Karlsruhe
The Duchy of Kravola
The Empire of Shalum
Each step that Christopher Seydel took elicited a soft crunch.
In the far reaches of northern Eracura, the season of summer had come and gone in the blink of an eye as it usually did. At one point in his life, probably a decade ago when he still carried something akin to childlike innocence, it had been one of his more favorite times of year - between harvest festivals, the anticipation of the winter holidays, and the school semesters closing out. Things had changed as he had gotten older, particularly as he became more involved in his family's trade of construction. The seasons changing meant that the working conditions became worse, and what seemed like half their labor base became ill with whatever was going around during that time of year, all of which culminated into a temporary (but damn annoying) company work capacity.
At a time like this, though, he would have happily taken that over the new reality that had set in over the city.
Even as people hustled and bustled, zipping through the streets and clogging the sidewalks as they went to and fro during this lunch hour as if to prove that life went on no matter what, it was impossible to deny the sense of dread that had set in over the city - the heavy cloud cover had nothing to do with it, either. For as long as Christopher could remember, there had been talk among his peers of rising up and showing the bourgeoisie in Aragon what the common man thought of noble machinations. Even among his own family, there had been such traitorous talk; his own brother had participated in a group that believed that eastern Shalum was better off without the western half. Despite all of that, though, it wasn’t as if anyone had been all that serious.
Until now, anyways.
It wasn’t as if the sentiment had suddenly built up. No, this was something that had been slowly gaining steam over the course of close to a year - only now was it becoming harder to ignore. The first real outcries had been when the Nalayans had kicked the Imperial Army out in a display that could only be described as shameful. Back then, there had been nothing short of cohesion among the people - nothing could unite the Duchies like a war where there was a common enemy. No one who had known of the Maldorian deployment had approved, though, that much was for certain; while they made a good force multiplier, they were too much of a wildcard for a politically unstable region like Nalaya. There had been complaints, both formally and through back channels, yet no one with power at their fingertips had listened.
If there was one thing the people of the Empire took pride in, it was their fighting men and women. To see them shamed in such a way, because the officers above them (who had more noble blood than common sense) hadn’t listened, had most certainly struck a chord with some. It wasn’t as if war was bloodless, those who had been slain and injured had to have come from somewhere. While they, along with many brave veterans, had been swept aside or completely forgotten by the media, it wasn’t as if they had been forgotten. Some of those very soldiers had risen up to prominence among local groups...including a local militia that may or may not have been backed by the Catholic church.
The revolution, should it ever become one, wasn’t a simple grassroots movement; there was movement at every level of government. Even up at the statehouse, there were nobles and lawmakers who had publicly railed against some of the less wise things that the Holland administration had done over the years. Though it wasn’t wise to do such a thing, their status came with at least some protective privileges - it was easier for a commissar to come down on an average citizen, rather than one of noble blood.
Regardless, Christopher had no interest in any part of a so-called revolution.
He had never wanted more than a steady home and a family, quite honestly. Once so simple dreams felt so out of reach.
Grunting quietly, the Shalumite man shifted his backpack a bit, ignoring the worst of winter’s bite as the winds whipped all around him. His eyes watered, but he pressed on - the bus station was just now coming into view. That was a relief, because the camping gear was growing heavier by the minute.
Some may have considered him a coward, but Chris knew that this was what he had to do if he wanted a chance at a future not filled with war, or at least conflict so stifling that it made it hard to breath. He wasn’t, by any means, the first to have been drawn east by the better, if slim, prospects that came with Silua; his family had been disappointed, but supportive in his decision to try and jump the border. They’d helped him with everything, from cleaning out his apartment to finding a place to store his truck in case the Matriarch decided to send him home.
The notion of living in a society dominated by the fairer sex still baffled him, but he tried not to think too hard about it as the bus rumbled into motion. It wasn’t that he was a sexist, not by any means, but it was no secret that he came from a patriarchal society. Perhaps this would be for the best, though; Christopher had seen what men had done with their control, and he wasn’t exactly impressed - womenfolk couldn’t do any worse, at least.
Hours later, when the bus deposited him in a village twenty miles or so away from the border, he began to walk. He would stay at the only hotel in the area for the night, and then head out before the crack of dawn the next morning. Though there were other cities closer the border, he wasn’t going to run the risk of running into Internal Security Troops. From what he’d heard, they were tightening up as more and more crossers flooded the region; they had gone so far as to set up internal checkpoints as a deterrent. While it wasn’t illegal to be this far east, the government had forcibly acquired a strip of land that ran all the way along the border; anyone caught there was judged to be guilty of trespassing.
Christopher had done his research. He knew the risks.
Scarfing down the last of his hearty breakfast, he quietly pushed away from the table in the hotel’s small eating area, depositing his plastic tray atop the trashcan as he went. He gathered his backpack soon after, ignoring the knowing look that the elderly woman at the front desk gave him as he handed over his room key. Over the last few months, he was but one of the many ‘hikers’ that had come through the area, never to return.
Walking to the edge of town, Christopher sighed quietly as he eyed the vast expanse of green wilderness before him. He had packed for this, and so much more in case of emergency - now he just had to make it across in once piece.
Shalumite-Siluan Border
Cold.
Hungry.
Scared.
But more importantly, lost.
Gasping quietly, Elena Wasserman slowed to what would have been a crawl if not for the fact that she was still on her two feet, but just barely. The bag slung across her back, which had been clean and new two weeks ago, was damn near empty and worse for wear. Her bedroll was no better, and the glass of her compass was covered in spider-web like cracks that made it difficult to even tell where she was going.
When she had started this journey two weeks ago, the young college student’s hopes had been so high. There had been ten of them, and the weather had been much better - the trip was only supposed to take a week, plus a couple more days to hitchhike to Kubārž if they got lucky. Their guide hadn’t expected to run into border guards, but he’d been plenty fit to leave the group in the dust at the first sounds of approaching all terrain vehicles. Elena still wasn’t sure how she had gotten away, and part of her couldn’t help but wish that she hadn’t. Jail had soft beds and warm food, at least.
Looking around, her lips curled and her feet ached as she gently laid out across a large, worn down rock. She had made it across the border into the Matriarchy, that much she knew; the dividing line between one nation and the other had been pretty clear to her. The fault in her plan was that she hadn’t, well, put much thought into what would happen once she made it across. She had sort of assumed that the local police would pick her up, and that she could then plead for asylum then. But so far, all she had seen since stepping into this land was sprawling forests and snowpacks that grew ever deeper.
Laying back, she shivered quietly. She was tired, so damn tired. Unlike everyone else in her group, she didn’t have any military experience or survival skills that she could put to use. She had graduated from high school three weeks earlier, and she’d gotten together what little money she could to buy some meager supplies and pay a guide to get her across the border. Now it seemed as if she would freeze to death out here, cold and alone. No one would even realize what happened…
No, no, she wouldn’t let that happen.
Wrapping her arms around her body, Elena ignored the rumble of her stomach. She had a bit more food and water, maybe a day’s worth if she rationed, and then she would be out. Maybe, just maybe, if she slept for a while, she could prolong needed to dip into those very supplies...
