The next day, Aunt Savyla woke up before the day dawned. It was pitch dark but looking at the sky, she could see a plethora of stars sparkling in the gloom. Aunt Savyla comforted herself with the fact that since the universe was capable of such beauty in the heavens, there was hope for the future, no matter how dismal and ugly the present condition of planet Earth.

In the bathroom, Aunt Savyla brushed her teeth and washed her face. This would be the longest period that she would be away from Haedon. She had spoken to Kyara’s parents the day before, and asked for their help in keeping an eye out for him. However, she could not help feeling concerned, in view of the cases of disturbances in recent weeks. She looked sternly at herself in the mirror. Admonishing herself, she thought, ‘Get a grip on yourself, woman. Haedon’s already sixteen and well capable of taking care of himself. And if he isn’t ready, no time like the present for him to learn.’

Exiting the bathroom, she heard sounds in the kitchen and found Haedon placing two pieces of hardtack in a bowl of soup, courtesy of the stock created from dinner the night before. She smiled to herself. Haedon was impulsive and a slacker when it came to school work, but there were good points to him.

Hardtack was, as its name suggests, a long lasting biscuit made from flour and water. As it was immensely hard, anyone who ate it fresh from the pack was likely to lose a tooth or two. Hardtack was usually left to soak in a liquid for a few minutes to soften it.

Haedon set the bowl on their small dining table, its flaking laminate revealing a grimy core.

“Oh, good morning, Aunt Sav,” said Haedon. Gesturing at the table, he went on, “your breakfast.”

“Thanks, Haedon,” said Aunt Savyla gratefully.

‘I’ve also packed some roasted ants and crickets for you in case you get peckish during the car ride,” said Haedon.

“Oh, that’s great! I love roasted crickets,” smiled Aunt Savyla.

All too soon, it was time for Aunt Savyla’s departure.

Haedon carried Aunt Savyla’s bag to the rattletrap of a vehicle that the Authorities had deigned fit to provide Aunt Savyla with. The car was dusty but that seemed to be the least of its problems. Rust had spread over much of its chassis, and in some parts, the metal had corroded so much that the interior was visible.

“Are you sure this tin box can carry you to Lystrashire and back?” Haedon asked in disbelief.

“Well, it’s either that, or I walk. So, believe me, I’ll take this over a 100km walk any day,” said Aunt Savyla.

Seeing his aunt move towards him to ruffle his hair, Haedon moved away with alacrity. “Don’t mess up my hair, Aunt Sav,” he protested.

“Yup, that tells me that you’re grow up all right,” smiled Aunt Savyla. Looking at the sky, she said, “I’d better make a move. You have to get ready for school too.”

“Bye, Aunt Sav,” said Haedon as the lady got into the vehicle. “See you in a week, hopefully!”

Back home, Haedon gobbled down his breakfast of two pieces of hardtack and some water. As he chewed rapidly, he thought longingly of the days when hardtack was made of wheat flour. These days, with deserts having ravaged much of the earth’s surface, hardtack was made from desert plants such as Mexican feather grass.

After he had finished his breakfast, Haedon grabbed his haversack and headed for the stairwell. His feet flew down the steps to Kyara’s apartment. Banging on the door, he yelled, “Come on, Kyara! We’re gonna be late.”

Kyara’s mother opened the door, saying, “She’ll be ready in a minute, Haedon. By the way, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“That’ll be great, Mrs Amo, thanks!” said Haedon.

During their walk to school, Kyara turned to Haedon. “How are your wounds? You had quite a number of cuts on your arms yesterday.”

Holding his arms out for Kyara’s inspection, Haedon said, “All healed!”

“That’s odd,” mused Kyara. “Some of the gashes were quite deep. I should know since I was the one who cleaned them and bandaged you.” Chuckling suddenly, she continued, “Maybe your power is to self-heal.”

“You’re thinking too much into it, Kyara. We’re young, so it’s normal that we heal fast,” said Haedon.

“I wonder whether we’ll get any power,” mused Kyara.

