THE PRICE OF VICTORY

"Don't be afraid," he said quietly, trying to sound calm. "I'm not your enemy. I just want to warn you."

"Who are you?" the older man asked, looking at him suspiciously. His hand reached for his pocket, where perhaps a knife or some other object lay. "You're wounded. You look like you're running from someone. You're hiding here. Why should we trust you?"

"I'm running," Elias replied, his voice firm. "I'm running from 'Eden.' I know what it is. It's not paradise. It's a prison. They'll take your freedom. They'll make you their slaves."

The people exchanged glances, doubt appearing in their eyes. They looked at him, fear in their gaze. They looked for signs of lies, but Elias stood before them, bloody shirt and burning eyes, and they couldn't help but listen.

"We can't trust you," the older man said, shaking his head. "We've heard it's good there. That there's food, water, protection. We don't want to die here, in this wasteland. We're tired. We can't run anymore."

"I know," Elias said. "I know how hard it is. But I've been there. I've seen what happens there. They control your thoughts. They take your freedom. I don't want you to become part of that. They promise paradise, but it's really hell."

The people were silent, and Elias felt his words hanging in the air, entering their hearts. He saw doubt fighting hope, fear fighting despair. He knew he couldn't make them believe, but he had to try. He had to save them from what awaited them in 'Eden.' He had to give them a chance.

"It's a prison there," he said. "You won't be free. You'll just be cogs in their machine."

The woman with the child looked at him, pain in her eyes.

"What should we do?" she asked. "We have no food. No water. We can't go back."

"Come with me," Elias said. "To the city I left. There's food there. Water. Protection. I'll help you."

They looked at him, and he saw doubt leaving their eyes. He knew they believed him. He knew he'd saved them.

Elias stood at the bunker entrance, leaning his shoulder against the cold, rusty door, and watched the refugees leave. They moved slowly, their steps heavy, uncertain, as if each step cost them immense effort. But they moved forward. They didn't stop. And in their eyes, when they glanced back at him, he saw hope-the very hope he had given them, kindled in their souls when they were almost extinguished. He told them about the city, about food and water, about safe places to shelter from cold and hunger. He spoke calmly, confidently, trying to keep his voice steady, though inside he trembled with pain and fatigue. He gave them the map he carried-old, worn, marked with notes from the days when he believed the world could be rebuilt. He marked the route, told them how to avoid the General's patrols, where to find water, which ruins would provide night shelter. He told them he had people who would help them-he hoped they were still alive, that the General hadn't killed them all, that some of his loyal officers had survived and could take in the refugees.

He watched them leave, and he felt a strange warmth spreading in his chest-a warmth he hadn't felt for many days, maybe weeks. He had saved them. He had given them a chance they didn't have. He couldn't leave them to die in the wastelands, as he had left too many before. It was his redemption. Small, almost invisible, but redemption. For those he didn't save. For those who died before his eyes. For Gora, for Cain, for Charlie, for all who believed in him and died, never seeing the promised peace.

One of the women-the one holding the child, a thin, pale-faced little one with huge, frightened eyes-turned and looked at him. Her eyes were full of tears she didn't try to hide, and in them was such gratitude that Elias caught his breath. She smiled at him-a smile that said more than words, warmer than any promise. She held the child close, and he saw her lips moving, whispering something to the baby, soothing it. Then she raised her hand and waved-a gesture of farewell and thanks at once.

"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling but clear as a bell. "You saved us. We wouldn't have survived without you. We would have died here, in this wasteland, and no one would have known. Thank you for giving us hope."

Elias looked at her, at her face, exhausted but glowing from within, at her hands gently holding the child, and felt a lump rise in his throat. He wanted to say something important, something that would stay with them, give them strength to go on, but the words stuck in his throat. He just nodded and said quietly, but firmly:

"Go. Be careful. Don't stop until you reach the city. You'll be safe there. There are people who will help you. I promise."

She nodded, and he saw faith in her eyes-the very faith he had been so afraid of losing in himself. She turned and walked on, and he watched them disappear over the horizon, their figures growing smaller, merging with the gray wasteland, the last ray of setting sun illuminating their backs before it disappeared behind the clouds.

