Chapter 9
The Golden City
John arrives in the dazzling, sprawling cities of the Golds. The stark contrast between their luxury and the Reds' suffering fuels his resolve.
The transport hissed, a mechanical sigh of relief as its momentum bled away. I braced myself, the rough weave of my borrowed tunic scratching against my skin, a constant, irritating reminder of the charade I was living. Outside the reinforced viewport, a city bloomed, not of metal and rock like the warrens below, but of light and impossible grace. This was the Golden City, the jewel in the crown of their opulent world, and it was everything the Reds had been denied, everything they bled for.
Lyra had overseen my transformation with a grim satisfaction. My hands, once calloused and stained with the ingrained grime of Helium-3 extraction, were now smooth, my nails filed to a neat, unblemished curve. My face, etched with the hardships of subterranean life, had been subtly reshaped, features softened, the harsh lines of hunger and despair smoothed away. Even my voice had been trained, its rough edges smoothed, its cadence modulated to mimic the lilting tones of the Golds. They called me Kaelen now, a name as foreign and hollow as the persona I wore.
The transport door slid open, revealing a panorama that stole my breath, even the carefully constructed calm I’d cultivated. Towers of polished obsidian and shimmering crystal pierced a sky so impossibly blue it hurt the eyes. Waterfalls cascaded down impossible heights, not of murky, recycled mine water, but of pure, sparkling liquid, feeding lush gardens that spilled over balconies and terraces. The air, oh, the air! It was clean, sweet, carrying the scent of blossoms and something else… something akin to freedom. It was a stark, brutal slap in the face.
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