Suddenly, he heard the door behind him open. His hand shot for his knife as he looked over his shoulder.

A tall, powerful silhouette stood in the doorway. Was it one of the guards? If it was, he made no moves to apprehend him. For several long seconds, he just stood there, silent. It was then the figure started to look familiar to Jaysynn. No, it’s my mind playing tricks on me.

His doubt was dashed when the figure spoke.

“I thought you would be here, Jaysynn.”

“Dracon?” replied the young Emperor, easing and easing his hand from his knife. He shined the rod on the figure, illuminating a black Army field uniform. Four small brass thunderbolt ribbons gleamed in the light.

“Yes, it is I,” Dracon finally replied.

By now, Jaysynn had raised his light to the general’s face. The man’s expression was stony and grim, with perhaps a twinge of sadness.

“How’d you know I would be here?” asked Jaysynn.

Dracon dropped his gaze briefly. “I know you too well, Jaysynn. I knew you would want to discover the truth and that you would not wait. What surprises me is how easily you were able to sneak into this place. I have trained you well.”

“Did you tell the guards I was here?”

“No. I told them I was here for a document I need for a briefing tomorrow.”

Jaysynn was surprised. “Thank you.”

“What have you learned?” Dracon asked coldly, closing the door.

Jaysynn turned back to the document he was holding, shining his light on it. “There was something called ‘Project: Godfire’ conducted in secret. A lot of the info here is blacked out, but it seems like it was started about a year ago and had something to do with the Heart of Thyrion.” He flipped to the next page, and his eyes widened. “I can’t read it all, but it looks like this was about manipulating the magic in some way. Maybe they destroyed the Great Well. I wonder if my father started this.”

“The fool knew nothing about it,” shot Dracon, his voice suddenly full of anger.

Shocked, Jaysynn stood, glancing back at the general and shining his light on Dracon’s scowling face. “How do you know?”

Dracon huffed. “Because I started the project.”

Jaysynn’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

The general slowly walked toward him. “I headed the project and it was spearheaded by members of the military elite and the aristocracy, both Select and common.”

Jaysynn grit his teeth. “And you never told me?”

“I wanted to include you, but the others…they did not know if you could be trusted. I have begun to agree with them.”

“Why?” Jaysynn demanded.

The general, now within a few paces of Jaysynn, stopped. Indignant anger swelled on his face, and he barely held it back. “Our goal was to dethrone your father.”

Jaysynn was petrified. The light rod and papers nearly slipped from his hands. “That…can’t be true.”

“The empire was in decline. Your father’s blunder in sending your brother to re-conquer Remirion was sending shockwaves through our territories. Their defiance and victories told other cities that we could be defeated. Uprisings sprang up everywhere. When we expanded into new lands, resistance was fiercer. And they forced us to fall back. They even defeated Select Ops teams. Your father—no, your family—was a disgrace to the Thyrian Empire. In two decades they were destroying what had been built in five centuries.”

“But you are bound by honor to serve and obey the Emperor!”

“Yes, but I am a patriot. My first duty is to the empire. I could not sit by and watch your father handle it like a clumsy child does a toy.”

Jaysynn flung the papers to the floor. “I didn’t like my family any more than you did, but…you shouldn’t have kept me in the dark.”

“And what would you have done if had told you?” asked Dracon accusatively.

“I…I…don’t know.”

“Precisely. You haven’t the stomach for such things.”

“Well, I hope you’re happy!” shot Jaysynn, pointing at Dracon. “Thanks to your project, I’ve inherited an empire in ruins!”

Dracon sighed. “The cause of the Cataclysm is still unknown. We never intended to cause a disaster. And you were never supposed to be made Emperor.”

Jaysynn clenched his fists. “And why not?” he asked, indignant.

Dracon’s voice was the coldest it had ever sounded: “Because you lack the courage or the will to do what is necessary.”

Shock, grief, and anger mingled within Jaysynn, creating an emotional thunderstorm. His brother’s last words to him echoed in his mind. You are unworthy of the Kyzer name! You who were born untouched by magic! You who have remained in the Palace out of mother and father’s pity! You are no brother of mine!

“How can you say that?” he finally asked.

“This week has shown me your weakness. The burden of the crown is crushing your brow. While I never expected you to inherit the throne, I had hoped my training would make you strong enough to be an Emperor, but it seems my hope was in vain.”

Jaysynn looked away in shame. The general’s words pierced his very soul. He closed his eyes to dam the oncoming tears.

“It is time Thyrion had a new leader, one who will stop this downward spiral and suck out the poison in the city’s veins. The age of Emperors has ended.” Dracon paused. “Forgive me, Jaysynn, for what I must do.”

Suddenly, Jaysynn sensed an attack and reflexively lunged sideways. He rolled to his feet and looked back, horrifed.

Dracon glared at him, holding a combat knife.

“No! Don’t do this!”

Dracon said nothing and attacked.

Jaysynn dodged the general’s knife-thrust, then several slashes that hissed through the air. The young man had the speed advantage, but Dracon was a seasoned warrior. The general made sure to stand between him and the door. If I can just get out of here…! Jaysynn thought.

The Emperor jumped onto the desk, but Dracon kicked it, tripping him. Jaysynn slammed into the desk. He barely rolled out of the way to avoid a downward stab. Stumbling to his feet, he unsheathed his own knife and snapped to a combative pose. They glared at each other for a second. The general’s cold eyes drilled holes into Jaysynn’s head. The young man glanced to his right, catching the door in the corner of his eye, and then back at Dracon. The desk was in his way. He sidestepped toward the desk and sprang over it. Two strides later, a rolling chair—undoubtedly kicked by Dracon—sideswiped him. He fell over it and hit the floor. Dracon’s silhouette lunged for him. Jaysynn rolled out of the way and sprang to his feet.

Jaysynn, fearing he would trip while running again, sheathed his knife. Dracon seized the moment to attack. The Emperor lunged back to dodge the slashes. Dracon made the mistake of repeating the same attack too often, so Jaysynn intercepted his backhanded slash with a swift roundhouse kick, disarming the general. Righting himself, the young man launched several punches at Dracon’s chest and head, but it was almost like hitting a brick wall. The general would not go down.

