Blood & Honour [Book Four of The City of Eternity Series] [✔]

4.16: Weary

I left my home wearily, every step a struggle against the persistent fatigue that clung to me like a shroud. The morning light, which usually brought a semblance of energy, did little to alleviate my worsening condition. My head throbbed with a relentless headache, and chills ran down my spine, making me shiver despite the oppressive heat flushes that left my skin clammy. Every muscle felt weak and uncooperative, as though they had all conspired to betray me today.

Rising from my bed had been an ordeal in itself. The sheets were soaked with sweat, sticking to my skin most uncomfortably. I forced myself to stand, swaying slightly as dizziness threatened to topple me. My first task was to splash water on my face, hoping the cold shock would jolt me into some semblance of wakefulness. The mirror reflected a haggard visage, pale and drawn, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. I barely recognized the man staring back at me.

Dressing was no easier. My usual attire wouldn't do today, so I ended up in a comfortable outfit of black sweats designed to shield my status in Central. The clothes were covered in a fine layer of dust, a stark reminder of how seldom I ventured beyond my office or my mother's home. The Central district, with its pristine buildings and orderly streets, felt worlds away from my current state. There, appearances mattered, and every citizen played their part in maintaining the illusion of control and stability. Here, in the privacy of my home, I could no longer hide my deterioration. The black sweats were meant to offer comfort, a way to blend in and avoid drawing attention. In Central, status was everything, and the slightest deviation from the norm was noted and scrutinised.

As I stepped out of my door, the familiar surroundings of my neighbourhood seemed foreign and unwelcoming; the two apartment blocks a short journey from the main hub of Central filled with officers who feigned a life of normality. The once comforting routine of my daily life now felt like an insurmountable challenge. My thoughts drifted to the origins of my current predicament, the endless meetings, the mounting paperwork, and the constant vigilance required to maintain my position in Central. It was a life of perpetual motion, leaving little room for rest or recovery.

I glanced back at my home, a modest dwelling compared to the grand structures of Central. It was a place of refuge, but even it could not shield me from the relentless demands of my role. With a deep breath, I turned and made my way towards the Eastern wall. Each step was a struggle against the fatigue that clung to me.

The streets of Central were quieter than usual, the early morning haze casting a muted glow over the pristine buildings. As I walked, I passed the 'historic' coffee stand, a small relic of better times where Lincoln stood wearily. The stand, once a bustling hub of conversation and the rich aroma of freshly brewed beans, now stood as a hollow reminder of a time before the war. Lincoln's weary posture mirrored the fate of the coffee trade itself.

Coffee, like many other luxuries, had become a casualty of the conflict. It was one of those resources caught in an area where trading had ceased to be viable. Central had long since deemed it unworthy of the risk to trade for it, especially given the volatile areas it would need to traverse, focusing instead on more essential supplies. This meant the luxury of a steaming cup was now a rare commodity.