I don’t need to bang my head on every rock to know they’re all hard.

The cold wind tells me I am alive. I smell the scent of winged flesh. I am not dead. I am cradled in the talon of the master eagle. I can see the pools below, dark and menacing, and thirsting for my death. –Rayne of the Central Colony.

I don't need to bang my head on every rock to know they're all hard.

Let me ask you this, Rayne. What do you think the point of the wall is? Segregation of species? Well, it’s more than that. Your kind built it to protect you all from what you’re doing to us. Your world is clean and alive and beautiful I imagine, while ours rains ash from the clouds.

I shall yield a rifle of fury, loaded with the justice of time and the raging storm of my soul!

The coldness coats my senses. I envision it turning into a stone wall as thick as the depths of their lies. I picture it towering before me, barring the portion of my brain which controls emotions. I conjure a small box and plant it in front of the stone wall of my mind. I open it and imagine three words fluttering into it like tufts of cotton on a gentle breeze. As my eyes burrow into the depths of her own, I seal the box and send it floating to a place where her subconscious will find it.

It is the way of evolution,” Elias says, his words getting lost in the roar of the wind. “Two species of human cannot coexist. To believe so is to be naïve.

Master Red is who I am. You best be gettin’ used to that. Otherwise, when the time come to fly outta this hell, I just might shove you off the side of yo big bird friend and laugh when you hit the ground.

My chest and throat burn from my wheezing breath booming in my ears. But my hands—they’re ice cold. My shoulders heave as my fingers dig into my palms. They’re desperate for Max’s signal, but it doesn’t come.My breath grows louder and high pitched as I scan the green darkness for Fuges. What I see instead makes me almost choke on the rotten air. It’s not the Fuges. It’s soldiers. Seven of them lower their weapons, obviously as confused as we are.

He extends his hand, cupping it in a loose fist to conceal whatever is in it. He swings it toward my arm, and before the sensation of a prick registers in my brain, he returns his hand to his side. My body feels weak. Light. Arms grab me around my waist and drag me away from the general. My lids flutter, my ears ring, but I can still hear the words from his muffled voice. “Go to sleep kid. Hopefully when you wake up, you’ll get I’m only doing this ’cause we’re so desperate.