Dracon caught Jaysynn’s fist, fell back, and tossed him headfirst toward the window using the young man’s own momentum. Jaysynn was barely able to stand before Dracon lunged at him, fists flying. The Emperor blocked or parried each attack, but the barrage slowly pushed him backward until he was almost leaning against the cold glass. Adrenaline flooded his veins, focusing his mind. He deflected a punch and retaliated with a hard kick to Dracon’s gut. The general staggered back, but only briefly. Suddenly, he pounced at Jaysynn. His palms slammed against the young man’s chest. The force of the impact launched him back.

Glass shattered.

Jaysynn suddenly found himself falling amidst sharp shards gleaming in the moonlight.

The Hall of Records’ face rushed upward. Wind hissed in his ears.

His eyes met Dracon’s as he fell. For a fraction of a second, he saw remorse in the general’s face. Jaysynn’s hand reached toward him as the general seemed to rush into the distance.

A thud.

Darkness.

Chapter 9: Betrayal

The Hall of Records still stood tall and proud, like a wounded Thyrian soldier too stubborn to fall. It was not far from the Emperor’s Palace in the newer government district, which is what saved it from devastation. Not that it was undamaged. Even in the pale moonlight, Jaysynn could see that the nondescript five-story building was scarred from exploding wires, its windows shattered. Even so, Dracon had made sure to have a few soldiers guarding the place at all times. It housed Thyrion’s history and countless government records. While it was probably unlikely any Thyrians would attack it, caution was still advised.

This might be a good test of the security, thought Jaysynn, surveying the scene from the roof of the building next door. If I can sneak in, who’s to say someone else couldn’t? Then we’d all be in trouble. He sighed. But it’s not like I can just walk over there and ask them to let me in. They’d report it to Dracon, and then he’d never let me leave the bunker. I’ll have to sneak in there. But how?

The building he stood on was the same height, but the Hall was too far to jump across the gap between them. Jaysynn knew he would have to get to the Hall’s top floor, which was where all the secret government records were kept. It was locked at all times, but Jaysynn, being the Emperor, had a master key. The soldiers’ patrol was thorough, and the moonlight would not conceal him. He could try jumping for a window, but he would risk wounding himself on the broken glass and making noise.

I’m running out of time and options, thought Jaysynn.

Then he looked to his right and saw his way in—a power line. Though frayed, it still clung to both buildings. Jaysynn’s eyes followed the cable from this building to the Hall. It was fastened to the corner near a fifth story window.

It’ll do, he thought.

He slunk to the corner. He gripped and twisted the cable to test its strength. I’m light enough that it should support me. He did not want to think about what would happen if it could not. So, clutching the cable with both gloved hands, he slowly leaned over the edge, the gray streets four stories below. Then he let his body drop from the rooftop and, in one quick motion, wrapped his legs around the cable, hooking his knees over it.

He glanced down at the guards. They had not seen or heard him. His gaze returned to the now upside down Hall.

Better hurry before the blood rushes to my head.

Hand over hand, he slowly pulled himself across the cable. His hood dangled under his head, catching the sweat that dripped from his forehead. He tried not to look down unless it was to check on the guards, not because he was afraid of heights but because he did not want to break his concentration. His thundering heart beating against his ribs and his burning limbs already fought to distract him. But the Hall inched closer.

Jaysynn’s muscles ached. Many days of near inactivity and the aggressive tracing he had done tonight had weakened them. His unhealed injuries only exacerbated the pain. Jaysynn bit his lower lip to swallow his grunts. I can’t let the guards hear me! I’m a sitting duck up here!

Minutes passed like hours. They slowed with the increase of Jaysynn’s fatigue. Lightheaded. Vision blurring. Focus! Fight through it! He crawled ahead with screaming muscles. He was within two body lengths. Just a little further!

His hand touched a wall. Jaysynn shook his head to regain his bearings. I made it! He glanced down and saw an open window, or rather, a window with shattered glass. He would have to hope his gloves were thick enough to protect his hands.

He took a deep breath as he uncoiled his legs from the cable. Fire coursed through his arms. Fighting the pain, he quickly switched his hands so he spun around. He threw his legs back and forth to build some momentum and let go of the cable. He dropped toward the window. His feet missed the sill—but his hands gripped it, vice-like. The razor edges of the glass dug into his gloves without penetrating them. Jaysynn swallowed grunts as he pulled himself up and crawled through the window. Glass crunched under his body as he fell to the floor.

For a few minutes, he lay there panting, letting his muscles rest. He listened for the soldiers below, but their faint footfalls were still outside. So, he slowly and carefully stood up, brushing glass shards from his clothes.

That was one of the closer calls I’ve had.

The corridor was dark, but Jaysynn knew his way around since he had visited this place several times with Dracon. Walking a short distance down the hall, he came to an unmarked door. He removed his backpack, unzipped it, and produced the master key, which he plunged into the lock and opened the door. With that, he tossed the key back into his backpack and then pulled out a light rod. He bent the thing and it glowed orange-red. He was careful to cover it when he walked past the windows to avoid attracting attention.

He slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. He stuffed his light rod into his backpack and surveyed the large room in the moonlight pouring through the window. Every important document was stored in the filing cabinets lining the entire room, except for the wall to his right where a large window overlooked the city. The answers he sought would be in one of those cabinets.

For the next hour, with the light rod gripped in his teeth, Jaysynn rummaged through the file cabinets, searching, reading, studying. It was not aimless, though. The file cabinets were organized into groups and subjects, so he started with secret military operations, of which there were many. His father had sent many advance scouts to infiltrate neighboring cities to prepare them for conquest, among other things. But even there he could find no mention of the “Whispers.” Why? He had heard stories growing up about past Emperors having a black ops team at their command who answered only to them, but since neither his father nor Dracon had told him such things, he figured it was a tall tale. Did they not officially exist?

Next, based on a hunch, he went to the section for the Heart of Thyrion. Jaysynn knew the explosion that devastated the city originated from the Great Well and figured that he might find answers in those documents. He was almost afraid to look, though. The officers at the crater seemed to speak of something clandestine happening there. Did his father know about this? Did Dracon? No, they couldn’t have. One or both of them would’ve stopped it, especially if it threatened the city. The idea of the Cataclysm being manmade was both comforting and terrifying. Who’s to say someone won’t figure out how to replicate this and destroy another city? That is, if the other cities haven’t been destroyed already. The officers said the destruction stretched beyond our borders. Why is this being kept from me?

