The first thing Arlin felt on the morning of his eighteenth birthday was a boot in his ribs.
A full and enthusiastic kick, committed by someone who clearly held no compassion for the current hour.
His instinct, beyond gasping for air, wasn't to cover his stomach but to reach for the intruder — grasping at nothing, which was precisely what his lungs were screaming for.
"Up!" Jumper squealed, his voice cracking with barely contained excitement.
Once Arlin determined from the pitch alone that his attacker wasn't a threat, he reached for his blanket — carelessly yanked from him — and rolled himself tighter within it.
Outside the narrow cut of his window, the sky blanketed the earth in a deep purple-black of very early morning. Arlin wasn't going to entertain Jumper's antics at this hour. It was unreasonable, and he intended to enjoy what remained of the night with full conviction.
The boot returned, catching his backside — less painful physically, but the quiet certainty that it would keep coming had Arlin release a sigh that could be mistaken for pain.
"Arlin!"
"Jumper, I will end you," he said, from somewhere under the covers.
"Happy birthday!" Jumper said, entirely unbothered. "Please get up, Arlin."
"I'm going back to sleep now," Arlin muttered — though his eyes had already lost their heaviness, and he realised, sadly, that he was now capable of obliging.
"Do that and you won't have breakfast," Jumper said, both hands now tugging at the material covering Arlin's face.
Arlin sat up, blanket still pulled to his neck, and rolled one leg out of the cot with the reluctance of a man conceding defeat. There was just enough light to see by, though it took his eyes a moment to settle.
Jumper took a step back and hopped on one foot, then switched to the other. He was fully dressed — boots tied, pack already on his back, hair unwashed and shaggy in a way that had saved him from ever having to address it. One eye rested behind an eyepatch; the other wore the ring of a restless night. His grin suggested he considered this a badge of honour.
Arlin worked up the courage to face the cold, stepping out of his cot and reaching for the box where his shoes lay, already laced.
"I should cut your hair—" he began, forcing his feet into them.
"Do that and I'll leave you in the desert," Jumper said.
"So we're leaving the sect." It sounded less like a question and more like another painful realisation — that the day would have longer hours than he'd hoped.
"Of course! That's where the best surprises are found." Jumper stretched one leg up behind him as though preparing to sprint. "Where are we going?"
"I've already told you."
Arlin thought for a moment. "Wait really, the desert?" He wasn't sure if he sounded perplexed or dramatic.
Jumper planted both feet on the floor. The grin returned in full — properly deployed this time, taking up most of his face.
"You'll see when we get there. Come on, I've been waiting for an hour."
"You've been waiting an hour — in my room?"
Arlin bit his own tongue on the last word.
"I sat outside for forty minutes," Jumper said. "Then it got cold."
"You Nugget," Arlin replied, tongue still smarting. "Your eyes have rings. That's not an hour's loss of sleep."
"It felt like forty minutes. Who cares?"
Arlin didn't want to lecture Jumper this morning — primarily because he wasn't sure he had the capacity at this hour. It was a strange thing to consider. Jumper was half his height, no muscle worth mentioning, and his hands were riddled with scars that seemed to multiply with each passing season. Yet here he was kicking Arlin in the ribs at an unholy hour without fear.
He worked his boots on finally, then reached for a brown jacket — a good one, with a sewn collar and a hood that had earned its keep. He'd been sitting with the effort of it and stood, checking his worn jeans for any new holes that might expose him to the desert cold.
Jumper handed over a fully packed bag. Arlin slung it across his shoulders, gave his jeans one last inspection, and considered himself ready. Jumper, his excitement barely faltering, headed out the door first, already expecting Arlin to follow.
The settlement at this hour was mostly quiet.
A few lights burned in the processing building at the far edge — surrounded by sheds whose insides were wrecked with fumes and mattresses and adults who had managed the rare return from the inner districts, only to find their pockets emptied, and not for any good reason.
The lamps behind empty windowsills cast just enough light to confirm what most people here preferred not to look at. As if to make certain Arlin didn't miss it, a little girl sat before a wooden makeshift fence, her back pressed against the slats.
She was older than Jumper, younger than Arlin — or perhaps it was her hair that gave that impression, braided with evident care, though her face was covered in plasters and cloth that carried the dirty residue of someone else's handprints.
She looked up from her lap as they passed. The light may have held back her vision; she showed no recognition. But Arlin knew her.
Jasmine. Panda's younger sister.
A face he hadn't seen since her brother's recruitment into the circles of the inner districts — each circle its own engine, its own industry, stitched together to keep what remained of the survivors of earth from coming apart entirely.
