I was born in the Dome. That’s what we called it, at least. A giant structure built by the Hand—the five human kings and queens left of our world—fortified to protect the remaining orphans of The War. At once, there had been hundreds of us, but sickness found its way in, as it does. It claimed us one by one, by two, by four, and now it was only Sya, Noah, and me. We were told to stay. We were told help would come. It never did.
Sya was small, but fierce, a master of knife and tongue with silver-blonde hair and eyes the color of lapis lazuli, gold and silver flecks painting her irises. She was doe-eyed for Noah, and I was content to watch. Noah, on the other hand, was goofy and oblivious—his eyes emerald sparkled with striking gold patterns like filtered sunlight painting a lush forest floor. I had eyes for no one—dark gray with amber flecks like embers sprinkled in ash.
I eyed the tiles of the dome, frowning at their state of disrepair.
Noah tapped anxiously at the wooden table, his leg rocking side to side to a similar beat. “Perhaps we are immune,” said Noah, filling his mouth with the bite of a large apple. Sya shrugged, her lips pulling back at one corner.
“Maybe.” My thoughts strayed upward. Through the tiles, I could see a sky of pastel pinks and blues. “If we’re going to leave, we should do it now,” I murmured, rising to my feet, “before the Orb rises too high and the heat becomes unbearable.” My friends nodded quietly, solemnly.
We’d never seen the Outside, only the sky above through broken tiles hanging from the roof of the Dome. Before this place fell to ruin, the tiles would show us images of the stars and change the weather and scenery for us on scheduled timers. It was all the three of us knew. It was safe and it was known.
But as they fell, piece by piece, glimpses of the outside were given to us, and we began to see past lies and half-truths. This place wouldn’t hold for much longer—that much we knew. No one was coming for us. The cold was creeping in as autumn gifted its life to winter. Our steps were heavy and slow—hesitant as we gathered our things and soaked in the memories of our home. Being immune wouldn’t save us from the Outside and the dangers that awaited. If starvation didn’t claim us, the Scabs would.
We exchanged a last glance, brows crinkled with a strange mixture of curiosity, wonder, and worry, as if to ask “Together?”. The iron doors were before us. Noah, the oldest in our group, claimed he had never once seen it opened. Now seventeen, we wondered if it would even budge. Together, as we’d promised, we pulled the lever downward, a loud creak echoing through the empty Dome as it struggled to move, sanded rust littering the white-tiled floor below.
Suddenly it was bright and brilliant and cold. The wind seeped through the crack in the gate, bringing in a flurry of fresh scents. Sya, Noah, and I stared silently. We were unsure what it would look like, but this certainly wasn’t it. The dome was nestled atop a large mountain, and from it we assumed was all that was left of our world.
To the south was miles and miles of sand, parts of it dusted in snow, a stunning mixture of sugar and cinnamon. To the north were endless mountains—gray, tall, and strong. Treacherous and deadly to climb. To the east were swamps and plains with rivers flowing through like the veins of a newborn. To the west were dense forests—a mix of shades of brown, gold, yellow, red, and green like an artist dipped their brush in each and flicked it across the world playfully.
We exchanged glances once more, each of us equally breathless.
Equally scared.
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