Jaysynn shoved such thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. He thumbed through the documents, looking for anything suspicious. There were blueprints for new magic-harvesting technologies, scientific papers stolen from Jalseion theorizing about the nature of magic, a map of the underground rivers and surface wells of magic on the entire continent. These were important documents, but hardly world-shattering. Do they point to something bigger?

Then he was jolted as he found a document covered with blocks of black ink, and his fingers froze. He pulled out the folder and grabbed the light rod from his mouth. Whole paragraphs had disappeared in the black voids. The few that were visible provided no explanation. In fact, what Jaysynn could read seemed to be borderline gibberish. Was it codespeak?

He replaced the folder and looked at the next one. It, too, was covered with blacked out paragraphs. So was the next one—and the next and the next. Each one seemed to have more than the previous. What is this? He scoured the documents for any clues, hoping against hope that something had been left uncovered. Then he saw words that seemed to jump off the page and grab him, words that so puzzled and shocked him that he reflexively read them aloud:

“Project: Godfire.”

1 week ago…

The foils’ whistles and clinks echoed through the gymnasium. Two fencers dressed in full gear performed the deadly dance. They were Shar and Bulon, princes of Thyrion, and their siblings cheered them from the benches.They had risen early for this duel.

Jaysynn watched from just outside the door with his arms crossed, glaring.

Shar had the upper hand, like always. At least a dozen times he could have ended the duel with the wide openings Bulon gave him. Had he missed them? No, thought Jaysynn. Shar is toying with Bulon.

The duel dragged on. Bulon’s movements slowed while Shar’s seemed to quicken, as if he was sucking the life out of his brother like a parasite. Now the younger brother could barely swing his foil. Jaysynn thought he could hear Bulon’s heavy breathing all the way from where he stood. Sweat so drenched Bulon’s white uniform that it was turning a light gray. The cheers grew louder.

Finally, Shar swatted Bulon’s foil away and thrust his in the other prince’s chest. The duel was over. Bulon fell to his knees. His brothers and sisters shouted Shar’s name.

Jaysynn grit his teeth.

The eldest prince removed his mesh helmet and, holding it and his foil, raised both hands overhead. “Is there no one who can defeat me?”

As if on cue, Jaysynn shouted, “I can!”

Silence.

His siblings looked at him as he marched toward them. Jaysynn smiled at their shock. He stepped onto the dueling strip, picked up the foil Bulon had dropped, and looked at Shar, who was now smirking.

“So, you’ve come back for another whipping,” said Shar, laughing. “Didn’t you learn your lesson back then?”

Jaysynn clenched the foil tighter. “Seven years is a long time. A lot of things have changed.”

“Yes,” replied Shar. “I’ve gotten better.”

Jaysynn huffed. “Then prove it.” He whipped the foil.

“You’re better than you were last time, but not much bigger.”

“Size doesn’t matter.”

Shar snickered, shaking his head. “Quoting philosophy doesn’t win battles.”

“Then shut up and fight!”

The foil hissed through the air as Jaysynn swung it at Shar. The elder prince, startled, jumped back, dropping his helmet. Jaysynn did not relent—he thrust at his brother with ferocious speed. Shar barely raised his foil in time to parry the attacks. The younger prince forced him back. Shar did not know what to do. Jaysynn caught worried and shocked expressions from their siblings on the sideline.

Shar regained his composure and went on the offensive. He refused to take another step back and pushed back at Jaysynn with quick thrusts. The younger brother dodged and parried them with ease, but his retaliatory strikes were evaded.

I’ve gotten better, Jaysynn thought. I am Shar’s equal.

The two exchanged blows for over a minute until Jaysynn noticed Shar was slowing. But Jaysynn refrained from finishing him. Now Shar was the one being toyed with! Jaysynn smiled triumphantly.

Finally, Jaysynn thought, Let’s end this!

Time seemed to slow. Jaysynn bent his elbow slightly, bringing the foil back, and then it shot for his brother’s chest. But Shar’s grip on his foil tightened. Fire suddenly flashed from his hand as his glove burst into flames. His foil shot out to intercept Jaysynn’s weapon—and cut through it.

The younger prince’s eyes widened. He super-heated his foil to slice through mine!

Before the shock could fully sink in, Shar kicked Jaysynn in the stomach, launching him to the ground. With another kick, he swatted the broken foil from Jaysynn’s hand.

“How dare you insult me with this duel!” shouted Shar, thrusting his foil an inch from Jaysynn’s face. “I am heir to the Thyrian throne, the divinely appointed successor to my father! I am one of Elthor’s chosen Select, gifted with a portion of his power!” Jaysynn grimaced as Shar stabbed the blunted foil into his chest. “I will not be beaten by the likes of you! You are unworthy of the Kyzer name! You who were born untouched by magic! You who have remained in the Palace out of mother and father’s pity! You are no brother of mine!”

A growl shot through Shar’s throat and he threw aside his foil. It slid across the floor. Shar turned away from Jaysynn, his face covered with his hands, and walked away. His siblings immediately surrounded him, asking if he was injured or depressed. They did not even look at Jaysynn.

Tears swelled in the youngest prince’s eyes. He swallowed sobs. Still they ignored him.

Jaysynn shot to his feet and flew out of the gym. He ran through the halls at full speed, only looking ahead, dodging servants until he reached his room. He slammed the door behind him and locked it. His dark green hoodie lay on his bed, so he grabbed it and slipped it on.

Now his tears flowed.

Jaysynn threw open his window and climbed out into the early morning twilight, not caring if anyone saw him.

Thirty minutes later, the Cataclysm happened.

1 year ago…

Jaysynn was at his usual perch. The late afternoon sun bathed Thyrion in yellow-red light. Trumpet blasts mingled with obligatory cheers resounded in the streets. The prince caught glimpses of crowds lining the streets leading to the Palace. A squad of uniformed guards blockaded the gate. Downstairs, he heard the muffled commotion of his family and the servants scrambling to make last-minute arrangements to impress the reporters, photographers, and gossip columnists. But Jaysynn wanted nothing to do with it.

Shar was coming home.

At first when he heard his brother—and Dracon—was coming home, he thought about watching it from a rooftop and tracing his way back home. But not only would he risk being spotted and possibly shot on sight as a perceived assassin, he simply did not want anything to do with this façade. This warm welcome was nothing but a mask.

