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  "Though not as beautiful as you," Dom continues on, a little breathily, turning his eyes from the birds. I smile coyly at the remark as he takes my hand and kisses it, before wrapping it loosely in his as we continue on.

  My eyes draw to the crowds once more, starting to mass on the south side of the Tiber as we pass, watching the birds and us with equal interest. Couples, singles, families and groups of friends, they all watch on with smiling faces, whispering among themselves, sharing comments and private words. Though I try not to, I can't help but pick up a few whispered words here and there, my super-sensitive ears quite capable of hearing across the river, even amid the general din.

  The words I hear only serve to broaden my smile, though I don't feel I deserve the praise. Words of my beauty, of my grace.

  "Doesn't she look regal," one lady says.

  "A dress fit for a queen," says another.

  It's not my usual garb, but the dress upon me now is rather striking. Red, to match Dom's own robes, and an almost exact match for my hair, silky and smooth and perfect contoured to my frame. It's accompanied by an emerald necklace and earrings, the colour bringing out my eyes. The royal dressmakers have, by all accounts, been working hard on my entire wardrobe. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to this.

  The louder calls keep coming as we go, intended for both Dom and me.

  "Emperor Domitian and the Red Warrior!" one shouts. "Saviours of the city! Bless you. Bless you both!"

  Others cheer at the remark. Only a few appear less impressed, perhaps preferring it when Empress Vesper was in charge.

  Criminals, most likely, I think, putting my 'Nameless' hat back on as I narrow my eyes and glare across at them.

  It is, I'll admit, not so easy to thrive now within that particular profession, given the strides Domitian and Lucius, his co-Emperor, have made in providing better security and welfare around Southside and, in particular, the area of the swamps. Long forgotten and ignored during Vesper's years of rule, the place had become dark, dangerous, and disease infested. Now, it's being cleaned up, brought back to health, the people there supported and sanitised, their rations and general happiness increased.

  It's been the primary tentpole of Dom and Lucius's reign so far, and wildly successful among the poorer quarters. It has, of course, caused some consternation among a few of the city elites, what with taxes being raised, but nothing to make the enterprise anything less than a resounding success on balance.

  Perhaps less popular is the decision to abolish the Imperial Games, known among the local population as the Warrior Race. Brought in by Vesper, it was the highlight of the annual calendar, a true festival of death and blood within the great Colosseum of Neorome.

  Yes, it was brutal, barbaric, and pretty much inhumane, but also a hugely important money-maker for the city, and many of its richer residents too. With visitors drawn from far and wide to watch, it did wonders for the economy over its several week stretch, helping to fill the Imperial coffers, as well as the personal pockets of the city elites.

  Now, it's gone, and not everyone is happy about it.

  A few calls reach our ears to that effect. They're not rude, or overly blunt, more curious. That, I know, is how it starts.

  "You bringing back the Warrior Race, Emperor Domitian?" shouts one. He looks about, searching for some support from the crowd. A few heads nod in agreement. A few approving grunts ring out. "We'd all like to see it back, sir!"

  Dom glances at me. "Would you?" he asks with a grin.

  My return expression is blunt and stony, though a grin hovers upon my lips. Enough time has passed now for us to be able to joke about such things.

  "We miss it, Emperor," calls another man, grunting from across the river. "We ain't got much to distract ourselves now."

  "Yeah! We'll make our own if you don't," comes a third call, this one a little inebriated by the loose-fitting matter of the delivery. He grabs a friend - at least, I think it's a friend - and begins tussling with him, wrestling around on the floor, and drawing a great deal of laughter from the throng as a result.

  A soldier to Dom's flank looks towards him. His name is Maximus, one of the secondary commanders within the Imperial Guard, behind only Ares in rank. With Ares temporarily stationed in New Haven, however, Commander Maximus has assumed a senior role within the guard, heading up Dom's protective unit.

