed towards them, merely a block away, its procession loud enough to feel like the earth rumbled lowly. Hundreds of them—bordering on a thousand—made a beeline for the Ministry, wielding knives, guns, machetes, and clad in a motley of distinct colours that marked their different factions. Ambling by in the midst of the mob was a motorcade of six grand vehicles, exotic and flashy in their own right. They were put to shame though by the gently humming airbus that hovered some meters above the six vehicles.

“Jonas…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Go now. And do just as I’ve said.”

Jonas saluted resolutely, before scampering back into the building.

It was just him and Aliyah now. Gringe hesitated to look at her, unsure whether she would heed the order he was about to give. Nonetheless, he steeled himself, turning to tell her—

“You need me to leave, right?”

He underestimated how much she understood him. “Yes,” he replied. “And the farther away, the better.”

She nodded, turning back towards the approaching army.

Gringe followed her gaze, not surprised to see that it held on the second most advanced of the six vehicles. Branded across the face of the car’s hood was a blue flame—Lady Synthë’s emblem.

Aliyah gripped his forearm loosely, bidding him farewell with a teasing smile and, “Don’t die, Cringe.” She turned and departed without waiting for a reply.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he whispered back, but she was already gone. He was alone on the roof; a man and his few score guards bracing themselves against the behemoths of the District.

***

The Seven and their army had finally arrived. Eerily quiet, they cramped every inch of the quad below save the central driveway where the six vehicles were parked. The Ministry’s guards stood their ground, weapons still aimed into the sea of enemies below. And also above, at the airbus that floated in a spot, a mere twenty meters from where Gringe waited on the roof. Its thrusters, jets of pale blue fire that hissed with a slow burn, were the only sound in the cloudy morning. The air was tense, like a taut bowstring waiting to snap.

A loud, high-pitched squeal like a mic’s audio feedback erupted from nowhere. Gringe winced. The airbus approached him gently. Another squeal blared from its speakers and then came a hearty voice. “Greetings, District Head Gringe. You delight in being in conversation with yours truly, Serevus Stitch. District Head, my master and I happened upon a most comical circular that drove the district abuzz last week. Now, I too am rather fond of jokes, Mister Gringe. They hearten the mind and lift the soul, if only for a moment. And no matter how far the joker goes, they can always come back to say ‘it was only a joke’.”

Gringe heard feet drumming up the stairs towards him.

Serevus continued, “And thus, we are gathered here today, to ask if the circular—released by your office, signed in your name—about RoseField and the Seven and unmitigated wrath was just that: a joke.”

The footsteps grew closer until two hulking shapes emerged from either of the two stairs; a giant of a man and a giantess of a woman, armed to the teeth, their faces concealed by black masks. The man carried a box with him, reaching into it as he neared Gringe.

Gringe had to suppress his fighter’s instinct, forcing himself to not react at the man’s proximity.

The man drew out a wireless microphone, stretching it out to the District Head with a grunt.

Gringe accepted the microphone and stared back out at the airbus. He took his time to look straight at the airbus as he answered, “No, Serevus, it was no joke,” after which he returned the mic to the box and casually awaited their reply.

Serevus sighed. “Well, that just wouldn’t do now, would it? It means there is much…talking to do; an understanding we must come to.” A whistle came next.

It was the last thing Gringe heard.

***

Pain stung his face, rousing him back to consciousness. He reacted on instinct, opening his eyes and catching the next strike before it landed. Clutched in his fist was the wrist of a large figure that huddled over him.

“Get up, it’s time.” It was one of the mask-wearing duo from the rooftop, the woman.

Identifying her triggered a flood of memories in Gringe: why and how he came to be in this situation, and what he had to do to ensure he made it out alive. He focused on his surroundings, trying to get what bearings he could. He lay on the cold, tiled floor of a gloomy room. An ache bloomed in his left temple. He touched it and met a tender lump. He doubted he would be receiving any treatment soon.

“I said, up.”

Gringe pulled himself to his feet, gathering himself as his vision swam for a moment. He was allowed no time to though, as a large hand grabbed him by his upper arm and yanked him forward. She dragged him a few steps then stopped before a door. It slid open with a hiss, unleashing a flash of blinding light into which they stepped.

His eyes adjusted quickly. They were in a hexagonal room. Half of the six walls were clear glass screens. Through them, far in the distance, he saw the sun shining bright and high above a carpet of clouds.

If they were over cloud level then there was only one place they could—

“Welcome to Eyrie Towers, District Head. Please, sit.”