The war was lost, he thought. But even in defeat, my brother does no wrong. He clenched white-knuckled fists and forced himself not to punch through the window. At least Dracon is coming home, too. Should I tell him about my nightly “strolls”? Would he understand?

He debated this internally, as if daydreaming, as he watched the parade slowly march toward the Palace, but his mind’s scales never tipped to either side for long.

Finally, he saw the procession round a corner onto Imperial Avenue, the cheers getting closer and louder. His brother, once again, rode a white horse surrounded by four soldiers on motorcycles and rovers. A squad of soldiers carrying the Thyrian flag marched before and behind them. Shar wore an artificial smile as he waved at the crowds from horseback. Sometimes he even blew kisses to the young women. As they reached the gate, Jaysynn saw that one of the soldiers on the motorcycles was Dracon, whose smile was just as sketched on.

The first troop of soldiers marched past the gate, which was opened to welcome the prince and the general. The two stopped in front of the gate, dismounted their respective rides, and strode through the gate escorted by several soldiers.

I better get downstairs, thought Jaysynn. Mother and father will expect me to be there to welcome Shar home personally. He huffed at the thought.

He swiftly ran out of his room, through the hallway, and down the stairs. The elevator was easier, but he preferred the stairs. They were faster and more fun.

In no time he joined his family, who had crowded around the front door in the grand hall. They were smiling, but Jaysynn saw through their phoniness. They wore masks for the public to see. The Emperor often said that a smile could make people forget failures faster.

They had been wearing these phony smiles a lot lately.

So, Jaysynn put his “mask” on, too.

The big door opened. Shar, Dracon, and their escorts, all wearing green Thyrian Army field uniforms, entered. The guards were first, followed by Dracon, whose smile instantly morphed into a scowl once inside. Shar, appearing to be in good spirits and almost silhouetted against the flaring flashbulbs, waved at the reporters who bombarded him with questions. He gave a few quick answers, but finished by saying, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see my family. Two years is a long time to go without them. Goodbye!” As he closed the door, trying not to slam it, his smile melted into an angry grimace.

The Kyzer royal family dropped their masks.

Jaysynn’s siblings gave Shar a wide berth as he stomped forward. Jaysynn, however, reluctantly extended a hand to his brother. “I’m sorry you—” Shar shoved him out of the way without even looking at him. He walked toward the Emperor and Empress, who welcomed him with open arms and showered him with praise. With their arms on the heir’s slumped shoulders, they walked away from the crowd. One by one, the rest of them left, leaving only Jaysynn and Dracon.

The general stood with his arms crossed, staring blankly.

Jaysynn wanted to say something, but everything went without saying. What question could I ask that would lead him to explain it better?

Then in a low voice, still staring, Dracon said, “The son is as great a fool as his father. The Emperor was stupid to appoint him as leader of that campaign. He had no real combat experience or competence. His bad tactics and poor leadership cost us the war. I lost too many good men because he treated everything like a game. The glory he sought was dashed against the rocks, yet his father dresses the boy’s failure up in a faux glory. They are disgraces to Thyrion. Their arrogance will destroy the empire.”

Dracon seemed to be saying this to Jaysynn, yet he did not make eye contact with him. Is he talking to himself? To no one? To someone else?

The general uncrossed his arms and hardened his face. “Something must be done to stop this.” He slowly turned aside and walked away.

Jaysynn, alone, stretched his hand out to the general, but a strange paralysis overran him. It’s like he didn’t even know I was there. Has he forgotten me, too, now?

Just then, he heard voices coming from the alley. He rushed to the building’s ledge. Two stories below were about a dozen people holding short candles. Their dirty, rag-like clothes were barely visible in the candlelight. Those not holding candles sat on the ground against the graffiti-stained wall. They all spoke in hushed tones, but Jaysynn heard a few things they said.

“He’s not coming. He hasn’t come for a week. We’re wasting our time,” a man said to a woman sitting next to him, presumably his wife.

She, on the other hand, refused to share his pessimism. “He’s probably been displaced by the Cataclysm, just like all of us.”

“Or he’s dead,” interjected another man.

Jaysynn smiled and stood to his full height. “No, he’s not!” he bellowed in a deeper voice.

The small crowd looked up in joyous shock. Those sitting instantly shot to their feet.

“It’s him! The Watchman!” a woman exclaimed.

“Yes,” replied Jaysynn, keeping his voice disguised, “I barely survived the Cataclysm myself, but I couldn’t forget my fellow Thyrians in their darkest hour.”

“Thank Elthor!” exclaimed another woman.

Jaysynn whipped off his backpack, laid it in front of himself, and bent down to unzip it. “I have medicine and food. What does everyone need?”

For the next twenty minutes, Jaysynn distributed his stash among the crowd by tossing it down to them. The medicine was first. He had painkillers and first-aid kits. The former were given to a mother for her injured son, a man for his headache-plagued wife, and an old woman with arthritis. The bread was divided evenly among them all.

Once his backpack was empty, the people rushed out of the alley with smiles on their faces. A young mother declared that she would tell her sons that their favorite hero, the Watchman, had returned and given them these gifts.

Jaysynn smiled under the cover of his hood. These seem like such small gestures, but sometimes the smallest acts have the biggest impact.

The alley appeared to be clear, so Jaysynn put his backpack on. Now to get to the Hall of Records. He turned to start running.

“Hey, stranger!” called a familiar woman’s voice.

Jaysynn froze, his heart skipping a beat. “Kyrie?” he blurted. He looked down in the alley.

Rounding the corner was a young blonde woman wearing jeans and a green blouse. She looked at him with wide blue eyes, grinning.

“Kyrie!” exclaimed Jaysynn.

“In the flesh.”

Jaysynn jumped over the wall, gripping the edge, and dropped to the ground below. He reflexively pulled his hood over his face. Kyrie walked toward him, but he gestured for her to stay a few feet away.

“I…I was worried you were, well, dead since I hadn’t heard from you since the Cataclysm,” said Jaysynn.

“My family and I barely survived. We’d moved out here a few weeks ago to stay with family. Thank Elthor we did. I’ve heard our old neighborhood was leveled in the blast.”

“I’m glad to hear everyone is okay.”

“I’m glad you’re alive. People thought I was crazy for thinking you survived, but I knew better. I knew there was no way you’d let yourself get killed.”