“Not everyone has a power,” Haedon reminded her.

“That’s true,” said Kyara. “But most of the people we know say their powers started showing when they turned fourteen. And we’re already sixteen! Oh, I do so want a power.”

“I’m not sure I do,” said Haedon.

“Why not?” asked Kyara.

“Having a power means you’ll need to work for Queen Imperiala and the Authorities in a job that they assign you to. You don’t get to choose what to do, Kyara. What if she asks me to do something I absolutely hate?”

“That’s true, I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Kyara.

In the distance, they heard the school bell ringing, and all thoughts of Haedon’s quick recovery flew out of their heads as they took one look at each other and then ran all the way to school. They made it to class just before the teacher stepped into the classroom.

In the late morning, Haedon sweated profusely as he sat in his customary seat in the third row. His fingers itched to free the shirt which was sticking to him with determined persistence. He was going to die of dehydration if he did not get a drink soon. He wondered morosely how much longer the interminable Maths lesson was going to last. Sneaking a glance at his watch, he saw that there were still fifteen minutes to the end of the lesson. Silently, he willed the minute hand to move faster. Counting under his breath, he made it to twenty-eight before the arrow-tipped hand twitched and then jerked ahead reluctantly.

Mr Watson, the Mathematics teacher, stood at the front of the classroom, his enthusiasm evident in every globule of spittle he let forth as he expounded on the marvels (to him and him only) of geometry. Looking up, Haedon noticed that Kyara, who had the misfortune to be seated in the front row due to her lack of height, was continually slinking lower in her seat. Kyara was evidently doing her best to avoid being showered upon. At the sight, Haedon let out an inadvertent chuckle which he immediately tried to stifle. Unfortunately for Haedon, Mr Watson’s sharp ears had already picked up his mirth.

“Haedon seems to find geometry rather entertaining. Pray share with us your thoughts so that we can all be amused as well.” The teacher’s megaphone-worthy tones boomed across the room and, Haedon felt sure, into the hallway as well. Mr Watson had been a career soldier for the Authorities, until, it was rumoured, a grenade had exploded too near to him, rendering him slightly deaf in one ear. Fact or fiction, the rumour had gathered rapid momentum in the school grounds. Added to this was Mr Watsons’ habit of forgetting that he was no longer addressing a platoon of recruits in a parade square, and the urban myth was created. Haedon squirmed in his seat and tried to look innocent. Mr Watson shot him a look of acidic disdain and resumed the lesson.

R-I-N-G! The school dismissal bell clanged, and in the manner of well-trained Pavlovian laboratory animals, the students grabbed their bags, shoved their chairs noisily under their desks and departed in a flood of sweaty tops and pounding feet. Like his classmates, Haedon stuffed his belongings into his backpack hastily and dashed out of the class, not wanting to loiter and provide Mr Watson with a further opportunity for rebuke. Haedon slowed down as he approached the school exit and waited for Kyara to catch up.

As the boys walked home, Haedon tilted his head back and squinted as he gazed upwards at the fluffy cumulus clouds in pristine white which dotted the azure sky. The sun shone strongly, as it did almost every day. He let his eyes return to street level. Taking in the ramshackle buildings on both sides of the street, all in a uniform shade of long lasting but incredibly dreary grey, Haedon’s mind ran over the lessons he had been taught regarding the history of humanity.

For more than a century, scientists had sounded the alarm over the escalating level of carbon dioxide emissions in the atmosphere and its devastating impact on global warming. However, they were accused of crying wolf until several decades ago when they were vindicated in 2083. That fateful year, the last of the Earth’s ozone layer had finally crumbled away and the sun’s rays had seared the Borneo rainforest, reducing trees to blackened stumps and the land to a charred graveyard of a wasteland where nothing lived.

At the same time, tens of thousands of people perished of heatstroke across the continents. Governments finally woke up and smelled not roses but the sickly stench of death. Heads of state hurriedly convened meetings with important-sounding names and made plans to move their citizens underground, where they would be shielded from the effects of global warming. Countries ploughed their resources into developing vast underground cities and extensive networks of tunnels to channel the melting polar caps into subterranean reservoirs to ensure a constant supply of fresh water.