She had come to Arlin some months after Panda was called. Asked him if he could inquire with the officials of district four (Militia district) about her brother's whereabouts. Arlin, standing there now in the pre-dawn quiet, genuinely could not remember whether he had ever followed through.
Panda had been tall, and he had carried a black eye that refused to heal. Whether he'd ended up in the mining industry of district six or the Factory district of circle seven, neither Arlin nor Jasmine nor her younger brother Theodore would ever find out — he had never made the trip back to the outlands.
Arlin trod past her without a word, Jumper still leading a few meters ahead.
At night and in the quiet, there was nothing to dilute it. The full depth of the place settled in.
The sheds. The wall to his right — higher than any summit he had seen, built from a material no hundred Outlanders could forge between them. To his left, open land. A vast uninterrupted escape, freedom sitting right at the threshold — and yet no one ventured past the borders the forest made.
The Outlanders knew well enough what the radiation beyond it would do. Only those considered mad and suicidal pressed further.
Some believed Earth was simply going through growing pains. A rebirth of sorts. The planet enduring before it came back to something better.
When Arlin looked across at Jasmine — pressed against her fence, grasping at what little she had — he couldn't land on the same conclusion.
The geography of the settlement had been formed from years of growth and bickering between the kids before Arlin's generation. It was only recently, in Abel's time, that any real progress had been made.
There were six sectors hugging the walls of district seven. Formed this way as an imitation of the inner circles, to try and construct some kind of architecture that could organise the roles of people a lot better. Each sect took about an hour to cross by foot, even at a good jog. This also dictated the roles of the council.
Jaguar was head of the farming sect. As of recently — four years now — the outlands had become independent with regards to farming and agriculture. The council found leniency from the higher ups this way, and hence a trading system was built, allowing a simulated economy to grow, as unstable as it was. The actual trade and market was run by Octavius and his lackeys in Sect Four, though customer service, in Arlin's opinion, could use a reform.
The other sects included the outlands' own militia group, run by Borg in Sect Three. Those who fit the height requirement were certain to join. Sect Two was run by Pluto — a group of undignified weirdos with even weirder theories about the history of current earth. They claimed to be restructuring knowledge in mathematics and science. Arlin firmly believed Abel had grouped them together to ensure they didn't blow anything up.
The sects, the ever-growing architecture, the system that grew with each year — it was something Arlin was proud of. Not just because he was a part of it, taking each day seriously, fuelled by his sense of responsibility. But when a young man has to drink in this reality every day, the thought of bettering it for tomorrow can drive someone to work harder. To be honest, he demanded it of himself.
The lights began to fade and dim as they crossed into Sect Five. Jaguar and his group rarely used candles or lamps.
Arlin and Jumper were definitely jogging, but their strides were laughable. They both knew silence was a must. Jaguar was the kind of guy to hold grudges, and trespassing without his authorisation was exactly the kind of grudge he held onto — especially since Arlin was fairly sure he'd stepped on a few potatoes in the last minute.
The dirt in Sect Five was a lot softer, fertilised with a stink that couldn't be enjoyable for even a pig. Still, Jumper's pace wasn't letting up — and despite his smaller stature, oddly, Arlin found that sticking close by was less nerve-wracking than it had any right to be.
Finally they neared the fence. The other sects had manmade ditches, but the crossing between Sect Five and Sect Six had a literal fence, and behind the fence stood a stone wall, sponsored by district seven.
Beyond the walls within Sector 6 lay the sick, both physically and mentally.
They were unrecoverable, and Arlin was convinced that the Capital used them as guinea pigs.
He had never shared his theory openly, and how he made the conclusion was simple yet dumbfounding even to Arlin.
If you were in pain, sick, or even screwed loose, then surely, you'd scream in pain.
District 6 had one entrance, and that entrance was processed through the wall; anywhere else would be considered an escape. If you had the misfortune, then whatever lived within Sector 6 stayed there.
Still, Arlin had never actually heard anything from Sector Six. His suspicions remained unspoken, pressed quietly against the Capital like a thumb on a bruise.
Arlin noticed Jumper's stride beginning to slow. Neither of them had spoken a word since the fence. Arlin had been grateful for that — with the council meeting today he needed time to think about the new election, three months out and already uncomfortable to consider.
But a quiet Jumper was rarer than cocoa seeds. Rarer than any fresh seed, really. The boy was always talking. You could walk him through a den of thieves and he'd be going on about his new favourite gadget, or gossiping about some idiot who had broken his stove.
"It's not over the wall, is it," Arlin said. A joke, mostly. Though honestly, at this point, he hadn't even begun to predict what Jumper had invested this much effort into. Especially at this distance.