Jaysynn was glad it was dark because it hid his blush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You know, my dad still thinks you’re an urban legend. I’ve been telling him for three years that I got my job as a baker because of you, but he doesn’t believe me. He says I have too active of an imagination. I’m sure he thinks I have a crush on you like half of my girlfriends. Of course, you helped them, too.”

“I help everyone.”

“I know, and we’re all grateful.”

“So, what will you and your family do now?”

Kyrie hung her head. “There’s nothing for us here now, so we’re going to leave. There’s a man—a smuggler with an incredible bus that somehow runs on steam. He’s agreed to drive us out of the city and take us somewhere safe.”

“I’m not sure anywhere is safe,” replied Jaysynn, the disguise eroding in his voice. “There’s nothing the Cataclysm hasn’t touched, it seems.”

“Maybe, but anywhere is better than here. Many people can’t find a way to leave. We were lucky. This man is an old friend of my dad. I think they were Army buddies.”

Jaysynn bowed his head briefly. “Then may Elthor make your paths straight.” He turned to run.

“Wait!” called Kyrie.

Jaysynn stopped and peered over his shoulder.

“You could come with us,” she said.

Jaysynn shook his head. “I have too much work to still do here.”

Kyrie wilted. “I understand.”

Jaysynn looked away, but before he could make a stride, she asked him another question.

“Before you go, could I…could I see your face?”

Jaysynn hung his head. I wish I could, but that’s too much of a risk. If anyone found out I was the Watchman…

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Kyrie sighed, but it sounded like a thinly veiled sob. “I just…wanted to know who my family and I owed our lives to. So much has changed for us—so much has changed for me, especially in the last week. You’re…the only one I thought would believe us.”

Jaysynn huffed quietly. It sounds like she really needs someone to talk to, but I don’t have time. I need to finish my investigation quickly. Dawn will come soon, and the people will need their Emperor.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to confide in me, but….” He paused to take a deep breath. “I need to go. I have urgent business at the Hall of Records.”

“Goodbye,” she said, her tone indicating she did not know what else to say.

“Farewell.”

With that, he climbed a service ladder to the roof and began his long run to the Hall of Records, although it was with a heavy heart.

The soldier assigned to guard Jaysynn’s bunker was Sgt. Elrik. The young Emperor, in his usual fashion, had become something of a friend to the former Select. Unlike most of the other magic-users Jaysynn knew, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Like Dracon, who possessed great political power but did not lord it over his inferiors, Elrik thought himself equal with his fellow Thyrians. The loss of his abilities had been a shock, but he had adjusted to his new normality fairly well by comparison.

Jaysynn was about to put that rapport to its greatest test.

As Jaysynn, clad in casual clothes and carrying a full backpack, opened the door, he greeted the young soldier heartily. Elrik, who was standing at attention next to the door, acknowledged him respectfully.

“I have a favor to ask you,” said Jaysynn.

Elrik turned to him, looking puzzled. “My Emperor—”

“Please call me ‘Jaysynn.’”

It took a second for that to sink in. “Jaysynn, what favor could I possibly do for you?”

Despite the soldier’s acquiescence, Jaysynn hesitated to ask. “I would like to go for a walk by myself on the surface. Will you let me do that?”

“But General Dracon has given me explicit orders to guard you.”

“He doesn’t need to know. I’ll be back long before he comes to see me in the morning.”

“He’ll have my head for neglecting my orders.”

“I’m the Emperor, so I think my word carries a little more weight. Plus, we need all the soldiers we can get, so I doubt you’d get discharged right now.”

Elrik sighed. “How long?”

“Just a few hours.”

“Are you sure you can handle yourself?”

“You may not know this, but Dracon trained me himself. I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

“Just do better than you did earlier today,” Elrik said with a laugh.

“Thanks,” replied Jaysynn, laughing too. “I owe you one.”

“Think nothing of it, My Em—Jaysynn.”

With that, Jaysynn flew down the subway tunnel like a bird freed from a cage. He pulled a light stick from his backpack to illuminate his path, but only kept it on for short periods to preserve its battery. Since it did not run on magic, he had no idea how long it would last, especially from frequent use the whole week. Once he was in earshot of the entrance and saw the moonlight pouring in from above ground, he stopped. Checking to make sure nobody was around, he opened his backpack and produced his hooded sweatshirt, which he had stuffed inside. He unrolled it and slipped it over his shirt, pulling the hood over his head and face. Under the sweatshirt were bags of food and medicine that Jaysynn had scavenged from the bunker during the week. The medicine was given to him, but he doubted anyone would notice their absence. If they did, he would tell them he had taken them.

He zipped the backpack and slung it onto his back. He slunk down the tunnel, always watching for any bystanders. I can’t afford to be seen. Not now. Thankfully, the tunnel remained empty. Had the Underdwellers moved out? That wouldn’t surprise me. A lot of people have left the city. Not even a scurrying rat could be heard, although the musty air was still filled with their foul odor. That was not a good sign, although Jaysynn mused how it was a dishonor that even Thyrian rats had given up on the city.

He came to the entrance and quietly ascended the stairs. Peeking out to scan the street, he saw it was clear, so he ran into the nearest alley. There he climbed a fire escape, reached the roof, and started tracing.

For a little more than an hour, he ran through the dark city, leaping from rooftops, scaling walls, jumping over cars. The moon was nearly full, so Jaysynn had little trouble navigating the obstacles. But the cityscape had changed. He might as well have been on another planet. Debris blocked his paths. Buildings he had once climbed lay in ruins. Tracing, though, had taught him to improvise and find new routes, so he never stopped for long. He did his best to stay on the roofs and avoid disturbing the people. The Cataclysm already had them on edge; no need to aggravate that by sneaking around like a prowler.

I just hope they still meet at the secret places…if they’re still standing. He would soon find out.

Judging by the moon’s position in the sky, it was nearly midnight.

Jaysynn soon realized he was in Barathrum’s Slums, the “bad part” of the city. The unusually strong stench told him this. Here the poorest of the poor lived and worked. The streets were filthy and the buildings rotted, and the people often matched. No one from the Palace ever ventured there during their parades. It had, in many ways, been forgotten. But not by him. Ironically, the Slums had been spared the devastation wrought on the more opulent parts of Thyrion because of its distance from the Great Well. It seemed Dracon was right: everyone truly was equal now.

