Inside the cracked shell of the city called Athen, Unit 9 found a world half-dead but still clinging on. The cold still bit, the air still stung, but behind the gate, life stirred in the silence—scarce, stubborn, and weary.
The group walked in a staggered line. Snow crunched beneath their boots, each step echoing off the ruined buildings like whispers in a tomb. They turned a corner into what used to be a square. Metal benches stuck out from snowdrifts. A fountain, long frozen, sat at the center like a monument to a forgotten spring.
Kerr kicked at the ice. "This whole place feels like it's breathing its last."
"But it's still breathing," Elira replied. She had that look in her eyes again—steady, sharp. Like she saw more than anyone else.
Lin blew warm air into her gloved hands. "People actually live here. Still. That's what gets me. This isn't ruins. It's a cage they haven't escaped yet."
As they moved through the streets, their presence began to attract attention. Old men, wrapped in wool and patched coats, sat near doors with rifles cradled like babies. Women watched from behind cracked windows. Children peeked out from alleys, their cheeks raw and pink.
"Don't stare too long," Elira murmured. "Let them get used to us."
Ashen walked beside Lin, who leaned slightly toward him. "How many do you think are left in this sector?"
"Hundreds. Maybe a thousand, if we're lucky," Reynar answered from behind them. "But with the snow moving further south each week, they won't survive the next frost surge."
A grizzled man approached them slowly. His beard was caked with snow and frost, and one of his eyes was clouded white. He wore a thick brown cloak and boots two sizes too large.
"Military dogs, huh? Finally decided to show up."
Elira nodded calmly. "Unit 9. We're here to assist evacuation."
The man snorted. "Evacuation. Funny word for it. More like 'displacement.' You'll pack us onto your transport carts and dump us into the Southern districts, won't you? Just like you did with New Farra."
Reynar took a step forward, but Elira raised a hand. "No one's getting dumped. You'll be taken to a stable zone. Medical checks, shelter, and new work placements. It's not perfect, but it's better than dying out here."
The man spat on the ground, the saliva freezing almost instantly. "Maybe. But we built lives here. Bled for this land. We didn't ask for this cold, and we sure as hell didn't ask to be told to abandon everything."
Lin tried to soften the air. "I saw kids playing near the gates. Do they go to school anywhere around here?"
The man eyed her. "School? That ended when the last teacher froze trying to walk home last year. We teach what we can. Mostly how to stay alive."
Ashen's fingers twitched in his gloves. He looked at the buildings—homes, really—lined with stacked metal sheets and cloth to keep out wind. There was a desperation here, yes, but something else too. Pride. Maybe even resentment.
Another voice joined the conversation. A woman with sharp eyes and a young child tied to her back. "We know how to survive. We've done it longer than any of you suit-wearers. You think just 'cause you came from warmer lands you know what's best for us?"
"No," Elira said softly. "We don't. But we know the weather's getting worse. There's no harvest. The rivers are freezing solid. If you stay, you'll die."
Silence.
Then the woman laughed—not joyfully, but like someone who had heard the same warning a hundred times. "Maybe. But out there, we're just numbers. Here, we're names. Families."
Kerr stepped forward. "What's your name, then?"
"Sira," she said. "My son's name is Noll. He hasn't known green in his whole life. Just white. He thinks grass is something in stories."
Ashen glanced at the boy on her back. Noll had wide, curious eyes. He stared at Ashen like he wasn't real.
"I'm Ashen," he said quietly.
The boy tilted his head. "Like ashes?"
Ashen paused. "Something like that."
The ice cracked again underfoot, the sound sharp.
From down the street, a hunched teenager waved at the group. He had a crooked grin and wore goggles pushed up on his forehead. "You folks looking for work stations or just here to look pretty?"
Elira turned. "We're doing both. Show us the evac list."
"Follow me," the boy said, leading them into a two-story building with boarded-up windows.
The inside was warmer. Barely. A small heater buzzed in the corner. A long wooden table was set up in the middle, maps and papers scattered across it.
"Name's Brann. I handle the records. Not much of a title, but no one else wanted it."
He spread out a yellowed map of the sector. "You've got about four major clusters of families. Here, here, and these two north of the rail line. Most of the elderly are near the church ruins. Kids tend to hang around the boiler pits."
Kerr looked around. "Boiler pits?"
"Old heat extraction units from before the freeze," Brann explained. "We keep 'em running with coal scraps. Barely enough to keep toes from falling off."
Lin sat down beside him. "Why not leave earlier?"
Brann shrugged. "People stayed hoping the weather would turn. And it's hard to leave the place that made you. Even if it's trying to kill you now."
Reynar crossed his arms. "Hard to believe people are still here out of sentiment."
Brann gave him a sidelong glance. "You ever been poor, noble?"
Reynar said nothing.
Ashen walked to the window. Outside, snow was falling again. A girl, maybe ten, was walking a small dog through the slush. The dog wore a knitted scarf.
"What's the plan?" Elira asked.
Brann tapped the map. "You split into pairs. Talk to the families. Convince them to get their things ready. There's a cargo crawler set to arrive by tomorrow morning. We load them in groups. Elderly and sick go first."
"And if some refuse?" Lin asked.
"Then you stay longer," Brann said simply. "Until everyone's on board or dead."
Elira nodded. "Fine. Ashen, Lin—you two head to the northern quadrant. Reynar and Kerr, take the boiler pits. I'll sweep the church ruins. Move fast, be respectful. Don't make promises you can't keep."
They split up.
As Ashen and Lin walked toward the snow-covered path leading north, Lin adjusted her scarf. "These people have more fire than I expected."
"They've been left behind too long," Ashen said. "Now they don't trust warmth."
She glanced at him. "You speak like someone who understands that."
He didn't answer. Not directly.
Ahead of them, an old woman sat on a crate, knitting slowly with stiff fingers. She looked up as they passed.
"You'll be telling me to pack next, won't you?" she said.
Lin smiled. "Only if you still have the strength to knit in this weather. That's impressive."
The woman chuckled. "Knitting keeps my fingers from dying. Besides, someone's gotta make mittens for the little ones."
Ashen crouched near her. "You'll come with us, won't you?"
"Maybe," she said. "But you have to promise me something."
"What?"
She smiled. "That wherever you take us, it won't forget us. Not like the last place."
He looked at her for a long moment. "I promise I'll remember."
She looked into his eyes. "Then I'll start packing."
As they walked on, Lin whispered, "You're not so cold after all, huh?"
Ashen looked up at the gray sky. Snowflakes kissed his eyelashes.
"No. Just frozen."