"Funny, but no. I've already told you — it's in the desert."
"I can't be late for the council meeting, and I'd rather not run into Jaguar on the way back."
Jumper's face twitched — whether at the thought of Jaguar or at Arlin's continued flatness about the whole thing, it was hard to say. Either way, it passed quickly. His attention had already shifted to a gap at the far corner of the fence line, where a section had evidently been tampered with, though it looked intact at a glance.
He swung his pack off and unzipped it, pulling out his tools and getting to work with a speed that Arlin found more amusing than surprising.
Looking closer, he could see that one vertical post had been left as a pivot point — a hidden hinge, essentially — while the opposite side of the panel was held at the base rail by bolts and wire, screwed in from underneath rather than welded like the rest. Different to the usual pattern entirely. Which confirmed that Jumper had done this more than once.
"Why not just go through the green lands? This seems like a lot of trouble."
"Patrols on the walls," Jumper said, not looking up. "We might get detected and will have to report. We need to walk against the stone wall on the outside for about fifty meters before the land shifts enough for the hills to cover us."
Arlin stood with that for a moment. Jumper was fifteen. He had all the time in the world to be tinkering in a shed somewhere. Instead he had mapped an undetected route to the desert.
"That makes sense. But why?"
That was the part that had quietly moved from curiosity to something closer to concern.
"It's because—" Jumper began, then paused, attending to the bolts with care. He had to do it gently. The panel rotated on its pivot post, and if it swung out of alignment on closing, the whole thing would sit visibly wrong against the rest of the fence — obvious to anyone on the wall, and only a matter of time from there.
"Almost had me ruin the surprise there, Arlin," Jumper said, grinning to himself as he finished the last bolt. He worked through it in seconds.
Arlin stepped through the opening, immediately conscious of the wall behind him. If it had been anyone else — anyone besides Abel, and now Jumper — he'd never have agreed to any of this. But it was Jumper. And honestly, he felt too awake now to back down.
He hugged the stone wall as they rounded the corner, crouching low. The openness to his left wasn't new to him, but even under the dark sky, the plains imposing in a way that didn't ask permission. Both moons were doing what they could with the dark. It didn't help.
The wall was the same way — you simply didn't know what was beyond it.
There were no animals out here. No predators. The only surviving species were those kept for food and leather. The plains weren't threatening in that sense. Yet the unease was there regardless, and Arlin had spent enough years with it to understand what it was.
When you step into the unknown, when you leave control behind — that's when fear becomes real. And strangely, that's also when you start to understand beauty.
He'd known that since he was young. It hadn't made the plains any smaller.
As they moved along the stone wall, the familiar sensation crept up his arms. It had always been reliable — that specific alertness, arriving before his mind had caught up. He was already walking ahead, and he didn't need the markers Jumper had carved into the ground to know where to step. The path showed itself.
His hand trailed the stone wall. Like a question written in braille.
Arlin wasn't one to overthink. But out here it was just him and Jumper, and nature had no interest in council meetings or elections. It never did.
His body had always reacted this way beyond the settlement. He'd never been able to describe it cleanly — only that his arms agreed, the hairs raised and razor-aware, and something in his chest pulled tighter the further out they went.
He stopped.
Jumper caught up behind him. His eyes asked the question. His grin never moved.
He had prepared something. The grin said it was worth it.
That was enough for Arlin.
Once they were out of earshot from the wall — a solid two hundred metres, Jumper's standard for insurance — he let go.
"Man, I almost blanked on the fence. On today of all days, can you imagine." He raised both hands behind his neck like a pillow, his whole posture shifting into something looser than anything he'd shown since the room. "Almost."
"You made it look easy," Arlin said.
"Well, it is. But still." He shrugged. "My mind just went for a second."
"Impossible."
"Exactly." He started hopping between strides again, the particular rhythm he defaulted to when his legs had energy they hadn't been asked for. "Anyway — we won't get spotted on the return. You can relax about that."
Arlin decided not to ask how he knew. Some things were better left alone.
"How much longer?"
"Once you see loose sand — when the desert actually starts — that's halfway."
"Jumper."
"Have a little faith, geez. I'm the smartest guy you know."
"Patch is smarter. And considerably more responsible."
"Yeah, well she's a girl. I said smartest guy."
Arlin smiled. He didn't tease Jumper often, but when the ego swelled past a certain point, it was hard not to enjoy it.
They moved through the plains and Jumper talked — mostly questions he answered himself, which suited Arlin well enough. It gave him space to take the land in.
Despite his boots, he could feel the give of the ground beneath him — soft enough that barefoot wouldn't have been difficult. The chemical stench of the settlement was long gone. The air out here was almost deceptive in its cleanness.