  Dressed in his regal silver armour and flowing red cape, he narrows his keen brown eyes on his Emperor, his voice typical of his sort; direct, clean, and militarily efficient in its delivery.

  "Should I go and quieten them down, sir?" he asks.

  Dom turns from the commotion across the Tiber, bringing a smile with him. "No, Commander Maximus, there's nothing pernicious here. Just a bit of tomfoolery, that's all."

  Max's eyes don't soften at all. I've learned he has a particularly austere countenance that rarely appears to loosen up. A career militarian and soldier, he hasn't spent a day this side of childhood as what one might call a 'normal' man.

  Essentially, he's exactly like me. A lifelong warrior.

  "As long as you're sure, Emperor Domitian," he says. "I've seen this sort of thing before. This is how it starts. And if you're being called out like this in public, that means there's likely something a little darker brewing in the shadows that you cannot see."

  Dom nods pensively, though keeps a hovering smile on his face. I rarely see him without it these days, no matter the occasion. "We'll keep an eye on it," he says, his exotic accent never failing to appeal to what girlish, desirous sensibilities I have. "Things are good, Max, don't worry so much. The people will learn to live without the games eventually."

  "Yes, sir," says Max. "We shall see how they behave when it comes time for the games to start up again, and they never appear. I fear me and my men might be called into action. Riots are never easy to manage without certain...repercussions."

  "And there is it," Dom says, shaking his head. "That worry, that concern of yours. It's why you're so effective, Max. You don't let anything slip past you."

  "Much obliged for the kind words, sir. I will ever be watching, for both you and Emperor Lucius."

  "Good man. Now, let us move on. The sun is falling fast and I have...limited time."

  Maximus nods, ordering his men to speed a little as we continue down the river, away from the larger crowds gathered around the squares and public areas lining the bank. On this side, however - the northern side - there's far less activity. The Tiber once represented the physical dividing line between the poorer residents of the city, inhabiting the south, and the more affluent members of the north. That line is blurring more than ever now, of course, but remains in effect.

  Here, and further towards the north, are the larger, more impressive offerings the city provides. A truly wondrous collection of grand buildings and plazas, parks and baths. The Colosseum itself, while perhaps not entertaining the crowds with barbarism these days, nevertheless continues to operate with theatre and dramatic performances.

  It's a truly staggering place, the great arena, though not one I've wished to return to since coming back to the city on a more permanent basis a couple of months ago. In the months before then, I'd been splitting my time between New Haven and Neorome, hopping back and forth with Dom, getting into the odd adventure with Brie.

  Though, nothing like the one from before, I think darkly, my mind filling with the odious face of Herald Nestor. That will...stay with me for a while.

  The Colosseum, however, is the site of far too much history for me, as it is for Dom. If we are to watch any sort of performance, we prefer to do so at one or another of the city's other fantastic theatres and performance halls.

  Though, I have to admit, that really isn't my thing. I love it here, and I love Dom, but I do miss my old life sometimes.

  It's...hard to tell people that, really. After all, how exactly can I miss being a rebel, a Nameless assassin and spy? How can I miss living like that, when I have something like this, now, as an
alternative?

  But it isn't the life itself, the killing and running and hiding that I yearn for. No, it's the purpose, the passion, the saving of others. That has always been my life's duty, the very reason I'm here.

  Without it, I feel strangely lost, sometimes. And that is hard for people to understand, unless they're of the same mould.

  On we go, then, continuing to quieter parts of the river. To my left, away to the north, the grand Imperial Palace begins to loom, built ahead of the Imperial Forum and up upon on a small hill. It's largely central in the city, giving excellent views in all directions from its many balconies and windows.

  And now, strange as it is to say, it's a place I call home.

  I feel Dom taking my hand again, pulling me a little closer towards him. The bustle of Southside begins to fade, giving way to the gentle clanking of armour as our protective cordon march along. Ahead, the setting sun is entering into its most stunning, glorious phase, the skies a true wonder tonight. I find Dom looking at me from the corner of my eye, my wide peripheral vision not missing much.

