"Do you think it's possible that there are people who aren't human but think they are?"

  Launa was startled by Lys's question. It sounded innocent enough, but with it being the first question she'd ever asked, Launa took her time answering. She observed as Lys kept rubbing her brown eyes.

  "I don't think it really matters." Lys turned to her, watching her intensely. Launa wasn't used to this much attention from her. She could feel her face heating up. "We're all so different already. Some people see sounds. Some can hear voices. We have so many different gender and sexual identities and even genomes. Being human is more like... a state of mind? If you want to identify as the piece of shit that humans are then you're probably human."

  Lys looked stunned for a moment, but then she laughed. "Yeah, I think you're right." Her smile lingered. Open. Honest. Fragile.

  And Launa was in love.

  CHAPTER 3

  BERYL

  Béryl stood facing Lake Seir. It seemed to be spreading further everyday, stalking and reaching out to the mountains, a tiger waiting to pounce and swallow them, as it did most of Eastern Henalda. Béryl wondered if lakes shared the greediness of men. On official business, he would have headed to the guard post, where an Earth Dancer on duty would open up the underground tunnel to reach the Garrison, but meeting Lys was anything but official.

  So the canoe it was.

  A feisty, flimsy thing with damaged paddles. It spent its life hiding in thick grass, waiting until the dead of night where Béryl's nervous hands would take it on Lys adventures, never letting him down. Neither of them knew it at the time, but this would be their last crossing of the tiger lake. And instead of enjoying the way the eager wood brought him to shore, he looked at the troubled mirror of the night sky around him.

  The three moons were crescents, yet they never let any stars inside their hollow arc. Their missing parts were a blinding darkness, impenetrable even to their celestial counterparts. They resembled Lys in a way. You could see her, but not really. She was a brick wall, and even when you thought you had slithered through a crack to see the person behind the mask, you only saw darkness. With no moons to light up your path.

  Yet he had seen a bit of her that night. When she inspected the flower. It had barreled through her walls, and she hadn't been quick enough to hide from sight. Béryl felt like he had seen too much. He had crossed an invisible line, and his feet still burned from the affront. He knew she wouldn't come to see him anymore. But he also knew he would still go that next day. Part of him couldn't help but trust her words.

  He wanted to trust her.

  A common chorus filled his ears. Stupid Béryl. Naive Béryl. Béryl would believe you if you said that the sky was going to fall tomorrow. But he couldn't help it. There were too many what ifs in his mind. He didn't want to deny their existence. He couldn't. He preferred to trust and be hurt than to never trust at all. And if that made him stupid, then he would be stupid. He had his story straight. If she didn't come, he would give all he knew to the army. He would get a commendation and maybe a juicy promotion. Tonight could be his last night in the noisy east wing dormitories. With a bit of luck he would get a room in the west wing. He heard they got double beds there.

  He wanted a double bed.

  The Garrison was a proud red even in darkness. Torches lit up every new cranny of the eastern and western wing, while the central building lay forgotten, its red dull and tired. The wings had been built during the military boom of the pre-war, a symbol of the General's greatness, while the original building was a testament to the erasure of the monarchy.

  A living painting of the Civil War.

  Which wasn't much of a war.

  General Avriel had convinced the Crown to invest in the army, recounting the horrors of the Drifter epidemic and the need to protect the people, then, when the Crown became no more than a formality, it turned on them and crushed the King like the giant it had become. Béryl remembered the stories his parents had told him about the General. How he had outsmarted the royal family to orchestrate a coup with as little bloodshed as possible, and how the cities filled with clamouring voices at the news. He hadn't lived a moment without the General as his leader. And he was glad he didn't. He proudly followed his parents' footsteps by joining the army. A decision met with warm smiles and cake.

  He wouldn't trade that day for the world.

  Over two years he had lived in the Eastern Garrison after transferring from Rasphira's training program. Two years of wandering through the bright red corridors, the infinite open veins of the building. Posters fought for space on the walls. Jobs, warnings, wanted posters, new regulations. Who needed books when you could just tour the immense building and get the same overload of information?

  There were posters of Lys here too.

  There always were.

  Though the sketch was outdated now. The Lys on the Wall seemed too calm. Too naive. Too... open.

  The Lys on the Wall made him believe there was a normal person like him behind those white eyes.

