"—saac, Isaac wake up!!"

The boy opened his eyes in a daze, dried tears clinging to the sides of his face. "Huh?"

"Isaac, you dummy, the Legionnaires have arrived at the Gate. Come quick, or else we'll miss it!"

The other boy sprinted off from the Library as quickly as he had entered. Isaac yawned, rubbing the remnants of sleep out of his eyes. Then the realization kicked in. Crap.

He wiped the drool off his face, slid the book across the table, and slung his jacket across his back. The dim lights of the Library powered down with a static buzz, and Isaac rushed his way through the hordes that lined the Garden District. No way in hell would he miss the Welcoming.

He maneuvered through the labyrinthine maze of bodies, ducking and sliding through any and all openings he could find. The guttural roars of the hydrothermal plants rose and fell, masking the droning voice of the news bulletin that blared from the speakers plastered throughout the entire floor. Algal blooms crawled their way across the ceiling like an outstretched arm, extending all the way from the far reaches of the Farm. Grass did not grow here in Eden, and neither did trees. They have been but a fairy-tale for Isaac for as long as he could remember, having been born long after humanity was driven into the bowels of the Earth.

Having finally caught up to his friend, he ceased in his gait. The Corridor. The only thing that separated this world from the world beyond. Isaac had always dreamt of crossing this precipice. This bridge to the place his ancestors wrote so fondly about.

Lines upon lines of inquisitive folk of all ages stood eagerly awaiting the heroes' return; the star-spangled banner swaying in the hands of those patriotic enough to spend their meager earnings on a dyed cloth attached to a rock-hewn stick. A path was being cleared between the hordes that swarmed the Corridor's exit, the crowd separating like a flock of sheep encountering a wolf.

"Get in line, people! Our great warriors do not want your dirty gardeen paws on them!" Exclaimed the Sentinel dressed in pure white.

"You ain't a great warrior, shmuck, you're a coward!" Shouted a man in the crowd, backed up with a thunderous roar and applause.

Isaac grinned. It was true enough. The Sentinels were plucked from those who could not make it into the Legions. And if their shattered hopes and dreams weren't punishment enough, they were also made to wear a uniform of completely dyeless cotton, a color Isaac had read was a symbol of cowardice in the distant past.

CLANK. WHIRR. CLANK.

Everyone's eyes turned towards the entrance shrouded in darkness. The Corridor stretched on for miles upon miles, its end nowhere in sight. Isaac often pondered about the world beyond the Gate. There were tales that the shadows consumed any and all who dared enter—most likely an old wives' tale meant to keep children away, but effective nonetheless. Excitement grew in Isaac's heart. He had only once before been to a Welcoming, a time when he was much too young to remember anything of note.

The sound of plodding hooves threw the entire area into a hushed silence. The pensive steps approached, first one, then ten, then fifty all at once. And then they were—like Death itself parting its miasmal cloak, hundreds of men clad in cold black steel and shields of polished tempered glass strode down the path laid out for them. Goosebumps spread across every inch of Isaac's body.

The men's faces were dark and brooding. They appeared less like proud men fighting for their Nation, and more like men that wished for an end to their misery. But it was not these men whom Isaac paid attention to, though he too would come to bear their expression in the near future; no, the men whom Isaac looked towards were those men who sat upon their steeds with valor and might. They were but a few but they shone like black diamonds in the midst of gravel, and out of them, one shone the brightest in Isaac's eyes—the man who commanded these valiant men drenched in fame and fortune—Major General Klaus F. Riemann. The tales of his prowess in the battles against the Eastern Axis were known all throughout the Three Districts. He had single-handedly slain a hundred Russian Krasnas without losing a single drop of blood. The very thought got the fifteen-year-old boy's heart pumping.

"Vince." Isaac nudged the boy standing beside him, his eyes still fixated upon the General. "You see that?" He pointed towards Klaus. "That will be me one day. I will be riding that black horse down this very path. Mark my words."

Vincenzo only managed a slight smile. To him, the hordes of injured and scarred men had more of a lasting impression. He had expected to meet glowing faces, like the knights of old he had read so much about, but the reality could not be further from what he had imagined. Men with amputated limbs clinging to their stallions in agony, moaning profanities and cursing their fates for being born in a world like this; men without any wounds yet whose eyes seemed to gaze at something imperceptible to those not privy to their unfathomable torment.

"Are you sure, Isaac? Are you sure you want to be a part of this?"

Isaac, whose eyes had not once left the General nodded vehemently. "I will. And I will step into the outside world no matter what." He turned to Vincenzo. "The world is ours, Vince. It might be impossible to live there right now, but I will make it out there. I will make it safe for you, for Ame, and for everyone here in Eden. And then..." He pointed to his left, into the sepulchral void of the Corridor, "And then I will lead humanity to the hills and the grasslands and the oceans and the Sun."

Knowing full well he couldn't convince his friend out of something he had already decided upon, Vincenzo merely managed a feeble smile.

THWACK

"Where the heck have you been, Isaac?! I've been looking all over for you!" A young girl's voice rang from behind them, smooth like honey yet firm like the dry cement upon which they stood.

"Ow. What the hell was that for?!"

"Your dad wants to tell you something, so he asked me to go fetch you." The girl shifted her weight around, stabilizing the wicker basket she carried upon her back. "I'm late enough already because of you."

"Where are you heading, Ame?" Vincenzo inquired.

"Oh, I'm just heading down to the Village to sell some of the harvests we had. You know, the usual, wool and algae..."

Isaac had once again turned towards his gilded heroes that tore through the crowd. Unsurprisingly, he was met with another smack on the head.

"AME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

Amelia merely pointed in the direction of his home.

Isaac groaned and walked, not before stealing a handful of algae from his aggressor's basket and gulping it down. "Yum."

The girl leered at him but had not the strength to press on further, so she just readjusted her weight and carried on towards the Burrows.

The masses of armored soldiers continued to flood within, the tattered flags of what was once the great United States of America framing the sides, an America which no soul alive still recalled. An America of the ashes. An Eden of the damned.