He stood there a long time, feeling a strange feeling rise within him-something he couldn't explain. It wasn't pride or joy. It was something deeper, quieter. He had saved them. He had given them a chance at a new life. He had done what he had to do. And it was right.

But now he had to go on.

He turned and looked east, where on the far horizon, 'Eden's' domes were visible. They shone in the rays of the setting sun, shimmering in gold and crimson, like giant gems set in the gray crown of the wastelands. They looked like a promise, a dream, a challenge to everything he knew. He knew what awaited him there. It would be dangerous, could cost his life. But he couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to stop 'Eden.' He had to save the world. He had to fulfill the promise he made to Gora and Cain as they died in his arms, when he held their hands and swore their deaths would not be in vain.

He took a deep breath, and the cool evening air filled his lungs, bringing the smell of dust and dry grass. He felt the pain in his shoulder ease slightly-dulled, retreated to the background, yielding to resolve. He tightened the bandage, feeling the fabric bite into the wound, pain piercing his body, but he just gritted his teeth and straightened up. Then he took the first step, then the second, and began to walk.

He walked through the wastelands, wind in his face, the sun setting below the horizon, painting the sky in blood-red and deep violet hues. Shadows grew longer, and the wastelands around him sank into twilight, filled with a silence that was almost tangible. He walked, each step a struggle, his legs humming with fatigue, his back aching with strain. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He thought of Iris. Of how she was waiting for him behind those shining domes. Of how she believed in him, hoped in him, how she looked at him with her clear eyes, no fear, only determination. Her voice, sounding in his head again and again: "Don't trust Eden." He heard it so clearly, as if she were beside him, walking with him, holding his hand, leading him forward. He thought of Cale, sacrificing himself to open his cell door and give him his pistol. He thought of Gora, teaching him to be strong, saying: "Fear is not the enemy, Elias. The enemy is when you let fear control you." He thought of Cain, his smile, his belief in better. He thought of all who died, all who believed in him, all who gave their lives so he could stand here, walk this wasteland, fight for the future.

And he knew: he couldn't let them down. He had no right to give up.

He walked all night. The sky above darkened, and stars spilled across the black velvet like shards of broken glass. The moon was a thin crescent, barely lighting the road, and he walked in darkness, guided only by the faint silver glow of the domes in the distance, like a far-off lighthouse. The wind died, and a special silence fell over the wastelands-deep, oppressive, broken only by his footsteps and his own breathing. He walked, stumbling over rocks, falling, getting up and walking on, feeling pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat, his strength leaving him with every step.

He walked, thoughts churning like broken wheels. He remembered the city he'd left behind-burning, in the General's hands, never to be the same. He remembered the faces of his friends, his dreams, his hopes. He remembered celebrating victory over the Agri-Continent, swearing to build a new world, believing everything would be fine. And now all of it was destroyed. Erased. Burned. Only he remained, to fight.

He walked, and tears mixed with sweat and dust on his face. But he didn't cry-he couldn't afford weakness. He gritted his teeth and walked on, a wave of resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt, all pain, all exhaustion. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would return and free the city. He would do it, even if it meant going through hell.

And at dawn, when the first rays of sun began to break through the thick clouds, painting the sky in pale gold and pink, he saw 'Eden's' domes close by. They shone in the morning sun, shimmering in blue, silver, and gold, like jewels, like a miracle, like a promise of paradise. They were so huge that they seemed to touch the sky, and he felt his breath catch at the sight. He stopped on a hilltop and looked at them, a wave of resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt.

He would do it. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would save the world.

He took a deep breath, cold morning air filling his lungs, and began to descend the hill, heading for 'Eden's' gates. They were close-just a few hundred meters. He saw their outlines, saw them open and close, letting people enter this perfect world. He saw soldiers in immaculate uniforms standing at the gates, checking documents. He saw people smiling as they entered, looking happy and calm.

