Page 4 of The Amber Sunburst

He should turn around and face the city, but he can’t fight the childish thought that maybe it won’t exist if he’s not looking. Maybe it will just fade away and he’ll wake up in his own bed high out of his mind because what else could have caused this crazy dream?

Eventually, Alexander’s eyes drift to the golden signet ring on his pinky; the Leo constellation etched onto the front is scuffed from years of wear. It’s one of two his father had made, the other at home, resting on the finger of the traitor wearing Alexander’s crown.

He misses his brother like a vise. He hates him just as much. But the matching ring doesn’t mock him like it should. Instead it reminds him who he is. He’s not a rabbit, easily cowed and quick to die. No. He’s a lion.

He shifts to face the city.

Colors explode out of every shopfront and home, and flags fly in the wind, all of their brightness only rivaled by the eclectic clothes on passersby. The buildings vary in style, some marble like the columns, but most in happy hues that match the fashions of the residents.

People of all different races and sizes, paired with partners of all genders bustle around him. Most are decked out in billowy clothes, and golden accessories dangle from anywhere jewelry can fit. Kids are dressed similarly, running around after balls and staring at…

No. That’s not possible.

He charges forward until he reaches the cobblestone main street of whatever neighborhood this is. Moped horns blare all around him, which is something he simply cannot unpack right now because the last running car in the Holy American Empire died hundreds of years ago. What’s more important is the little boy in front of him, sitting at his mother’s feet.

While she converses with a handsome barista, the kid is enthralled by something in his hands. A gilded tablet with a crescent-ring sigil. He taps and drags along its surface, making it look mysteriously like…

Like an electronic tablet.

Alexander has seen a tablet before. Of course he has. The Holy American Empire is littered with remains of pre-Fall technology. Every one of the Six Survivors is. The difference is that none of it works.

But the columns behind him have electricity running through them. Who says this place doesn’t have all the technology that comes with that too?

The mother ushers her son to leave, and when he rises, Alexander catches sight of what he’s playing. Some kind of fighting game with men in togas.

Alexander could laugh at the absurdity.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?”

The boy’s mother stands in front of him, her voice more worried than suspicious. She must have approached without Alexander even noticing.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he can’t think past the tablet that belongs hundreds of years in the past.

“Honey, are you alright?”

The kindness in her face makes Alexander want to break down and tell her how he ended up here, but he just manages to stop himself. He’s an intruder in a place clearly meant to be hidden away. Who knows what they’ll do to him if they know he doesn’t belong?

He’s still searching for something to say when an older man bumps into his shoulder. Hard.

“Looks like you’re in the wrong Arc, boy.”

“What?” he asks, lost for words.

“Your Arc in Kallipolis,” the man explains. “Probably a Six or Seven by the looks of you. We don’t do beggars here in Three.”

Okay, well now he has a lot more words. Most of them expletives.

The mother seems instantly more put off by Alexander now that it’s been decided he’s from a different ‘Arc’ than her own. Given that he was just called a beggar—he is a prince, thank you very much—he can only assume a higher-number Arc is not a compliment.

“He’s right, honey. You’ll feel better at home,” she assures him, ushering her son off after the old man, just slow enough not to seem rude.

That’s some classist bullshit, he decides, not exactly sure what to do about it.

The barista that the mother was so entranced by—Caeneus, says his nametag—hesitantly approaches him once he’s alone in the road again.

His hair is bouncy, and his skin is a rich, deep brown—he’s very pretty. Alexander wishes he could appreciate it, give a flirty wink or something, but instead he’s having a panic attack.

“Are you okay?” Caeneus asks.