Alec trekked across the Plain of Thorns, Marco beside him, the gray landscape and endless rolling thorn bushes matching his somber mood. The sky was gray, the earth was gray, the thorn bushes, filling the landscape as far as he could see, were gray, scratching at him as he walked. Marco weaved his way between them, but Alec no longer cared; he let himself be scratched. In fact, he welcomed the pain. Having just come from burying his family, it was the only thing that made him feel alive.

They had hiked from Soli through these desolate plains, the most direct way, Marco had said, to Ur and avoid detection by Pandesia. Alec, though, was barely cognizant of where he was as he went. With each step there flashed through his mind images of his brother, his dying words, his plea for vengeance. Vengeance. That was the only thing that kept him going.

Alec put one foot before the other, feeling as if he had been walking for years. He was grateful for Marco’s companionship, who had allowed him his silence, who gave him his space to grieve, and who had given him a purpose to go on living.

The wind whistled through and another thorn bush whirled by and stuck to Alec’s leg; Alec felt the blood trickle down, but he didn’t care. Marco, though, leaned over and kicked it with his boot, sending it rolling away, and Alec felt the thorns dislodge from his leg. He watched it roll, skidding across the hard, baked earth, and turned to see a landscape filled with rolling thorn bushes, looking like a sea of creatures coming alive. He could no longer imagine grass, trees; it was as if the world had ended.

Alec felt a sudden hand on his chest and he came to a stop, as did Marco beside him. He looked down and was surprised to see, a step before them, a drop-off, a steep decline into a valley. As he looked out, in the distance he saw an entirely new landscape. There, before them, was a valley of rolling hills, lush with green, dotted with grazing sheep. And beyond that lay something he could hardly fathom. He brushed the dust from his eyes and blinked against the rays of the setting sun, and he saw the outline of a vast and beautiful city, its spires and domes and parapets rising into the sky. Beyond this city was the outline of an ocean, and Alec knew this was someplace special. The sight yanked him from his reverie.

“My home,” Marco said, standing beside him, looking out and sighing. “I hate my family,” he continued, “but I love my city.”

Alec saw Marco studying the city with what appeared to be a mix of emotions.