The walls must always be watched.
This creed has been law since the City's founding. One of only a handful of laws carved in stone and beyond repeal; this creed has been the City's salvation.
It is this creed that now compels a new Lieutenant to stare at the second hands of a pocket watch, waiting for an overdue communication.
"Lieutenant Rustov?" a voice tentatively asked. Lieutenant Amelian Rustov turned in her chair to regard the speaker.
The spindly boy behind her, Specialist Spendel Montessori, was dwarfed by the immense contraption he worked at. The Communications Relay Station devoured the room, and its gears and wires loomed over the young soldier like an altar to obfuscating complexity.
"Sergeant Valen is twenty-five minutes overdue, ma'am," the young communications specialist said. "Should I try his station again?"
Amelian turned her eyes back to her watch, not really looking at it. Sergeant Valen's squad was rigorously, almost brutally, trained, and displayed an adept professionalism she rarely saw in any other part of the military. The old warrior's squad would be the last to simply forget to make a regular report.
Amelian looked back to Specialist Montessori, and asked, "How can you keep track of time like that without a watch?"
Her specialist grinned, and pointed to the device behind him. "The Central Relay Hub at HQ broadcasts the time every five minutes. Almost makes up for not being issued a watch, ma'am."
"How do I get one of those, anyway?" Spendel asked.
Amelian smiled, as she held up at the timepiece in her hand. "Become an officer," she replied, before slipping the watch back into her pocket. "Try Valen's comm port one more time."
As Spendel spun around in his chair, Amelian reached for the sword leaning against the wall next to her. She flinched as the unnatural cold burned at her hand, but endured it without letting the pain show on her face. Her sword was forged with a core of Coldstone, a heat-drinking material created by the Crafters. The weapon, impossible to make without the aid of a crafter, served as her official badge of office.
"Anything?" she asked Spendel, as she pulled her coat aside to buckle the sword to her belt.
"No, ma'am," Spendel replied.
Amelian's left hand instinctively lingered over the pommel of her sword, her thumb tracing over the small hoop with a single bar through it. The design on the pommel denoted her rank, one bar for a lieutenant, and served as the official insignia of her office.
"I'll go check on them. If you don't hear any word in twenty minutes, assume their comms are down," Amelian said, as she pulled her coat over her shoulders. She smiled, and looked back at Spendel. "If I don't report in forty, assume it's more serious."
"Yes, ma'am," Spendel replied. He smirked, and asked, "Should I put a work-order in now? So that it gets repaired in six months?"
Amelian cringed, her lip twitching in irritation over his informal tone, but otherwise smothered her response. Specialists were allowed a great deal of leeway in their conduct compared to regular enlisted soldiers. Particularly specialists with Spendel's talent. Instead, she let her grimace slide into a hard frown.
"No," she said. "Just in case it's more serious."
"Yes, ma'am," Spendel replied, and to Amelian's surprise, he stood up to salute.
She smiled to herself as she returned the salute, snapping into a stiff, formal posture and placing her right fist over her heart.
She stepped out into the night, bundling her coat closely as the wind swept past her, towards the City. Out of habit, she glanced back to find the familiar sight of the Spire.
The column of fire known as the Spire rose from the Bore at the heart of the City, and stretched high enough that it cleaved every cloud that passed. From here at the last walls, the most distant fortifications from the City, the Spire was a pencil-thin line of fire that cast faint shadows on a dark night.
It was a short walk to the cable car, which connected the comm hub to several sections of the Last Wall. She chose a car that lead to the middle of the wall section her sergeant was responsible for, and opened the reservoir to start the engine.
The engine started to churn on the first pull, and Amelian whistled a short sigh of relief. She stepped inside and started the car.
The few minutes in the car passed over faintly visible farmland, growing carefully cultivated coffee plants that Amelian's squad had watched being planted earlier in the year. "It was a triumph of the City," she had said to her platoon as they watched the plants grow over the months. "Coffee hasn't grown since before the Gloam."