Almost. The radiation beyond the desert was a fact he never quite forgot.
'...'
Arlin didn't stop walking, but his heart nearly did.
The hairs on his arms had risen before — individual, alert, the usual signal. But this was different. All of them at once, razor-raised, and then something else entirely.
For a moment — a second, maybe less — it felt like he had a second brain.
As bizarre as the thought was, and he knew it was bizarre the instant it arrived, it was also the most accurate description he had. Precisely that. A second brain.
His breathing quickened. He noted, with a strange clarity, that his vision had sharpened considerably.
"You need to rest?" Jumper asked. His hopping didn't stop, but the grin had gone flat.
Arlin wondered if Jumper had noticed his breathing before he had.
In between this he had realized the sand was heavier, with every step requiring more control. They were in the desert.
Since when did time fly so quickly?
And the sand it didn't just feel heavy to Arlin, it suddenly felt he no longer wore boots as if his hands were in physical contact with every grains.
He needed to take a brief moment to look down, but his legs still worked onwards, and Jumper made a note in between that we were arriving.
Arlin tried to take a deep breath, he looked up at the sky which was once dark purple now held a green silver, with the occasional yellow stripe across the horizon, not sunrise that was more saturated this felt in his best words closer to thermal.
He took another deep breath, his intakes shorter than his outtakes and finally after blinking his eyes he felt like himself again, though Arlin admitted everything felt slower all of a sudden.
What broke him out of this transmission was Jumper
"Were here!" He said in a high pitch, his grin fulfilling his face.
Arlin looked up, the world remarkably darker than a minute ago.
All he saw was the desert two large rocks.
"Suprise!" Jumper through his hands at the direction of the deserts only landmark, two ridiculously shaped rocks.
Arlin was simply dumbfounded, his mind literally went blank. The same blank that comes during sleep. Yes, Arlin was asleep.
"Jumper" He groaned, his friend had to have lost it.
"I'm sending you of too Pluto's sect, and maybe I'll send you off to the dwarf planet if I can find the right bat." He wasn't fuming but generally concerned for his friend's sanity in that moment.
Jumper simply giggles at this, taking Arlin's reaction as amusing.
"Hey now, the light isn't that bad look closer silly!" He exclaimed as he hopped his way towards the rocks.
Arlin realized, as he walked closer that an angle the rocks were really bizarre.
To help with the vision, Jumper took out a lamp that he had been saving.
The lamp was small, but it helped greatly as Arlin began to register exactly what Jumper brought him to.
Two large shelves of pale stone formed natural walls on either side, and whoever — Jumper, clearly, though the scale of it was still registering — had filled the gap between them with a frame.
Bent metal, salvaged from who knows where, had been shaped into a skeleton and fitted with panels.
Arlin couldn't begin to figure how a boy of Jumpers physical caliber managed all that, but it was just the start.
Glass panels. Not perfect glass, clouded in places, cracked and resealed in others, but glass. Each one slotted into the frame at the joins and sealed with what looked like resin, applied carefully and more than once by the layering of it. The roof used the natural overhang of the higher shelf on the left side and on the right a sheet of hammered flat metal angled to catch and redirect rain rather than pool it. At the very top, a small, hinged panel sat slightly ajar — deliberately done so for ventilation.
The whole thing came up to Arlin's shoulder at its lowest point and cleared his head at its highest. From the outside it sat so naturally between the rocks that at a distance or even the wrong angle seemed nothing more than two misplaced rocks.
From here, through the clouded panels, he could see green pressing against the glass from the inside.
"You built this," Arlin breathed, but it was more of a question to himself.
"Over about a year and half, yes." Jumper held the lamp higher.
The pride in his voice was losing its fight with the technical explanation that was clearly waiting behind it. "The frame is from the old water infrastructure — the piping from the east boundary repair, the stuff they stripped to trade in with district 7. I heated and bent it myself. Took four attempts to get the angles right for the roof line because the higher shelf isn't level, it tilts about three degrees, so the whole frame had to compensate or the rain would run inward instead of off."
Arlin didn't stop him, Jumper earned his victory lap.
He then looked at the resin seals along the nearest panel join. Applied in layers, dried between each one, pressed flat at the edges.
"The glass?"
"District seven disposal. They replace panels in the processing building every two seasons — the fume exposure warps them. They pull the old ones and stack them at the outer boundary for removal." Jumper hopped over to the door, a section of frame on a simple pin hinge that swung outward cleanly. "Removal never comes on schedule. I got to it first."
"I moved them in sections. Over four months." He pushed the door open. The warmth came out immediately. "After you."