"The Carrier, is the term that can describe your current situation," Officer Verna replied, her voice as calm as ever.
So I am Carrier. Of what? I was about to ask, but before I could, the Van came to a halt.
"Get out," she said, stepping out of the vehicle without waiting for a response.
I followed her, my bare feet against the gravel beneath as I stepped outside. The desolate land stretched endlessly around us, the same lifeless expanse I had seen before. But now, something stood in front of us—a gate.
It wasn't an ordinary gate. Massive steel barriers reached several stories high, towering over the land. It was flanked on either side by fencing that sprawled outward as far as the eye could see, barbed wire curling menacingly at the top. Armed vehicles of every kind were stationed around the perimeter—armored trucks, Humvees, and even a few large tanks, their cannons pointed at nothing in particular but giving off an ominous air of readiness.
The gate itself was an imposing structure, reinforced with layers of steel plates and guarded by multiple sentries. Each one was clad in tactical armor, their faces obscured by helmets and visors. They carried weapons that looked far too advanced for a mere border patrol, their postures rigid as they scanned the horizon.
Beyond the gate, a faint hum could be heard, and as Verna led the way, I saw what lay on the other side.
A massive underground tunnel yawned beneath the surface, its entrance lit by harsh, white lights that reflected off the smooth steel walls. Tracks ran deep into the tunnel, and a train sat waiting—a sleek, reinforced behemoth of a machine. Its surface was matte black, interrupted only by streaks of glowing blue lines that pulsed faintly, as if alive.
"This is Khaiber's gateway," Verna said as she walked ahead, her boots clanging against the metal grating of the platform leading to the train. I followed closely, glancing around at the officers stationed near the entrance.
There were only a handful of them here, but their presence was intimidating. Some monitored the area through high-tech surveillance equipment, while others stood ready at their posts, rifles in hand.
The train itself seemed like a fortress on wheels. Its carriages were designed not for comfort but for survival—thick, armored walls with no visible windows. I could only imagine the level of engineering that had gone into it. If it could survive floods and earthquakes...
One more thing that I noticed was the level of respect that others showed towards officer Verna, they'd solute or give a deep bow whenever or wherever she passed to only get a nod from her.
"I had the train delayed a bit for us. It would've been a pretty long journey if we traveled in a small van," she said while walking toward one of the train compartments. The door opened with a hiss, and we both stepped aboard.
What kind of position does she have to delay a train? Or is it not that impressive? I couldn't say for sure, but it was clear that Officer Verna was not just any random officer.
When the door closed behind us, I looked around. The interior was spotless—pristine white. Then I glanced down at myself. Blistered hands, bare feet—I just noticed that I was bleeding slightly, and my feet were filthy with mud and dust.
My clothes? Let's not talk about them. All in all, I was far from presentable. But oddly, that wasn't what I was thinking as soon as we entered the compartment.
Inside, I spotted two figures sitting in the far corner. One was a man dressed in the same uniform as Officer Verna.
He stood up and walked over when he saw us enter. Cheerfully, he said, "Verna! It seems we both managed to sort out carriers on the same day, even though we were only supposed to deliver the new detectors."
"So, it was you, Randall. Here I was wondering why they were fine with the delay," Officer Verna replied. Her tone, on the other hand, was nonchalant.
Randall was good-looking, of average height, and appeared just a bit older than me—by four or five years, maybe. He had brown hair, brown eyes, a strong jawline, and a small cut on his right eyebrow.
"Like they'd deny you, even if it wasn't the case. Anyways..." He leaned to the side, eyeing me from head to toe.
What? Don't you dare say anything about my appearance right now! Let me just get into some water and wash up—then we'll see who looks better!
When was the last time I even took a bath?
Randall took a moment, seemingly thinking over his words. "Which slum does this one come from?"
"Sector Nine," she replied and took a seat. I followed but sat two seats away from her.
Is that what we're referred to as? Sector Nine? How many sectors are there, and how big is a single sector? I needed answers.
"That place, huh? It's quite far from Khaiber. Since the population there isn't very large, the higher-ups don't have much hope of finding carriers there," Randall said as he took a seat on the other side of Verna.
"True," Verna replied curtly. That was good—ignore that guy. It felt a bit satisfying to know that Randall was getting a cold response from Officer Verna for some reason.
Was it because of his judgmental look earlier?
Randall didn't seem too bothered by Verna's response and continued speaking. "That girl over there? The Military Settlement in Sector Eight checked her, and since I was there, I was tasked with taking her to the stronghold. The delay worked out, though—I got to ride this train and save time."
He pointed at the seat where he had been sitting. I looked in that direction and saw a girl.
She seemed about my age from what I could tell...just a guess, I could only see the top of her head and her gunmetal silver hair since she was looking down.
Officer Verna nodded, and then the conversation died.
Randall, used to the silence, leaned forward and stared at me past Verna. "What's your name?"
"Arthur Dahl," I replied, albeit hesitantly.
"Why are you covered in bruises all over? Uh, never mind. Not like we've ever had a carrier from the slums who wasn't messed up in one way or another." Randall leaned back in his seat.
After that, the only sound was the low hum of the train moving. Occasionally, Randall would engage in conversation with Verna, discussing topics I didn't understand.
When they weren't talking, I asked a few questions of my own, though only a few were answered. Verna kept saying the others would have to wait until we reached the stronghold, Khaiber.
The unanswered ones lingered in my mind: What is a carrier? How is it different from a Runebound? What even is a Runebound?
The answers I did get, however, were helpful. People from Sector Nine, like me, were essentially outcasts. The area was hard to reach, and the government had little reason to bother with it. The slum I came from was even farther out.
Thanks to the train tracks now reaching deeper into the sectors, the military had more access, but Sector Nine remained remote.
On geography, Verna explained that the Continent of Vaalbara was divided into four parts. Though not a perfect square, the divisions were roughly equal. Each quadrant had about twenty to twenty-five sectors and two strongholds, each controlling half of the respective quadrant.
We were in the Eastern Quadrant, which, alongside the Southern Quadrant, was under the House of Solvor. The Northern and Western Quadrants were under the House of Aegir.
These Houses had saved humanity from extinction and were now rehabilitating the planet. I noticed Verna occasionally referred to Earth as a "realm" before correcting herself.
This society wasn't just beginning to stabilize—it was already halfway there.
When I asked what a House was and why they were influential, Verna simply said I'd learn in time.
After five to six hours, the train finally came to a halt. We stepped off, and I realized the compartment we had traveled in was reserved for important personnel. People poured out of other compartments, praising the metal behemoth for its efficiency.
I felt glances from all directions—not just at the officers but mostly at me. My appearance didn't help. A blood-smeared kid in an underground tunnel, accompanied by military officers? I'd stare too.
Still, it was annoying.
One more thing: the girl with the gunmetal silver hair and dull gray irises? She was beautiful—drop-dead gorgeous.
Her name, from what I gathered from Randall's ramblings, was Elena.