The sky burned crimson as the sun dipped into the jagged line of the horizon, a kaleidoscope of tropical hues that belied the darkness of what this place had become. Sylas stood ankle-deep in the surf, the water lapping at her feet with an almost mocking gentleness. Her sleek, black survival suit clung to her figure—a minimalist yet intricately designed piece of tech crafted as much for utility as it was for rebellion. It wasn’t armor, but a statement. A refusal.
Her reflection wavered in the shallow tide. The black, strappy details of the suit crisscrossed her body like shadows, the edges faintly glowing with bioluminescent threads. It was a relic of another time, a gift from someone who no longer walked this earth. She adjusted the plumeria flower tucked behind her ear, its petals a stark white beacon in contrast to an otherwise muted world. The flower reminded her of Asha. Of promises made and promises broken.
Above her, the Observation Towers churned with their ominous hums, their mechanical eyes scanning the shoreline. The perfect, polished globe of the ocean view stretched endlessly, but Sylas knew the truth: there was no escape out there. The Wall loomed just beyond the water’s edge, a cosmic anomaly of shimmering light that held the world captive. No one knew where it came from—only that it had been there for decades, cutting humanity off from the rest of existence. The world beyond the Wall had become a myth, whispered about in hushed tones among the camps.
“Sylas,” a voice hissed from behind her. She turned sharply. Cassian stood in shallow cover beneath a cluster of palms, his own black suit scuffed and battle-worn, a stark contrast to her eerily pristine one. His wild, dark hair was matted with sweat, his rugged face marked by years of defiance. Yet his eyes always had that flicker of hope, as if rebellion was not just a chance but inevitable destiny.
“They’re moving up the checkpoints,” he continued, scanning the area nervously. “We don’t have much time.”
“I need one more moment,” Sylas replied simply. “One more moment to remember her.”
Cassian’s expression softened. “I know you miss her. We all do. But you know what she’d say, right? She’d say, ‘Don’t let sentimentality get you shot.’”
Sylas smirked despite herself, though the ache never left her chest. “Or worse—tested,” she added dryly. Nothing chilled humans more than the Thought Examinations. The Overseers would pry into the deepest recesses of one’s mind, extracting memories, fears, and intentions, always searching for the seeds of rebellion. Too many had disappeared. Too many had become…something else afterward.
She pulled herself from the surf, letting the mud suck reluctantly at her heels as she moved toward Cassian. “Do we know where the bastion is located?”
“Still northwest, about six klicks inland. But it’s worse than we thought. The Vantine Patrols have started using Scry-Drones. And Sylas…” He paused, his throat bobbing. “There’s a rumor. They’re saying there’s no bastion at all. That it’s just bait.”
Sylas took a deep breath, the salty air filling her lungs. She glanced back at the ocean and the Wall beyond, its swirling lights casting broken rainbows on the surface. “Then they’re underestimating us,” she said firmly. “Because if they think we’ll run into a trap, they have no idea what we’re capable of.”
Her words were bold, but a whisper of doubt lingered. The bastion was supposed to be the last stronghold for free humans, a place where the Overseers couldn’t reach. But every step closer to it felt like another step into someone else’s game. Still, hesitation would bring them nothing but capture and erasure.
Cassian nodded, motioning for her to follow. “We move at sundown. Whatever’s out there, we face it together.”
They disappeared into the thickets of the jungle, the foliage swallowing them whole. The air grew dense and humid, a symphony of insects filling the atmosphere. As they moved, Sylas found herself replaying moments with Asha—the nights on the rebel ship, when laughter and hope still felt possible. The day they found the suits, hidden in an abandoned lab, tools meant for survivalists who had dreamed of a far brighter future.
Hours later, the bastion rose in the distance, a cluster of lights obscured by mist and trees. It looked ghostly, unreal. Cassian halted, raising a hand for her to stop. They ducked low, eyes scanning the perimeter. The hum of Scry-Drones buzzed faintly in the distance, closing in. Every instinct in Sylas screamed to retreat.
Then, a voice crackled softly in her earpiece, startling her. “Sylas, Cassian. Do not proceed.”
The voice was familiar, achingly so. Her heart skipped like a stone across a pond. “Asha?” she whispered, her lips barely moving. “How—?”
“No time. The bastion is compromised. They’re waiting. It’s all a trap. Turn back. Now.”
Cassian’s face turned gray as he overheard the same transmission. “She’s alive?” he mouthed, struggling to process. It was a question they had asked themselves a thousand times, with no hope for an answer—until now.
Sylas hesitated for the briefest of moments, gazing toward the phantom bastion. Then she turned, grabbing Cassian’s arm. “Move,” she urged. “We trust her.”
They vanished into the jungle’s shadows as the world’s secrets loomed larger and deadlier than ever before.
The source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Chic in Black: The Minimalist Bikini Look Dominating the Tropics
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