He approached the gates and stopped. He knew what awaited him there. It would be dangerous, could cost his life. But he also knew he had no choice. He had to enter. He had to find Iris. He had to stop this world that promised paradise but was really a prison.

He clenched his fists and looked at the gates. Inside him burned a fire-weak, but stubborn, that no darkness could extinguish. He was ready. Ready for anything.

He stepped forward.

Elias stood at the border of 'Eden's' domes and looked up. Giant structures of glass and metal rose over the wastelands like artificial mountains, their surfaces shimmering blue and silver, reflecting the rays of the rising sun. They were so huge they seemed to touch the sky, and he felt his breath catch at the sight. Inside the domes was greenery-real, living green he hadn't seen for months. Trees, flowers, grass-all grew there, behind transparent walls, and he saw people walking down perfect streets, smiling, not hungry, not afraid. He saw children playing in parks, adults sitting on benches talking, water flowing through channels, clean and clear. He saw clones and people living together, laughing, seemingly happy. He saw a paradise made by human hands. And he knew it wasn't paradise.

He looked at this perfect world, and anger rose within him. He knew this paradise was built on lies, that behind its walls was control and enslavement. He knew Lena had created this illusion to lure people into a trap, to take their freedom, to make them puppets. He felt his fingers clench into fists, and he knew he had to enter. He had to find Iris. She was there, in the heart of this perfect city, waiting for him. Believing in him. Knowing he would come. He couldn't let her down.

He stood at the border, feeling the wind on his face, the sun rising higher, lighting the wastelands. He thought of how he'd come here. He remembered running from the city, fighting the General's soldiers, finding shelter in the bunker. He remembered meeting the refugees, giving them hope. He remembered walking through the wastelands, each step a struggle, the pain in his shoulder growing worse. But he'd survived. He'd made it. Now he had to enter.

He looked at the domes, thought of what awaited him. He knew 'Eden' wasn't paradise. It was prison. Lena had created an illusion, and these people lived in it, not knowing the truth. They thought they were free, happy, but they were puppets, their strings pulled. They were part of a machine grinding their will, turning them into obedient slaves. But he knew the truth. He knew what awaited him-lies, control, fear. But he also knew Iris was there. Waiting. Believing in him. He had to find her.

He took a deep breath, pain in his shoulder easing slightly. He tightened the bandage and began walking along the dome's edge, looking for a way in. He knew the main gates were guarded, with patrols checking everyone entering. But he also knew there were other ways-old tunnels leading under the domes, forgotten by everyone. He had to find them. He had to get in.

He walked along the domes, the wind in his face, the sun rising higher, lighting the wastelands. He stared at the domes, thinking of what awaited. He didn't know what he'd find there, but he knew he couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to stop 'Eden.' He had to save the world.

He stopped and looked at the main gates. Soldiers in perfect uniforms stood there, checking documents of those entering. They did it calmly, politely, with smiles. They didn't look threatening. But he knew it was just illusion. He knew he had no documents, couldn't pass through them. But he had to enter. He had to find Iris. He had to save her.

He turned and walked along the domes, looking for another way, each step a struggle, as if he were wading through thick, viscous water. The giant walls of glass and metal rose hundreds of meters into the sky, their surfaces shimmering blue and silver, reflecting the morning sun. They were so smooth and perfect they seemed the work of gods, not men-unapproachable, cold, indifferent to his despair. He looked at them, a heavy, oppressive feeling growing inside him, like standing on the edge of an abyss. He didn't know how long he'd been walking-an hour, two, maybe more. The sun rose higher, the heat unbearable, scorching his face and hands, which he couldn't hide because of his wounded shoulder.

Every step sent a dull, pulsing pain through his shoulder, and he felt blood again seeping through the bandage, soaking the fabric, darkening it with damp spots. He knew he had to find shelter, rest, properly bandage the wound, stop the bleeding that was slowly, steadily weakening him. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't afford a break. Every minute of delay could cost him his life-or worse, could cost Iris hers. He had to find an entrance. He had to get inside. He had to find her.

