An Angel by Any Other Name

Chapter Three: Ouranos

Ouranos always was my favorite place in all of the Rebuilt World. My mother and I lived by the Bridge, but we weren't far from the capital. It was necessary for me to be close to Ouranos for medical care. There was a lot of testing performed on me as an infant. The doctors initially weren't sure I'd survive past my infancy. Then they said I wouldn't survive past my toddler years, then past the age of ten, then past being a young teenager, and so-on and so forth. For some reason, my body perserved, with all the kinks in its imperfect design.

I was always thankful for the need for the proximity.

The floor beneath me was cool, hard. I could feel a certain weight beneath me with each step, and I appreciated how my wedged boots thudded against the tile. Sunlight poured in from the window panes, creating rainbow dancing lights on the ground around me. I delicately moved one foot in front of the other as I followed the path of lights before me, watching as they moved and twirled amongst each other, locked in an eternal waltz. I could feel the sun's rays burning into my exposed skin, and my eyes squinted with a pain that was all too familiar to me. I knew I'd come home covered in red skin despite the measures I'd taken to protect myself prior, but it was just another part of life.

The main attraction was an old shopping mall we'd all come to lovingly refer to as Hortus. Within were the gardens that earned the building its name. It was referred to as not only the garden of plants but for rebuilding life.

The dancing lights littering the floor were reflections from the Rememberance Glasses- glass ornaments littered across the window frames to represent loved ones that residents of Ouranos had lost to The Great Fire, or to the fight to survive in the world thereafter. The Rememberance Glasses were all throughout the upper floors of the building, causing any natural light to become colorful and vibrant. It was comforting, in a way, even though none represented anyone I had lost. The spectrums provided a sort of joyful contrast to the otherwise bleak environment.

I slid my hand over the smooth plastic on top of the rails to what once was an operating escalator. Now, it was nothing more than a fancy staircase with jagged steps. The building had power, and the generators were consistently replaced. As much as the Spartiate were able to replace them, that was. Other than that, all of the electricity in the building relied on the solar panels on the roof. At nighttime, if there was no generator, the power was out. Pitch black darkness in a building full of broken junk and safety hazards. Non-residents weren't usually allowed inside past sundown since the supply of working generators was scarce. Regardless, escalators and elevators were too much of a safety risk if they broke and required too many resources to operate, both in terms of labor and electricity. They were cut off from the power grid to avoid the trouble.

The rubber on my heel wedge snagged on part of the step, and I stumbled back with a gasp. Before I even had the chance to regather myself, I felt my head hit into a firm, yet soft, surface, and arms wrapped around me in a panic. I looked up to see see a man with short black hair and deep brown eyes. For a brief moment, I felt a sort of connection as our heartbeats and breathing began to sync, processing what had just occurred. There was a sort of somberness to his expression. His face drooped with years of stress, and his eyes conveyed a sorrow I could not console. His hands were callused but soft. Years of working followed by a period of-

"Are you okay?" His voice cut through my mind like a knife, and the thread was torn. I could no longer read him. He looked... disturbed. More so than before, almost as thought he could sense the presence, poking and prodding at the innermost parts of his head. I didn't do it on purpose.

What am I talking about? No such thing occurred. That's foolish.

"I'm okay," I replied softly. My eyes flickered up the staircase and were met by the unwelcome presence of bright, barely filtered sunlight. I yelped and squeezed them shut in reflex, hands thrown defensively over my face. It hurt like pins being pricked through my scalp and into every vein in my brain. The throbbing sensation soon faded, and I didn't make the same mistake of looking up again.

"Photophobia?" He asked. His voice was one I only knew how to describe as having the texture of maple syrup, with a hint of a cedar tree. He was the type of man who'd probably be a lumberjack stereotype in the old world. He felt safe, but I was not always a reliable judge of character.

"How did you know?" I murmured, struggling to regain my balance on the glorified staircase.

"My daughter," He replied softly as he gently pushed me up, his hands on my shoulderblades. His touch was delicate, like he was afraid I was porcelain and might break if he wasn't careful. "She had it." And there it was. That somberness about him, the gentleness, the safe feeling. At once, it made sense, and for a faint moment, I felt the thread tentatively reconnect.

"Oh." I looked down to avoid the migraine-inducing light as best I could. It hurt regardless, but the mild headaches I could ignore; the headsplitting ones I could not. I continued to move upwards on the staircase, hearing his soft, hesitant steps behind me. "Nervous the escalator will fall beneath you?"

"Slightly." He replied after a pause, voice gruff and harsh in an attempt to make up for what was likely shame.

"Me too," I reached a hand behind me as an offer of comfort. He hesitated. His fingers loosely wrapped around my palm, and I proceeded.

We walked in a silent unison for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. The further up the building we went, the more the crowds thinned out. The scenery around us morphed from bustling markets to nothingness. The change was gradual at first, then sudden and all at once. The fifth floor was full of broken items and graffiti. Water dropped periodically from a distant broken pipe hung from the ceiling. There were a few animalistic figures in the near distance, ones that were best ignored.

"Up one more floor is the gardens," I murmured as I glanced back at him. Watery pools met my gaze. He nodded and discreetly turned away to wipe his face with his opposite hand, grasping tightly onto a small, red cloth bag. "Would you like to put the glass there?"