  He caught himself, straightening his spine and glancing around him. No one looked at her anymore. Every able eyed person was able to draw her in their sleep by now. She was a companion during walks, a legend to twist in your own special way around campfires, a joke between friends. She was like the wind. No one knows where it comes from, but it's just there, and you live with it.

  Béryl entered one of the common rooms, eager to sit on anything comfortable after the rough boat ride. The tired shape of a woman waited for him, splattered with her limbs on every part of the sofa..

  "Long day Maara?" He asked, walking closer. Her tan face turned towards him and she showed him a smile which couldn't seem to decide if it was happy or pained.

  "Finally!" She said. Her whole body seemed to come awake, what little there was of it. Béryl always joked he could carry her in her pocket. They made a strange combo with their sizes, Béryl often using her shoulder as an elbow rest. But they clicked, and they worked, and he was very glad to have found her. "Sit! I have much complaining to do."

  Béryl sat between her legs and mimed the opening of a book, ready to note down his notes on his imaginary paper. "What's on your mind My Lady?"

  Her eyebrows met in anger "First, never call me that. I will rip your arm off." Maara was a Lady, her house one of the few surviving the fall of the monarchy by the grace of the General. Noble power was now mostly a tale they told themselves to sleep at night, but they had their money, some control their lands, and they lived happily in their own noble delusion.

  She proceeded to recount her day training new recruits, which she hated doing because she had no patience, even though she was great at it. She mostly hated it for the period of time it took those recruits to learn to respect her despite her size. One of them had decided to skip the strength training session because, in his words: What is she going to do? Stand on her tippy toes and slap me?

  Maara was a Water Dancer, a proper one. And they were on an island, training next to the biggest body of water in Henalda.

  She didn't need her toes to slap some sense into him.

  "What about you? How was your 'walk'"

  Béryl grinned, lifting his trusty satchel to show the documents Lys had given him earlier that night.

  "I have proof that our weapon supplier was using back alley trading to evade the Tyre tax. They've been falsifying the Tyre seal on all their ledgers. We could raid soon and rack up a good amount of contraband."

  Maara's eyes widened. "Give me that," she said, springing up like a rabbit and snagging the paper from Béryl's hands, almost ripping it. Her eyes scanned it with lightning speed, her frown deepening with every second.

  "How did you get this?" She asked, her voice filled with more concern than glee. "Is it from that informant of yours in Rasphira?"

  Béryl gulped, his body tensing up. "How did you know about that?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Please. I let it slide because you're a stickler to the rules and I thought you were just having fun but this... Whoever it is, they're good. And not the good kind of good. The kind where I wouldn't be surprised if their poster was in the corridors."

  Béryl gulped once more and took back the documents from her worried hands. "It's fine," he said. "I have it under control."

  Maara watched him closely. "Do you?"

  He couldn't bring himself to say yes.

  Béryl woke with the weight of a bad day crushing his chest. He felt it in the air, gently serenaded by the loud snoring of his unconscious roommate. Still, he got up before roll call, shaved, and put up his dreadlocks. He put on his perfectly ironed red uniform, checking with his overworked shaving mirror if everything was up to code. Was a button undone? Or becoming loose? Were his shoulder pads straight? The tails of his coat perfectly symmetrical?

  Every detail mattered. He always came out of his bathroom looking perfectly presentable. You couldn't deny Béryl's dedication to the job. It was another armor. Something he could always control. Especially with what awaited him down in the main lobby. He crossed paths with Maara on his way down, and was met with eyes full of pity. She had read about his assignment. He silently thanked her for the thoughts, and walked as slowly as a compulsively punctual person could.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The main hall was a pale reflection of the grandeur of the Eastern Garrison. There were pretentious decorations on humble stairs and red paint determined to cover the imperfections of the ancient brick wall beneath. But the most jarring aspect of the room was the group of creatures waiting for him at the doorstep.

  Five humanoid embodiments of the colour white were staying around.

  Perfectly still.

  Perfectly silent.

  They didn't look at each other. Their eyes were unfocused, dead bodies on invisible strings.

  White hair.

  White nails.

  White skin.

  White eyes.

  It was enough to make anyone's skin crawl.

  Special Force Officers was their official name. They worked directly under the General. No one knew where they came from. They appeared, did their jobs, then flew off.