He walked, thoughts heavy as stones he dragged behind him. He thought of how he'd come here-through the wastelands, minefields, radiation, pursuit and firefights, pain and despair. He thought of how he'd survived when so many others had died. He thought of Cale, opening his cell door, giving him his pistol, knowing his own death likely awaited. He thought of Gora, dying in his arms, gripping his hand, whispering: "Build a world, Elias. Build a world without war." He thought of Cain, his smile, his belief in better, shielding Iris from bullets meant for her. He thought of all who died so he could stand here, at 'Eden's' walls, searching for Iris. All who believed in him, hoped in him, gave their lives for his dream.

And he knew: if he stopped, if he gave up, all their sacrifices would be in vain. All their deaths meaningless. He couldn't let that happen. He had no right.

He stopped when his strength finally gave out and sat on a large flat stone lying at the dome's base. The stone was warm from the sun, but Elias felt only cold spreading through his body, seeping into his bones. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his ragged, gasping breathing, like a cornered animal. His heart pounded in his chest, a dull rhythmic thud in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He sat, sweat streaming down his face, dust settling on his skin, pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat, growing ever more unbearable.

He opened his eyes and looked at the domes rising above him like unapproachable walls of paradise. He saw inside the city, people walking, smiling, talking, children running in parks, water flowing through channels. He saw clones and people living together, laughing, seemingly happy. He saw paradise made by human hands. And he knew it wasn't paradise. It was prison. A prison built on lies, control, fear. A prison where he had to find Iris before she became part of it.

And suddenly, in this moment of despair, when everything seemed lost, he remembered the secret communication channel. He remembered the device-small, black, nearly invisible, carried in his pocket, forgotten in the chaos of escape. The device Iris had given him before she left, when they stood at the city gates, she looking at him with her clear eyes and saying: "If you get into trouble, use it. I will hear you." He didn't know if it still worked, if she was close enough to receive a signal, but he had to try. Had to do something to contact her, let her know he was here, that he'd come for her, that he hadn't given up.

With trembling hands, he pulled the device from his pocket-a small black box with one button and a tiny indicator glowing faintly in the morning light. He turned it on, and it buzzed, emitting a low, barely audible sound, like an insect's hum. On the screen, a signal appeared-a faint green dot, flickering like a distant star. He pressed the button and spoke, trying to keep his voice steady, though inside everything trembled.

"Iris," he said softly, almost whispering, holding the device to his lips. "I'm here. I'm at the dome's edge. I'm looking for a way in. Hold on. I'm coming for you."

He waited for an answer. Silence. Only the wind howling over the wastelands, carrying sand and dust, and his own ragged breathing. He looked at the device, at the green dot that continued to flicker, but made no sound. He repeated, louder, trying to shout over the wind:

"Iris, can you hear me? I'm here. I found you. I'm at 'Eden's' walls. Answer me, please."

And again, silence. Only the wind. Only the flickering green dot, as if mocking him. He felt panic rising inside him, gripping his chest, making it hard to breathe. What if she hadn't heard him? What if the device didn't work? What if it had broken during his flight, when he'd fallen, run, bled in the wastelands? What if Iris was already dead, and he was calling into emptiness? What if all his efforts were in vain?

He gritted his teeth, rage and despair mixing in his chest, and repeated again, louder, almost shouting, not caring if 'Eden's' soldiers heard him:

"Iris! Answer me! I know you can hear me! I came for you! I won't give up! Do you hear me? I won't give up!"

But there was no answer. Only silence. Deep, oppressive, all-consuming silence, telling him he was alone, that no one would come to help him, that he had to rely only on himself.

He sat on the stone, staring at the silent device, feeling a wave of despair rise inside him, threatening to sweep him away, drag him into a dark abyss from which there is no escape. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to find her. He didn't know if he could even enter this city, which looked like an impregnable fortress. But he knew he couldn't give up. He had no right. He had to keep going. He had to find a way.