During the construction of the underground homes, global warming continued on its calamitous rampage. The Arctic Circle and the Antarctic succumbed to the warmer weather and floods engulfed low-lying countries; Holland and the Maldives now existed only in textbooks. The population of Earth shrank by a quarter during the thirty years of subterranean development. Historians called this period the White Death — an allusion to the thawing ice caps. The joke was that if the heat did not get you, the flood would.

When the underground set-up was in place, those who could afford it moved in swiftly. Those who could not afford it continued to live on the Surface where they were ravaged by the elements; battling heat, floods and disease was a quotidian reality. Over time, the population on the Surface dwindled. No one with money or connections wanted to stay on the Surface. As the Authorities needed to keep an eye on underprivileged residents who had no choice but to remain on the Surface, they had to offer high salaries to entice officials to live and work on the Surface.

Many of the people who moved underground spent their whole lives there, fearful of the world above them and all too eager to fight for their secure subterranean existence. Factories tapped on heat from the upper mantle of planet Earth to generate electricity for warmth and industrial purposes. Crops were grown using artificial light and as it was no longer practical to maintain farms with large animals, farmers turned to rearing insects for food instead. In comparison to large livestock, micro-livestock required much lesser land, feed and water, making them a cost-effective food option. Over time, people had learned to subsist on a diet of plants and insects. Wild stories about millionaires dining off large livestock on a regular basis abounded, and Haedon wondered about the taste and texture of meat from a cow. He had only ever eaten fox (the memory from last night’s dinner still evoked a smile on his face), chicken and rabbit.

His mind swirling with thoughts, Haedon had arrived at his block and started going up the stairs in auto-pilot mode. In fact, he did not even realise that they had arrived at level eight until Kyara punched him lightly on his shoulder.

“My floor, dreamer boy,” said Kyara. “See you after lunch?”

Haedon nodded and carried on upwards, waving absent-mindedly at Kyara. He rooted around in his backpack for the house key and found it after much rummaging. Letting himself in, Haedon rooted about in the refrigerator for anything that could serve as lunch. He was glad to see that Aunt Savyla had laid in a stock of vegetables. He rustled up a simple meal of hardtack and vegetables. He chewed the hardtack while seated in front of his laptop. He checked his account but there were no new messages.

Staring at the screen, he thought of the day when he had first met Kyara.

Kyara had moved into the block when Haedon was in elementary school. Being the new kind in school was never easy, and Kyara had a tough time, especially since she was petite and good at her studies. The bullies at the school saw her as a goody-two-shoes, and often picked on her, tossing her carefully done homework into the school pond, and throwing her lunch into the toilet. Kyara was often in a tearful rage but was unable to bring herself to fight against them.

Haedon saw what was happening but was initially wary of getting involved. He was not keen to become the new victim for the school bullies.

However, after a few days of relentless bullying, unable to get the image of Kyara crying out of his mind, Haedon marched up to the leader of the bullies and punched him in the stomach. Haedon was horrified at his own audacity and was all ready to suffer their retaliation. To his utter surprise, the leader of the bullies burst into tears and ran away. His followers looked gobsmacked, before turning tail and running after their leader. Puffed up with pride, Haedon strutted over to Kyara, who was stretched out on the ground trying unsuccessfully to retrieve her soggy homework from the pond with a stick.

Haedon waded into the pond and picked up the wet pieces of paper. Handing it to her, he said, “If we separate the pages, they’ll probably dry out by this evening.”

Kyara nodded gratefully, her tears creating rivers down her grimy face.

The two of them had been best friends ever since, sharing each other’s joys and sorrows.

Recently, though, Haedon had become inexplicably self-conscious around Kyara. He would get tongue-tied and to his horror, would even start blushing at the thought of speaking to Kyara, even if the topic was nothing more innocuous than a school project or homework assignment. What the heck was happening to him?