  I turn to him. He doesn't look away as he once might have, coy, perhaps, a little abashed to have been caught looking.

  Now, he just stares, right into my glowing green eyes.

  "You truly are something, Kira," he says softly. "You fit this city as well as that dress. As well as you fit me."

  He draws me forward, our bodies moving close. I sense the soldiers around us moving a little further away, giving us a little more space as though choreographed to move at the same time. They turn their backs, looking outwards, leaving us alone between them, the vibrant hues of light drenching the edge of the world ahead.

  I stare up into Dom's warm chocolate eyes, those tousles of curly brown hair shining with a glossy finish under the light. I notice him move his hand subtly towards a pocket at his right hip, something hidden there among the folds of his robes.

  His energy takes on a subtle change, his breathing audibly quicker, his pulse rushing the same. It's so easy to tell, with my abilities, just how nervous he's suddenly become. Every imperceptible little twitch on his face, around his eyes and nose and lips, is evident to me.

  His nerves serve to make me the same. I look at him, suddenly frightened of what's to come, as he steps back just a little.

  Oh, my...I think. He's not...

  "Kira," he starts, his voice now catching just a touch, "I know that our lives have been, and are, very different. I know that we met in...strange circumstances, and have only known each other for less than a year. I know that you miss your old life sometimes, that, maybe, you'll never be able to truly give up on it. But..." he draws something into his hand, something small, hidden in his palm. "I know too, that I will always love you anyway. I know that you are the one for me."

  He drops, one knee falling to the ground. From his hand, he brings forward a little box, opening out the top, revealing a dazzling diamond ring inside.

  "You have changed my life, Kira," he continues. "You saved this city, and you saved me. I now promise to live the rest of my life making you happy in return." He lifts up the ring, presenting it to me. "If, that is, you will have me?"

  I stand, rooted to the floor, every fibre of me paralysed. Something rubbles within me, something so profound I hardy even know what it is. A...joy, so great, so deep, the sort I thought I'd never, ever feel.

  I feel my lips beginning to quiver, the tears beginning to build. I try to stop, but can't.

  I am simply overwhelmed by the moment.

  "Will you, Kira Blackstone, Champion of Neorome, do me the eternal honour of becoming my wife?"

  He stares at me, quite able to look into my mind and read my thoughts but, perhaps, too frightened to do so.

  "I...I..."

  It is quick. It has all happened fast. But it just feels so...right.

  "You...will?" he asks softly, warm eyes looking up at me.

  Finally, the floodgates open, and my lips explode into a smile the likes of which my face has never seen. I burst out with a bountiful laugh, and shout out the words for all to hear.

  "I WILL!" I cry. "Of course I will!"

  Dom launches himself from the floor, grabbing me in his arms and twirling me around. Through the dizzying blur, I see a couple of the soldiers glancing back, smiling through their visors. Even Max, so stern of face, appears to have cracked a little under the sweetness of the moment, the romance of the proposal under the setting sun, by the twinkling river, with the din of the crowds humming in the distance.

  He sets me down eventually, after a number of rotations, and our lips crash into our first embrace as husband-and-wife-to-be.

  And then, drawing back, he takes a breath and shakes his head, his eyes so bright, his teeth so wonderfully white.

  "From gladiator to Empress," he says. "What a story it will be!"

  The words begin to sink in, burying me under a sudden weight of expectation and public service, an avalanche of anxieties rushing to my head.

  Empress, I think. I can't be...Empress.

  "Look at you," says Dom. "You've entered a state of shock. My beautiful fiancé, I just can't believe it!"

  He picks me up again, and calls for the guards to about turn.

  "Men, we celebrate tonight, all of us together! Max, onward to the palace, I must tell Lucius the wonderful news."