He jumped from one building to a shorter one, rolling to a stop. It’s still standing. Before the Cataclysm, this building had been a whorehouse. Now it seemed empty. All the better, he thought. I always felt…dirty coming here. It was necessary, though. The neediest people could be found here. Now to see if anyone is here.

“You cannot wander off for that long!” said Dracon, who did not seem to care who he was addressing now. “You’re not a lowly prince anymore. You’re the Emperor. This is wartime and a crisis. You cannot afford to be reckless.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jaysynn, burdened by the scolding.

It had been like this since they returned to the bunker after he had climbed out of the crater. Dracon had refrained from chastising him while they were still in public so they could avoid losing face with the soldiers and citizens. Their already fragile, if not shattered, morale had to be maintained. But Jaysynn’s transgression could not be ignored. So, no sooner were they back in the bunker did Dracon unload one verbal barrage after another on him.

“I trained you better than this. Dammit, your royal upbringing should have taught you better.”

Jaysynn’s face crinkled as he swallowed his anger. “I get it.”

Dracon pressed a button to activate the light stick, which had been their only illumination the entire week. It would not turn on, so he smacked it in frustration until it did.

The Tinkerer’s batteries must be drained, thought Jaysynn.

The general laid the light on the table and continued his lecture. “Your father was a fool. I had hoped you were the only one of his offspring who didn’t inherit that foolishness,” he said, pointing at Jaysynn.

Dracon’s face was full of annoyance. No, more than annoyance—disappointment. I hate being a disappointment, Jaysynn thought.

“Now get out of that suit so I can have it cleaned. You embarrassed the throne enough walking home in it.”

Dejected, Jaysynn started changing clothes. At least he could wear his more comfortable clothes now.

Would this be a good time to bring up what I heard from those officers? he wondered while he was changing. I didn’t want to say anything in the open in case anyone overheard. I don’t know how deep this conspiracy goes. I can trust Dracon. He’s a hard man, but he would never betray Thyrion.

As he finished changing, he took a deep breath to summon courage. Then he said, “Xander.” He never used Dracon’s first name unless it was truly important. He respected the man too much.

The general glared at him in the dim light, waiting for Jaysynn to prove this was worthy of addressing him as such.

He hesitated only briefly. “While I was in the crater, I overheard something.”

Dracon looked at him sideways. “What do you mean?”

Jaysynn recounted what the Thyrian officers had discussed. Dracon listened intently, his face masked by gruff composure.

“Do you know anything about this?” Jaysynn finally asked him.

The general crossed his arms, his expression unchanging. “I have heard reports like those, but I dismissed them as rumors and hearsay. In all this chaos, it’s difficult to know what is true.”

“You’re confident of the intelligence you shared with me at the crater.”

“Because that came from my most trusted men. Who said these things?”

“I couldn’t see their faces.”

“There were several officers present at the crater. I will speak with them.”

“Is that a good idea? If they’ve kidnapped a Jalseian Engineer, they may kill her if they think we’re suspicious. We can’t afford to have any trouble with our neighbors right now.”

Dracon nodded once. “You’re right. Then I will investigate the matter quietly.”

Jaysynn grinned to hide his disappointment. I’d hoped he’d investigate it immediately. He dared not voice that, so he simply said, “Thank you, Dracon.”

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have to meet with the other officers.”

The young Emperor dismissed him with a gesture.

Dracon bowed slightly and departed.

Jaysynn sat in the chair next to the table. He huffed. I need to find out what’s going on. Dracon’s too busy. If the conspirators did something that led to the Cataclysm…I need to find out. I owe it to the people of Thyrion.

Then it’s settled. I’m going to the Hall of Records tonight.

He sighed, relieved and feeling triumphant. And now to get some thanks from the girl. He sheathed his knife, turned, and offered a hand to the girl. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, taking his hand. He pulled her to her feet. “Thank you.”

Jaysynn stepped back both to keep his face hidden and because the girl reeked of cheap perfume. “Don’t worry. That’s all the thanks I want.”

She closed her eyes to fight back tears.

Now, despite his royal upbringing, the prince was unsure what to say, but he ventured, “A girl like you shouldn’t…sell herself like a piece of meat.”

“I don’t have a choice,” she replied, wiping away tears.

“But…prostitution? I can’t believe such an undignified thing exists in Thyrion.”

“Where have you been?” shot the girl in agitated surprise. “Lots of women have had to do this. One of my friends joined the Ladies of the Night Club and got me into it. She said you could make lots of money really fast. So, she gave me these clothes and I started walking the streets. It took me three hours before I could get any men to…approach me.”

“But why?”

“My father was a soldier, but now he’s crippled, and my mother is too sick to work. We need money and fast. I’m the oldest. I had to do something since my brothers and sisters are too young to work. They’re starving. They can’t wait.”

Jaysynn hung his head. Now words did fail him. I should leave before…. He glanced at the girl. Strong for someone this young, yet forced to sacrifice her Thyrian pride. If only I–wait!

He dashed to his backpack and picked it up.

“What’s that?” asked the girl.

Jaysynn unzipped it, pulled out the bag of bread, and held it out to her. “Take these and share them with your family.”

The girl looked befuddled.

“I insist. They’re a few hours old and were flattened during my run, but I promise you they’re still tasty.”

The girl apprehensively took the bread. “I’ve never seen bread that looked this good,” she said, examining the loaves. “It looks like it should be from the Palace.”

Jaysynn smiled.

“Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome, miss.”

Suddenly smiling, the girl giggled. “My name’s Kyrie.”

“Then you’re welcome, Kyrie.”

She giggled again.

“I can get you a job. A good job. You won’t have to sell yourself.”

“You can? Where?”

Jaysynn replayed his run in his head, digging for any potential workplaces. “Isn’t there a bakery on Evergreen Street a few blocks from here? We could try there first.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, if you want.”

Kyrie’s jaw dropped. “I…I don’t know what to say. Why would you do this for me?”

Jaysynn hesitated to answer. Why am I doing this?