Amelian forced herself to stare ahead, towards the wall. The daunting fortifications, made of stone pieces each as tall as she was, carved the world into two. Behind these last fortifications was the world the City had reclaimed. Beyond it, was the world held in the Gloam's grip.
It was hard to think of anything getting past that wall. A hundred feet high, it towered over the landscape and dwarfed everything she could see, from horizon to horizon.
She stepped off the train car, and set the clamps to hold the car in place. She left the car with the engine still humming, and stepped out onto the wall.
It wasn't much of a surprise that despite her unimpeded view of the wall, she only saw a single figure in the distance. Her platoon of twenty-six soldiers were assigned to a stretch of wall two miles long. The single figure was running hard towards her, a pace Amelian expected the young soldier to maintain as he made his way towards her.
It took Amelian a moment to realize the soldier had a long tube of metal slung over his shoulder.
Amelian hissed in surprise. He was armed.
The soldier approached, and slowed. "Lieutenant!" the soldier tried to say as he gulped in air, stopping in front of her and forcing himself to salute. She returned it swiftly, and he slumped a little, his hands set on his knees with his head bowed, as he struggled to catch his breath.
"Ma'am!" he managed to gasp, as he struggled to speak while heaving air into his lungs. "Sergeant Redgrave sent me, ma'am."
"Mitchelson, catch your breath, get some water. Has anyone been hurt?" Amelian asked, handing the boy a small, glass drinking bottle from inside her coat. He took it eagerly, drinking deeply as he forced his breath to slow.
"No, ma'am, everyone's well. Sergeant Redgrave wanted to confirm his suspicions before he sent a report. The mechanic has just triple-checked her findings, and she concurs with the sergeant," the young soldier, Arnold Mitchelson, explained hastily.
Amelian looked at him and frowned. "What suspicions?" she asked, her brow furrowing and her hand resting instinctively on the pommel of her sword.
"That the Gloam is rising, ma'am. It's barely off the wall. The sergeant seems nervous about it," Arnold reported.
"How much closer is it?" Amelian asked, as she strode to the wall and looked at the furthest edge of the City.
The Gloam was a uniformly grey mist, the colour of a well-preserved corpse. Thicker than any fog, it flowed in unnatural currents that ignored wind or water. It recoiled from the pilot flames set at the base of the wall, reluctantly shying away from the stone behind.
Amelian saw it instantly. Normally, the Gloam lingered well off of the walls, far enough that recruits would make a competition of trying to reach it with a thrown rock. Even during rain and howling winds, the mists held well back from the walls.
Right now, the Gloam lingered less than a dozen feet away from the pilot lights, and actually clung to the wall between the fires.
"Redgrave already checked the outflow valves? The pilot flames are flowing normally?" she asked.
"The mechanic already looked it over, ma'am. Nothing has changed on our end," Arnold Mitchelson insisted.
"Use the comm to pass your findings to Spendel, and have him tell Sergeant Reeves to arm up and keep an eye out. If you don't hear from us in thirty minutes, have Spendel request a search party," Amelian ordered. The young soldier saluted again, which she returned before starting off at a slow run down the wall.
As she ran, her heart hammered in her chest, and her legs had developed that familiar biting feeling she felt when she was afraid. She grinned, welcoming the cold, clenching hand on her heart, and let it carry her legs forward for her.
"Only a coward can master fear," Amelian recited to herself. The expression was another thing the old sergeant had taught her.
It took fifteen minutes of running before she caught sight of a dozen figures in the dark, kitting-up from a supply closet with arms, ammo, and small rations. She was mildly surprised to see them loading Salamanders; rifles made to fire incendiary rounds made from a mixture of sealed flame and explosive chemicals.
As she approached, she heard her sergeant giving orders. "Remember, keep the trigger locks in unless I tell you otherwise. We aren't here to engage what we find, that's for the poor bastards two walls in," he said, voice clear and calm. His relaxed professionalism and surprisingly gentle manner was a relief to every soldier near him.
