The sun set over the suburbs, bathing the deteriorated houses with a deceptively warm golden light that belied the hardship within their walls.
Goldcrest border patrollers marched through the streets in their impeccable uniforms with their beasts partially manifested, displaying the new reality of the divided city.
"Day 360," Reed murmured, observing the small calendar where they had been meticulously marking each morning, days of completed ritual. "When Ren arrives, at least..."
The thousand-day mark remained distant, and the ritual had become both a comfort and a burden. They had already been forced to choose between buying food or keeping the processed materials for the ritual stored safely.
They always chose the ritual. Their son's promise, however improbable it seemed, was the only thing they could cling to in these increasingly desperate times.