After a brief pause, he finally said, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Kyrie wiped away more tears. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to not be treated like I’m invisible. I just wish someone could do this for all the other women I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Emperor, that—” She mouthed a filthy profanity. “Doesn’t he know how many women have been widowed because of him and his constant wars and conquests? Some of them are only a few years older than me! Without husbands to take care of them, they’re desperate for food and money. Some of them have children to feed. They don’t know what to do.” She harrumphed. “I have friends who had to watch their husbands leave during his stupid parade for Prince Shar, afraid they won’t come home.”

Jaysynn felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. A righteous indignation welled up inside him. Father has truly sacrificed the people for his own glory.

Kyrie composed herself. “I need to get home,” she said, stepping forward and stumbling. She kicked off her high-heels and picked them up. “If only to get out of these horrible clothes.”

She ran past Jaysynn, but then stopped and looked back at him. “You never showed me your face.”

“I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Fair enough. But who are you?”

Jaysynn paused. “A friend.”

Kyrie looked disappointed, but smiled anyway. “I’ll see you around.” With that, she ran down the alley and into the street.

Jaysynn walked up to the street, peered around the corner, and watched Kyrie to make sure she was not attacked by any more would-be “customers.” Once she rounded a corner a few blocks away, he slipped back into the alley.

He leaned against the wall and hung his head. My father is poisoning Thyrion’s soul. If only I could stop his wars. He pounded the brick wall. I can’t sit by and let the people suffer. I’d be no better than my family. What glory is there in war when it does this? He buried his face in his hands. After a few seconds of tortured silence, he raised his head. His eyes were full of fire. I can’t stop the war, but I can and will help the people on the streets.

For the next hour or two—he lost track of time—Jaysynn traced through the city. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop if he could to avoid being seen. Whenever the alleys were too wide to jump, he descended to the ground and ran through the nearly empty streets. A few people saw him, but they usually ignored him. Perhaps they thought he was a runaway or a criminal. He received some rare shouts, but was usually climbing a ladder or antenna tower to a rooftop before anyone could say anything.

Once or twice he had to avoid a lighted window as he climbed, but they were not a problem. However, he failed to avoid one that was to a boy’s bedroom, which Jaysynn learned when he heard the child excitedly shouting at his mother that he saw a man climbing the wall outside. Thankfully, the mother just told him to go to bed.

Jaysynn had forgotten how free tracing made him feel. No restrictions, no limits, no boundaries. Every fiber of his being screamed with exuberance even as his muscles burned and sweat stung his eyes. Alive. That was how he felt. Alive. Like he could touch the sky or conquer the world. This was what he was meant to do, who he was meant to be. His family could keep their magic powers. Their abilities had made them arrogant, selfish, and lazy. Could they experience the thrill of tracing? Could they see the city as he saw it now as a man battling against gravity and winning? Flight was rare even among Select.

Maybe I can fly, thought Jaysynn, but he laughed in his head at the thought.

Now Jaysynn could no longer hear his screaming muscles. A few blocks back, the delightful smell of fresh bread amid the stench stirred his hunger, so he rolled to a stop as he landed on the roof of a short building. This is probably an apartment complex, he thought. I hope no one’s awake enough to come see who’s stomping around on the roof. Stepping toward the building’s ledge, he pulled off his backpack and sat down, leaning against the short wall. He unzipped the backpack and produced his canteen and the bag of bread. Both were a little worse for wear: the canteen was dented in several spots and the bread had been squashed. Still edible, though. He brought the canteen to his mouth, pulled the tab with his teeth, and gladly swigged three mouthfuls of refreshing cool water.

He opened the bag of bread and was about to bite into it when he heard voices in the alley below. Three men and a woman. The woman, whose lyrical voice exuded innocence, sounded nervous. The men, however, sounded licentious, like wolves on the prowl. Jaysynn replaced his canteen and bread in his bag and peered over the wall, looking down.

Four figures stood at the back of the dead-end alley under a flickering lamp, whose light was so dirty it left smudges on Jaysynn’s eyes. The woman—so young she seemed barely out of girlhood—had long locks of tarnished gold for hair. Her face was painted with heavy make-up, like she was a doll. Her skin, whether tanned or grimy Jaysynn could not tell, was otherwise smooth. He could tell because she was showing much of it. She wore a low-cut leather blouse that bared her midriff and a miniskirt that barely concealed her underwear. She staggered in the mile-high-heel shoes. The men all wore grungy clothes and ravenous expressions.

“You brought us here to have a good time, right, babe?” said the tallest man, who seemed to be the leader.

The girl spoke as awkwardly as she walked. “Yes…but just one at a time. And…I need the money first.” Her eyes betrayed her disgust.

“You done this before?” asked one of the other men, incredulous.

“Yeah…all the time.” She tried to sound seductive. “I…like it dirty. Don’t you?”

One of the other men huffed. “Then why you talking like the virgin I shredded in bed last night?”

Fright crept onto her painted face. “I-I’m not a virgin…”

The tall man clutched her small shoulders, and she squealed in pain. “How ‘bout I see myself if you’ve been deflowered? Then maybe I’ll pay you extra for taking your virginity—or less because you don’t know how to shred properly? Then my buddies can have what’s left of you.”

“No fair!” they said.

“Shut up!” He tore at her blouse.

“No, please!” the girl shouted.

Jaysynn’s first instinct was to leave since what was coming would be ugly. Then like a bolt of his father’s lightning, a thought struck him: This is my chance to win glory in battle, like my brother! I can prove I’m as much a warrior as he is! The girl may even kiss me out of gratitude! Excitement coursed through Jaysynn, reinvigorating his muscles. Impulsively, he jumped over the ledge with his backpack in hand, dropping two stories and making a three-point landing on a dumpster with a crash. With his hood concealing his face, he looked up at the surprised dregs and shouted, “Get your filthy hands off her!”

“Kill him!” ordered the tall man.

His friends instantly rushed Jaysynn.

The prince sprang, flipping over the two men as they encroached. He landed, tossing his backpack aside, and charged at the leader. The girl squirmed from his grip. Four strides and, jumping, Jaysynn kicked the fiend in the chest, launching him into the wall, where he collapsed. The girl, frightened, fell to her hands and knees.

Jaysynn turned to face the others. “Stay behind me!” he commanded the girl, glancing over his shoulder and smiling.

The two men charged. With lightning speed, Jaysynn jumped at the wall, sprang off, and kicked one in the head, knocking him down as teeth and blood flew out of his opponent’s mouth. The last man he stopped dead in his tracks by punching him in the face. The man lurched back, crying in pain, with blood gushing from his broken nose. Shaking his head, he recovered enough to retaliate, but instantly found Jaysynn’s knife at his throat.

