WALL OF ICE

The Wall hums when the wind hits it just right. I’ve grown up listening to that sound—low, steady, alive. Some people say it’s just the cryo-reactors buried inside the ice. Others swear the Wall is breathing. I don’t know which scares me more. “Don’t stare at it like that, Ava.” I flinch and turn away from the window slit. Uncle Rafe stands behind me, arms crossed, his thick coat dusted with ice like he’s been carved out of the city itself. “It’ll make you soft,” he continues. “Walls aren’t meant to be admired. They’re meant to for protection.” “I wasn’t admiring it,” I mutter. He snorts. “You never are. You just look like you’re thinking of running through it.” I don’t answer. Because the truth is, sometimes I am. The slums sit right against the inner base of the Wall. The ice here is dirtier, clouded with ash and old blood, nothing like the pristine white layers higher up where the rich live. I can’t remember a day I haven’t woken up to cold biting my fingers or frost creeping along the walls of our room like it’s trying to claim us. Rafe tosses me a pair of gloves. “Put those on. To the yard. Now.” “It’s still dark.” “And you’re still alive. Both good reasons to train.” I pull the gloves on and follow him outside. The training yard is barely more than a broken concrete square between stacked housing blocks. Old scorch marks scar the ground—leftovers from hunters showing off when they drink too much and forget where they are. Rafe tosses me a short blade. The handle is worn smooth. “Again,” he says. I grip it and take my stance. “Relax your shoulders,” he snaps. “You fight like you’re apologizing.” “I am not.” He lunges. I barely have time to think. My body moves before my fear does. I duck, twist, and knock his arm aside, the blade flashing inches from his throat. Rafe freezes. For half a second, the only sound is the Wall humming behind us. Then he grins. “There it is,” he says. “That thing you do.” “What thing?” I ask, lowering the blade. “The thing where you move like you already knew what I’d do.” “I just reacted.” “No,” he says quietly. “You anticipated.” Looking at me with proud, yet confused eyes. I hate when he looks at me like that. Like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t want solved. A horn blasts through the city. Long. Sharp. Final. The Draft Horn. My stomach drops. Rafe’s grin vanishes. He turns toward the Wall, jaw tightening. “Inside,” he says. We don’t argue. Nobody does when the Draft Horn sounds. By the time we reach the main corridor, people are pouring out of their homes, faces pale, eyes darting. Names will be called today. Some won’t come back. George finds me before I find him. “Ava!” He skids to a stop in front of us, breath fogging the air, eyes bright despite everything. “You heard it, right?” “I heard,” I say. Rafe grunts. “You should be home.” George shakes his head. “If my name’s on the list, I want to hear it.” I look at him. Really look. The way his fingers twitch when he’s nervous. The faint sparks crawling along his knuckles, barely visible in the low light. “You don’t have to do this,” I say. He smiles at me. Soft. Dangerous. “I do,” he says. “For us.” The square fills quickly. Hunters stand along the edges, armored and silent. Their trophies hang from hooks—skins frozen stiff, antennae sealed in glass vials. Proof that monsters can bleed. A man steps forward with a metal tablet. “Citizens of Cryostadt,” he calls. “By order of the Wall—” I stop listening when the names start. Each one lands like a hammer. Some people cry. Some scream. Some don’t move at all. Then— “George Calder.” Everything inside me goes quiet. I hear George inhale sharply beside me. Rafe swears under his breath. George laughs. It’s the wrong sound. Too light. Too brave. “Well,” he says, forcing cheer into his voice, “guess I’m going to see what’s on the other side.” “No,” I say. He turns to me. “Ava—” “No,” I repeat. “You’re not.” His smile softens. He reaches for my hand, electricity warming my frozen fingers. “I’ll come back,” he says. “I promise. I’ll bring enough proof to get us out of the slums. We’ll get a real place. Somewhere higher up.” “George,” I whisper. He leans in close. “You trust me, right?” I nod because if I don’t, I might scream. Rafe steps forward. “You keep your head down,” he tells George. “You listen. You don’t try to be a hero.” George grins. “No promises.” The gates open at dawn. "You will come see me off tomorrow morning, right?" George asked looking like he would cry if my answer was negative. "Of course, Georgie, I will always be your squire, and squires always carries their masters sword. I will always show up!" I respond trying to keep from crying. "Take care George.....I am taking this trouble maker home where she belongs." Rafe says as he leads me by the hand, knowing that I would probably not come home if he doesn’t. All the way home, the only thought in my head was George. Scrawny George out there, helpless, dead, or wounded. His electro ability was just for magic trick not for a real fight. Who would be daft enough to enlist George as a hunter? I pondered... "Penny for your thought?" Uncle Rafe asks as we arrive the entrance of our house that looks like a dog cage. "I was just thinking about George, nothing much" I respond afraid to divulge my fears. "I know you better than you think, you are worrried. He will be fine, bunny don't worry," he says softly. probably afraid to tell me the truth that was showing in his eyes. "George will not survive out there and you know it," I snap at him angrily unwilling to continue the conversation any longer. As I laid on my bed that evening, all my mind could think about was George. Every scene, every playful banter, even our fights. My heart kept racing against my chest like a fast train driving on a train track. The decision was made before I could think: I must leave the wall. THE GATES OPENED AT DAWN. I watch from the shadows as the hunters line up. George doesn’t look back until he reaches the threshold. When he does, our eyes meet. Something in my chest snaps, screaming, "Now Ava, Now!" The gates begin to close. I run. “AVA!” Rafe shouts, trying to grasp a hold of me, but like he will always complain, I can be very slippery. I don’t stop. I slip through the crowd, heart hammering, cold tearing at my lungs. The gap between the gates narrows, ice grinding against ice. George’s eyes widen. “Ava, what are you—” I dive. The gates slam shut behind me, I got out by a tiny margin. The sound echoes like a gunshot. My heart panting in response as to how close I was to being minced meat, that gate could crush a 10 feet giant. Silence follows. Beyond the Wall, the cold is different. Sharper. Alive. George stares at me, shock written across his face. “You’re insane,” he breathes. “Probably,” I say, forcing myself to stand. “But you’re not going alone.” The wasteland stretches endlessly before us, white and waiting. And somewhere out there, something moves.