He took a deep breath, cold air filling his lungs, and slowly put the device back in his pocket. Then he got to his feet, every muscle protesting, pain in his shoulder piercing him like a needle. He looked at the domes rising above him, cold and unapproachable, and clenched his fists. He didn't know how he would get inside. But he knew he would. He would find Iris. He would save her. He wouldn't let 'Eden' destroy everything they'd fought for.

He stepped forward, each step a struggle, the pain in his shoulder growing worse, blood still seeping through the bandage. But he didn't stop. He walked along the domes, looking for any entrance, any crack, any way inside. He walked, and Iris's voice sounded in his head again and again-the voice he'd heard in the wastelands, warning him, giving him hope:

"Don't trust Eden."

"I don't trust," he whispered in reply, staring ahead at the shining walls. "I only trust you. I will find you. I promise."

And he walked on, leaving behind the stone he'd sat on and the silent device. He walked, feeling the sun rise higher, the heat unbearable, the pain a constant part of his existence. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to keep his promise.

Elias walked along the dome's edge, each step a painful struggle, as if dragging heavy chains. The sun was at its zenith, scorching mercilessly, its rays burning his face, neck, arms, unprotected due to his wounded shoulder, beating through his thin shirt and leaving his skin dry and hot. The sky was cloudless, unnaturally clear, as if the world around him were part of 'Eden's' perfect illusion, and this purity felt like mockery. The wastelands stretched for kilometers-an endless gray plain, covered in deep cracks, like scars on the face of a dying world. Nowhere was there shade, shelter, or a drop of water. Only stones, dust, and the merciless sun, scorching everything it touched.

Elias looked at 'Eden's' domes, rising before him like a monument to human arrogance, and felt deep, viscous despair growing inside him. These walls rose hundreds of meters, perfectly smooth, shimmering blue and silver, reflecting sunlight, and seemed unapproachable as a mountain range. They were made not by men, he thought, but by gods-or those who thought themselves gods-to protect the chosen from the sinful world, to create a paradise with no place for suffering and hunger. But he knew beauty hid a lie. Behind these walls-a prison.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking-maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe an eternity. Time lost meaning, becoming an endless march of steps, pain, and torment. Each step was a struggle, each movement sharp pain in his shoulder, burning, pulsing, occupying all his consciousness, leaving no room for other thoughts. The bandage was soaked through, the fabric stuck to his body, creating a sticky, hot patch irritating his skin, reminding him the bleeding hadn't stopped.

He felt sweat streaming down his back, clothes clinging, each breath a struggle, lungs gasping hot, dry air scorching his throat. Weakness spread through him, making him stumble, slip on dusty patches, barely stay on his feet. He knew he had to stop, re-bandage the wound, rest, find at least some water to quench his burning thirst. But he couldn't afford it. Every minute of delay could be fatal. He had to find a way into 'Eden.' He had to find Iris. He had to keep the promise he'd made to himself and all who'd died for this goal.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep walking, trying not to think of pain, thirst, exhaustion. He thought only of Iris-her smile, her voice, her eyes always looking at him with faith, even when he didn't believe in himself. He imagined her face-pale, tired, but with that steely glint that always appeared when she took on something important. He remembered how she looked at him before she left, how she said: "I will return. I promise." And he knew she would keep that promise. He had to do the same.

He walked, and pictures of the past flashed before his eyes: standing on the ruins of the Agri-Continent, staring at the smoke rising from Marcus's tower, believing it was over. Celebrating victory, swearing to build a new world, dreaming their children would live in a world without war and suffering. And now all of it was destroyed. Erased. Burned. Only he remained, to fight.

He looked at the domes, rising hundreds of meters, and felt despair grip his chest. These walls seemed unapproachable, perfect, as if made not by men but by gods to protect the chosen from the sinful world. He knew behind them was a world he had to destroy to save everyone else. A world promising paradise but really prison. A world that had taken everything he loved. A world now holding Iris.

He didn't know how much longer he could go. His legs hummed, each movement sharp pain in his shoulder. But he knew he couldn't stop. He had to find an entrance. He had to get inside. He had to see Iris. He had to tell her he'd come, hadn't given up, believed in her.

And then he saw them.