She met Valen's eyes as she approached, and the old sergeant turned towards her. "Lieutenant!" he said, louder than he had to, and snapped to attention with a salute. The others in his squad followed suit, turning towards her and holding their right fist over their hearts.
Sergeant Redgrave had a voice that made someone want to stand at attention and salute, even when he told a joke. Deep and powerful, it rang like a bell in the relative quiet of the night.
She smiled, impressed by the attentiveness her troops displayed, despite the hour. Professionalism often depended on close proximity to authority, and the Last Wall was as far as anyone could get. She returned Valen's salute, and said, "Carry on, Sergeant Redgrave. I'll take your report after."
She swore she saw the old soldier grin before he turned away and continued instructing his squad. "Break into pairs, and keep in sight of at least one other pair as you patrol. Scan the horizon at regular intervals, and if you think you see something, don't keep it to yourself. Your job is to jump at shadows. Grab food and water, and start the patrol. Mia and Reese will accompany the mechanic. Dismissed."
The entire squad saluted again, and turned back to their tasks. Sergeant Redgrave then turned to her, and offered an apologetic smile. "Lieutenant. Apologies for failing to report on time. We noticed unusual behaviour from the Gloam, and needed the time to rule out other possibilities."
"I caught the short version from Mitchelson," Amelian replied. "And you don't need to sell it, Valen. Only an idiot would ignore your concerns."
Her senior sergeant was normally unperturbed by anything, to the point where even his reprimands to new recruits was calm and measured. For the old warrior to be nervous was cause enough, in her books, to wake the entire City.
Valen smiled, and shook his head. "That was more for the kids to hear, ma'am. Good conduct is more important under duress, and if I can't show it, I can't teach it. But I should let the mechanic explain our findings."
He stepped aside, and a young woman approached. She had the short haircut and the heavy coat with the detachable sleeves of a mechanic. "Madeleine Soren, ma'am," the mechanic introduced herself, offering her hand.
Amelian, caught off guard, shook it more out of habit than volition.
"I'm the inspection detachment for this section of the wall. Sergeant Redgrave had me called over earlier today to teach your newest members routine maintenance. I can confirm that the outflowing pressure is uninhibited, and the flame is flowing normally. Further, none of the pilot lights have gone out. Whatever this is, it isn't something on our end," Madeleine explained, checking items off with her fingers as she talked.
Amelian cringed. She had been hoping for a simpler answer. "Thank you, Madeleine," she said. "For the moment, I want you to review the withdrawal protocols with Reese and Mia. Specifically, go over how to redirect the flame, if this section of the wall were breached."
"Ma'am? Is this really an invasion?" Madeleine asked in a hushed, hurried whisper. Amelain cringed at the change in disposition, and cursed herself silently for saying too much.
"I doubt it," Amelian said slowly, trying for a hint of bravado. She even remembered to smile, to look relaxed and even slightly bored. "But my squad is already spooked, and I don't want to waste the opportunity for a drill they'll take seriously. Assume this is training under duress," she instructed.
"Corporal Vascel?" Amelian called out, loudly.
"Yes, ma'am?" Mia Vascel answered.
"You and Reese are to accompany the Mechanic to the outflow control station a mile down the wall. Go over everything. Make sure you can redirect the flame blindfolded. I might make this an exam," Amelian ordered, and the gunner saluted smartly before the trio turned away and started down the wall.
Once they were out of earshot, Amelian turned to Valen. Despite their solitude, she couldn't help but lower her voice when she spoke. "Sergeant, what has you so spooked?" she asked. "You act like this is a prelude to an invasion."
Valen didn't answer for a moment too long, enough that Amelian began to understand the fear in his eyes.
"I saw this once before, forty-eight years ago," Valen reflected, his gaze fixed on the Gloam-filled darkness beyond the wall. "The Gloam began creeping close to the pilot lights, enough that the pressure had to be opened to keep the stuff off the walls. We were sure it was a clog somewhere in the pipes. I've never wanted to be right more in my life."
He turned back to her, and said, "The Golems struck the walls a few hours after. The last time I saw the Gloam do this, was the start of the Fifth Invasion."