  I'm drawn away, my mind suddenly burdened. My life marching forward at a tremendous pace.

  And even above the wondrous joy that still spreads through me at the prospect of making our love official, I feel dread too, and panic, at just where all this will lead.

  Oh, God, I think. What have I gotten myself into...

  3

  Brie

  It's the dead of night, the world quiet, tranquil. Above, the moonlight shines down, bathing the earth with its silver glow, unveiling the destruction these lands have seen.

  It's been almost a year since the Cure stormed through these western woods, the woods where the Fangs used to live. A year since they sent through a blaze that consumed most of the forest, the inferno eating through the trees and laying out their pathway to war.

  Now, some growth has returned, the stumps of trees recovering, spouting new plants. Others have grown up from the ground, the compost of dead bodies no doubt helping, creating large areas of grass and greenery where once the woods were so thick. Yet here and there, some larger areas of growth remain, certain areas escaping the firestorm that spread.

  Here, especially, a fair distance from the epicentre of that fateful attack, there remains plenty of woodland dotted about. Some trees cluster in clumps. Other stands alone, their old neighbours now deceased, refusing to give in as the blaze swept by.

  I slow my pace now, coming to a gradual halt. It's a long way from the city, fifteen miles or so, a large enough distance for me to test my Dasher speed. My endurance is improving by the day, so much better than it was before. I can run at speed for longer now, reach higher top speeds.

  Soon enough, I might even be able to match Kira on that front. We've raced a few times, and I haven't yet gotten the better of her, but still...I'm getting closer.

  No one knows I'm here right now, and that is precisely the intention. Yes, Adryan seems to be aware that I sneak out of bed some nights, and go off on my 'private missions' as he calls them, but he doesn't know just what they are. The guards at the outer western gate don't know either. I thought about just asking them to keep my movement quiet, but wasn't entirely sure if I could trust their allegiance. In the end, I settled with merely erasing their memories of my presence instead.

  It's time consuming, having to do it each time I go in and out, but I'm getting better at managing it with multiple people at once. Either way, I don't want my grandmother knowing. I don't want...anyone knowing.

  I look ahead now, as the grim facade of the facility comes into view. The main gate stands open, its outer walls still blackened from the fires that filled the woods, the barbed wire atop them growing rusted
and brown. I wander inside, past the detritus and debris, the bits and pieces all left behind.

  Within the courtyard beyond the gate, large heaps of blackened lab equipment and machinery sit piled up, all burned and destroyed. The buildings behind have been almost entirely cleaned out, especially those floors down in the depths, where so many secret, macabre experiments were being done.

  The REEF was once the centre of a great deal of the evil perpetrated in Haven, seeing to the reconditioning of those who spoke out against the Consortium's rule, turning them into Con-Cops, as well as the many genetic experiments done to create hybrids, designed to do little more than kill and obey, their free will away.

  I still have mixed feelings about the Stalkers, having fought against them during the civil war, and then with them when fighting the Cure. Without them coming to save us at the end, there probably wouldn't even be a Haven left.

  Still, they remain a matter of great debate and contention within the city. For some, they should be used as intended, protecting the city, watching over our borders. For others, they represent the evils of the past, shine a light on our dark and troubled history. It is a debate that is ongoing. For now, they are sitting unused, available only if and when President Orlando calls for it.

  I turn my eyes to the grim facades of the buildings ahead. They, too, have been abandoned now, left to sit and rot, just like the final inhabitant who still lives here in solitude. Once a month, a car will come and drop off food and basic supplies, leaving them out in the courtyard, as if afraid to encounter the beast that resides within.

  By now, the gates aren't even shut when they leave. No, no one believes anymore that President Orlando's predecessor has any intentions to escape. No one really cares, anymore. He lives here alone, in isolation, brooding on his sins.

  Director Artemis Cromwell. My grandfather. Mass murderer and genocidal maniac to some. A figure of redemption, even pity, for others.