Chapter 295
Wake sits rigidly beside me, staring at the door his parents disappeared through, jaw tight enough to crack stone. His whole body is wound like a taut line, caught between pride and something more raw. Doubt, maybe. Hurt.
I nudge his arm gently. “You should go after him.”
Wake’s gaze flicks to me, hesitant.
“I’ll be fine,” I add. “Seriously. Go. Talk to him.”
He hesitates, but Axel solves the problem for both of us by smacking Wake hard between the shoulders.
Wake jolts forward with a grunt and glares at him.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Axel says, grinning like a shark. “Show her around. Like a proper trench dweller.”
Wake’s eyes narrow to slits. “Don’t get her into trouble.”
Axel throws his hands up in mock offense. “What kind of brother do you take me for?”
“The exact kind I’m warning her about,” Wake mutters.
I smirk. “I can handle him.”
Wake leans down, cupping my face in his hands for a brief, fierce kiss. When he pulls back, his voice is soft but firm. “Don’t let him talk you into anything stupid.”
“No promises,” I whisper back.
He rolls his eyes skyward and mutters something about famous last words, then turns and strides after his parents, his broad shoulders disappearing into the echoing corridors of the palace.
The second he’s out of sight, Axel grins wider.
“Well,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Come on, surface girl. I promised my brother I’d show you a good time, and I’m a man of my word.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You just promised him you wouldn’t get me into trouble.”
Axel winks. “Different promises. Trench law.”
I laugh despite myself, and just like that, the heavy tension from dinner evaporates.
We head out of the palace and into the city proper.
Atlas feels different now.
Without the looming shadow of the throne hall, the city breathes—full of life, sound, and motion. The buildings still loom tall and jagged, carved directly into the trench walls, but there’s a vibrancy to the streets that reminds me more of a festival than a fortress.
Vendors call out in sharp, melodic accents. Children dart past, their laughter trailing like bubbles behind them. The air smells like salt and fire and something sweet and smoky I can’t name.
It’s not so different from Ao, I realize. In structure. In scale.
But the atmosphere couldn’t be more different.
In Ao, there was always an edge of desperation. Fear, barely masked by ceremony. An unspoken threat humming just beneath the surface.
Here in Atlas, there’s no fear. No rigid masks.
The people of the trench are loud, blunt, and full of teeth. But there’s no malice behind it. Just energy. Pride. Community.
And apparently, absolutely no sense of boundaries.
“Axel!” a woman calls from a market stall decked out with coral jewelry. “Is it true? Your brother’s come home?”
Axel throws her a grin and a mock salute. “You know me, Linna. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”
She laughs, tossing him a piece of bright blue fruit. He catches it easily and tosses it to me. I juggle it clumsily before managing to clutch it against my chest.
Another man—a blacksmith by the look of his soot-streaked arms—waves a hammer in greeting. “Axel, you dog! Heard your brother’s brought a mate!”
The whole crowd around him erupts into good-natured jeers and laughter.
Axel just grins wider. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. I’m just the better-looking one.”
He fielded the questions like a master, never confirming, never denying, but always leaving them grinning. And they love it. It doesn’t seem to matter if they get answers. The banter, the interaction itself, is the reward.
We move from stall to stall, greeted at every turn.
I watch Axel, fascinated.
He’s so different from Wake and Shoal, yet somehow, unmistakably their brother. He has Wake’s natural authority—people step aside for him without needing to be asked. But he also has Shoal’s ease, his ability to charm a crowd without once losing control of it.
The difference is that with Axel, it feels genuine.
He’s not pretending to care. He does care. About the people. About the city. About the laughter that keeps the darkness at bay.
I realize, somewhere between a merchant trying to sell me a dagger made from shark tooth and a little girl braiding bright seaweed into Axel’s hair, that I like it here.
I like them.
Atlas may be a city of warriors. But it’s also a city of survivors. People who fight because they must, but who choose to live in every other moment.
After a while, Axel leads me up a winding path carved into the side of the trench. We come to a broad overlook that stretches out above the city.
From here, Atlas glows like a living thing. Lanterns twinkle like stars caught in stone.
It’s breathtaking.
Axel leans on the railing beside me, arms crossed loosely.
“He’s lucky, you know.”
I glance at him. “Wake?”
“Yeah.” Axel’s voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual humor. “He spent too long thinking he didn’t belong here anymore. That he didn’t deserve it. You’re good for him.”
I look out over the city, heart swelling and aching all at once.
“I hope so,” I say softly.
“You are.” Axel shrugs. “Trust me. We’re warborn. We don’t do hope. But we know truth when we see it.”
I smile at that.
For a long moment, we just stand there, breathing in the pulse of the city.
Then Axel bumps his shoulder lightly against mine.
“Come on,” he says. “Before he starts hearing the stories of our escapades and accuses me of corrupting you.”
I laugh. “Too late.”
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