Jaysynn, keeping his face hidden under the hood, spoke with a voice full of heroic pride. “Leave now and I might forget to call the police. Otherwise…” He had no intention of killing them, but they did not know that.

His foe now had sweat mingling with the blood on his face. He nervously gestured to his friends. Jaysynn heard them stagger behind him. Only when they had walked behind the man he had at knifepoint did he lower his blade. Standing ramrod straight, Jaysynn glared at the three dregs until they disappeared around the corner.

A week later, Shar departed amidst a military parade. He wore the finest Thyrian army uniform while riding a white horse. Emperor Thorynn and the Thyrian Honor Guard, also riding horses, escorted him through the streets as the people watched. Rover trucks armed with magic-powered weapons cleared the way for the prince and his entourage. The people cheered. They threw white flowers along the road as he went, a gesture of blessing as old as Thyrion itself.

At least, that is what Jaysynn was told later by his siblings. He avoided the procession. Nobody expected him to be there, and he was not invited. That disappointed him more than anything else. He could handle Shar being sent off to “glorious battle;” he was, after all, the eldest son and the heir to the throne. Jaysynn was not even old enough to enlist in the Thyrian military. What disappointed him was that his family did not want him there.

So, he disappeared into his room high up in the south tower of the Emperor’s Palace, locking the door behind him. He plopped on his soft bed and silky blankets and hung his head.

Knock-knock.

The prince ignored it.

Knock-knock.

“What do you care! Go away!” snapped Jaysynn.

“Open the door or I’ll break it down,” shouted a familiar voice.

The prince gasped. “I’m sorry, Dracon.” He ran to the door and opened it.

There stood the general. He looked slightly annoyed, but it quickly faded. “I have little time before I leave with your brother. I just want you to know that I want you to keep practicing and training. You cannot let your skills erode. They are what separate you not only from the Select but also from the ordinary.”

Jaysynn harrumphed. “What does it matter? My father will never truly recognize me as his son.”

The general backhanded Jaysynn across the face. The young man stared at him in shock.

“After four years of training, I expected better from you,” scolded the general. “If you have let your arrogant family kill your pride, there is no hope for you.”

Jaysynn bowed his head. “My apologies, sir.”

Dracon grabbed the prince’s chin and raised his head until their eyes met. “I am your mentor, but a prince should never bow to his general.”

A small smile cracked Jaysynn’s face.

“You were born for greatness. Never forget that.”

Jaysynn nodded.

“I shall return,” said Dracon, shaking Jaysynn’s hand. “Goodbye.”

With that, he departed.

Jaysynn watched his brother’s parade snake its way through the streets of Thyrion and disappear.

Suddenly, the general’s words sounded hollow. There went his cavalier brother, the favored son, the heir to the throne, off to prove himself in battle. He would win glory for their father, their city, and, apparently, their god. But most importantly, for himself.

What makes him think he deserves any of it? thought Jaysynn. Just because he’s a Select? That he can manipulate fire? I worked for every little thing I have. He had everything handed to him. His fist pounded the window.

*     *    *

The Emperor’s Palace was silent at midnight. A day of festivities had left even the “night owls” of the royal progeny tired. Only a handful of servants hard at work and guards on patrol remained awake.

So was Jaysynn.

The prince locked his door and shut off his lights. Nobody would bother him now unless it was an emergency. Jaysynn usually did this to shut out his family and be alone. But tonight, he could not even stand being in the house he was not welcome in. In the pale moonlight, he quickly changed clothes, discarding his royal trappings in favor of black running shoes, dark green athletic pants, and a matching green hooded sweatshirt. Sitting on his dresser was the knife Dracon had given him. He grabbed it and strapped it to his waistband. Just in case I need it. Then he pulled a backpack from under his bed and put it on the mattress. He unzipped it and stuffed inside a full canteen and a paper bag with a few loaves of bread. With that, he closed the backpack, slung it onto his shoulders, and tiptoed to the window.

The half-moon peering down from sky, Jaysynn surveyed the courtyard two stories below. Two guards stood at the gate a few hundred yards away. He knew there would be at least one on the front portico, but he didn’t see others. He was close to the far corner of the Palace, so the guard at the portico probably would not notice him. The guards were looking for intruders, not for people leaving the Palace. Getting back in would be tricky, but he knew the patrol patterns. If he could get out, he was confident he would manage to get back in.

Now’s my chance, he thought, strapping on a pair of black gloves.

Jaysynn opened the window and closed the curtains. Then he slipped between the curtains, spun around, and gripped the marble sill. He glanced down one more time to make sure the courtyard was clear. It was.

No turning back now, he thought.

He let go of the sill and dropped.

An instant later, another window appeared in front of Jaysynn and he gripped its sill. This window belonged to a guest room on the floor below his room. He was glad it was unoccupied.

He made a quick sweep for more guards. None.

He dropped again. Hitting the ground, he tuck-and-rolled backward.

He checked again for the guards. He had not been spotted. But the guards on patrol were probably coming this way, so Jaysynn jogged toward the 10-foot tall fence that surrounded the Palace. The gaps between the bars were too narrow for him to squeeze through, but he knew this. After making one last check for guards and any bystanders on the other side, the prince jumped onto the fence and scaled it like a spider. He climbed over the peak with a quick jump and slid down the other side, landing quietly.

Jaysynn savored his accomplishment for a second. Then he dashed across the four-lane street and ran down the alleyway. He jumped onto a dumpster and from there grabbed the ladder on a fire escape and climbed. He reached the roof of the three-story building in about twenty seconds, hopping over the ledge.

Crouching, he breathed a sigh of relief. No alarm blared from the Palace. Guards were not barking orders or threats. I did it. I really did it! He could not help but laugh.

He stood and walked to the other side of the building. Before him was the city of Thyrion with its lights flashing and shining, its sleepless people’s voices blending in a hum-like noise. The chill night air nipped at Jaysynn’s face. A deluge of smells both sweet and foul invaded his nostrils. It was all an invitation.

I’ve never been in the city at night. How many nights have I sat at my window and wondered what happened at this hour? Now I can find out.

With that, he backed up, dashed toward the ledge, and leaped across the narrow alley to the next building.