  People called them Ghosts, though they were careful not to call them that to their face. Not that they would really mind, Béryl thought, they didn't seem capable of any emotion, much less pride. Béryl's job today was to guide them and mitigate their impact on the people. A friendly face to help them forget the monsters flying over their heads. He hated every second he spent close to those freaks, but a job was a job. His fake smile clocked in with a silent ding, and his determination took him down the narrow stairs.

  All five of them turned to look at him.

  All of them.

  At the same time.

  Their expressions perfect copies of each other.

  Béryl couldn't help but freeze, an intense chill running down his spine.

  This is going to be a very bad day.

  He came close, managing a strained Let's go then!

  His fake smile demanded a raise.

  He headed outside to the Mobile Reception. With the Ghosts hovering behind him, his request for a Fire Mobile was treated with uncomfortable speed. The receptionist would have gladly thrown it at him if it meant that they would leave sooner. He took a second to find the fire tubes and place his feet on each. He hadn't driven any kind of Mobile in a while, and he hoped he could control his flame output and combustion so he wouldn't rush to meet lake fish society.

  The ghosts didn't get in. They never did. They floated behind him, too good for the ground.

  Béryl drove out and met the receptionist. The man fell into a deep stance and started Dancing. Béryl couldn't look away. He loved watching Earth Dancers. Their movements were sharp, strong. As if their whole life depended on every single move. They were always barefoot as they Danced. For a deeper connection. The grass beneath them swayed along as they Danced, creating beautiful patterns, but the real feat was the earth before them slowly lifting up to reveal a two meters high and wide tunnel for Mobile use.

  The receptionist came to his window. "Remember how to do this?"

  Béryl winced. "Sort of."

  "Honk your horn once you get to the other side, they'll open up for ya," He said with a strained smile as the Ghosts hovered above him. "Dance gently, don't burn out the whole fuel in once go, they'll have some more on the other side just in case. Control is key, you're alone, you're light, you'll go very fast very easily."

  Béryl nodded. The man dared a glance to the group before adding, "Still hate feeling them nearby, but I guess they're needed. Monsters to fight monsters, they say, eh? At least these are on our side."

  "That's a way to put it."

  The Earth Dancer smiled and smacked the side of the mobile. "See ya later soldier."

  Béryl mirrored his smile, saluting. He drove into the tunnel, catching a glimpse of the Special Force Officers flying over the lake. His stomach churned at the thought of being with them for an entire day. Monsters to fight monsters. He repeated.

  Monsters to fight monsters.

  The scenery beyond the window of the Fire Mobile ran past like a chased rabbit, so Béryl set his sights on A'lu, its mountains eager to meet the clouds. When he danced and used his flames to propel himself into the air, they seemed so attainable, friendly even. But from down here, they made sure to remind him of how small he was. Of how small everything was. Some didn't like feeling small. They liked to think their worries and actions could change the world. Thinking of themselves as the protagonists of some epic adventure which just hadn't started yet.

  Béryl liked feeling small.

  It made life bearable. When everything was becoming too much, so heavy that he couldn't move or breathe, he thought of the mountains. Of how small everything really was. And he could breathe again. Today was the same. Even if this day with Ghosts became a long one, it was small. It would be over before he knew it. They would arrive in Compe. The Ghosts would do their job. He would drive back. Have dinner. Chat with Maara. And sleep. Just like every other small day.

  He almost ran the Ghosts over as they dropped down at the entrance of the village.

  Some part of him was silently disappointed he didn't.

  He parked the Mobile, entering Work Mode as he saw the expressions on the locals' faces fall at the sight of the Special Forces. He went before the group, his fake smile working overtime.

  "We'll be out of here before you know it. I apologise for the inconvenience," he repeated, to varying results. Some breathed a sigh of relief as they saw him, knowing that they weren't alone with...those.

  The Ghosts led the march around the bickering village, Béryl following behind like a dog, softening their effect as much as he could. When they arrived at the main square, they flew off in different directions. It was the first time today they hadn't moved in total unison. Béryl couldn't tell which was stranger.

  "Are you okay my boy?" A warm voice came from next to him. An elderly woman smelled of flowers and the fresh bread she held in her basket. She checked the sky as she came towards him.

  "Why are you walking around with those things?"

  Béryl smiled, putting his hand on his heart and bowing slightly as he spoke. "Just making sure they're not disturbing the peace of your lovely village madam. I wouldn't want any of you to be upset and have this beautiful day ruined for you."

  She blushed, raising her free hand to her face. "What a brave young man. We're really glad to be so close to the Garrison you know? It makes us feel safe."

  Béryl kept his smile. "I'm glad you feel that wa-" A scream in the distance interrupted him.

  They've started.

  The woman gasped. "My, to think there were some here."

  As seconds passed, the screams multiplied. Screams of surprise shifted into denial and then distant begging, a morbid choir filling the village. Villagers hurried to their homes. Those weren't screams of beings people wanted to rescue.

  "You should get back inside, who knows what they could do when angered." Béryl said to the woman. She nodded, her eyes grateful and apologetic.

  Ghosts came back, one by one, dragging humanoid beings along with them. If there was one group people loathed even more than Ghosts, it was them.

  Drifters.

  There were five in front of him now. Two men, two women, and a boy, or that's what they appeared as. Drifters: creatures from other worlds who weren't satisfied with their own, all too happy to come here and wreak havoc. They didn't have the decency to keep their original forms. They chose to look human to manipulate them better.

  A coward's strategy.

  Even now, they were a perfect mirror of despair and fear. Some were injured. One had a broken leg and the boy had a broken arm. Most were crying. Their eyes scraped their surroundings, craving any smidge of pity.

  But there was none.

  The villagers had all gone inside to avoid contact, and Béryl had seen too many to feel such emotions at their tricks.

  Their screams turned to quiet sobs as they were carried outside of the village. Though public executions of Drifters were common in the bigger cities, the smaller folks weren't entertained by such displays. They just wanted to get back to plowing.

  Béryl's eyes lingered a second too long on the Lys on the Wall, but he quickly caught himself as some villagers were waving him goodbye. His fake smile clocked out as he turned away from Compe.

  They passed the Fire Mobile and went deeper into the forest, where they could simply leave the bodies without disturbing the locals too much. The Ghosts lined up the five drifters in a line. They had stopped fighting, a mirror of despair digging and leaving its somber trace onto their faces. The Special Forces then began their usual inspection. No one knew why they did it. Rumour was those who passed were taken somewhere.

  But no one cared.

  Béryl stood at attention. No matter how much he hated Ghosts, this was his job, he would see it through with the full etiquette.

  They inspected the first one. One of the women, its body vibrating terror. It kept mumbling words which sounded like prayers, but the gods of its old world could not hear it here. A hand of white stopped the words, blocking the Drifter's airways. Colour rushed to leave its skin, its arms moving in macabre dancing spasms. With a jolly thump, its body hit the ground. A rock awaited its skull, and the crack of their kiss filled the silent forest. No blood leaked from the wound, only a hungry darkness. It surged in its eyes and mouth, both open wide, empty and full all at once. This face of dead Drifters haunted Béryl's intruding nightmares, and his heart begged him to turn away, but he watched, as was his duty.

  He watched as darkness spread from face to face, going down the line, eager.

  He watched as terror shifted to otherworldly emptiness.

  He watched as Ghosts slowly drained Drifters of anything remotely human.

  "Please stop." The boy pleaded. Tears spilled from every part of its eyes, abandoning a sinking ship. Béryl noticed a strange mark below one of them. Three dots, just like the moons, an odd trait to put on a made up face. "We don't deserve this-" Its voice bore the weight of death and continued despair. "We never wanted to- Malyt," it called. "help-" it fell silent as white latched onto him, and moments later, the darkness filled it as well.

  Béryl's stomach turned. He shouldn't feel anything for those creatures, he knew, but there was something in the way they moved that was too human. Béryl's first instinct when seeing pain was to help, not watch. He hated how Drifters made him feel.

  Just die already. He thought.

  Every cry of despair was a knife to his stomach, every tear a sting to his heart, yet he watched on. Until darkness filled every eye and five empty husks laid in the forest, he kept watching.

  The Ghosts turned to him.

  All at once.

  Their white eyes dug into his soul.

  "Are you-" his breath ran from his lungs. He fell forwards, grasping at his throat.

  A Ghost crouched in front of him. But there was something wrong.

  Its expression wasn't dead.

  It was looking at him, confidence and power exuding from the snow-white eyes which suddenly reminded him of someone.

  "Now, little traitor," It said, voice full of anger and glee. "Where is Lys?"