After scavenging the immediate area for any trace of what may have survived, Astraea manages to produce a couple of silver coins and a little steel plate with a needle. She places the coins in what remains of her pocket and then observes the compass.

  “That is fortunate, at least I have a direction.”

  Scouring the blood-mired clearing one more time, she does not find anything else. The majority of her belongings have been shattered or ripped to shreds in the battle. She resolves to set off north-west, having decided upon returning to her effective base of operations.

  Every step comes with what feels like the impact of a hammer, even discounting the agony overflowing from her wound-ridden body. As she walks, the atmosphere of the flora around her dulls, the energy from the plants fueling each step, as she treads the line of consciousness, inducing in her only a semi-lucid state. In this state, she is not cognisant enough to register anything happening. Instead, she operates purely by instinct, barely allowing her to push through the overwhelming pain.

  While unaware of time, she trudges on for nearly an entire day, her condition stable despite the severity of her injuries. Not a soul, man or beast, crosses her path, and she finally leaves the forest alive, despite Dolus’ attempt to slay her. If she were to look back, she would see the exact path she had taken, marked by the monochrome vegetation surrounded by the natural greenery.

  Alas, she presses forward unthinkingly into the plains, however this marks a drastic change in her journey, for there are far fewer sources of life energy to draw from.

  Her form deteriorates little by little, each step shorter and weaker than the last, as the established equilibrium is broken. After three hours, her body falls limp, out of energy. She hits the ground with an unceremonious thud, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

  A powerful jolt forces Astraea awake. She sits up groggily, seeing what looks to be the inside of a carriage. A man's voice calls out to her.

  “Lass, you're up? Cannae say I'm not surprised, by the looks of ya. I cannae even imagine how ya got to be like that!”

  While he was talking, Astraea managed to successfully regain her senses. On the padded seat across from her sits a plain-looking, middle-aged man. The only especially noteworthy things about him are his speech and his signet ring. It appears to be made of some brown metal, instead of gold or silver, and has a design reminiscent of a mountain engraved on the top. She ignores his words entirely and addresses him.

  “A Terras? It is surprising to see you away from the mountain.”

  The man smiles and replies, “Fidus Terras at yer service. I'm on ma way to Alpha by the request of the Emperor. Before ya ask, it's confidential. Not that that's the important thing, eh?”

  Astraea sighs.

  “The details of my life are not something I will divulge to you. I thank you for assisting me, and I accept that I owe you, but I am not currently in a position to repay any favours. Fortunately for me, my destination is Alpha Secondary.”

  Fidus shakes his head.

  “Och, don't fret. I'd feel bad accepting a favour from someone who looks like they should be as dead as a doornail. I’ve nothing to heal ya with, unfortunately. Once we arrive there, I'll let ya off. I dinnae want the blood,” he pauses for a second and looks Astraea up and down, “...more blood of a wee lass on ma hands.”

  Astraea nods and closes her eyes, focusing on circulating her life energy to repair her vitals. After a number of hours, Fidus’ loud voice startles her, ending her meditation.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Ey! The driver's stopped just outside of where ya need to be. Go do whatever, and… stay safe. Safer, at least.”

  Astraea smiles at him as she steps out of the plain carriage and replies, “Thank you. I can only do my best.”

  She hears his voice call out to the driver, who whips the horses to get them started again. Waving as they leave, Astraea assesses her body's current state. In her meditation, she fixed the worst of the injuries, such as the holes in her heart and lungs, but because all of the life energy she regained went into this, the superficial lacerations covering her body are still extremely obvious. However, she's certain that she will only heal with time, and so deems herself healthy.

  Stepping out of the road, she finds herself surrounded by a dense network of paths and buildings. Many have signs hanging outside of their entrances, advertising whatever business is being run there. A few are eyecatching for their absurd names, such as 'Glorbthar’s Grandiose Bakery,' but none are what she's here for. She spots a young man standing around, who is wearing armour and a red cape- the uniform of the city guard. Marching directly up to him, she commands him with confidence unbefitting her current appearance.

  “I need directions to Spatial Central.”

  The man glances at her and opens his mouth to speak, but only a shocked gasp is released. After taking a second to recompose himself, he exclaims, “What could possibly have happened to you? Are you dying?”

  Unimpressed with his questioning, she responds with an unwavering attitude, “It is of no importance to you. I need directions to Spatial Central.”

  The guard hesitates for several seconds as he tries to figure out what to say, eventually deciding simply to hand her a miniature paper map, pointing out where they are now along with the desired building.

  Thanking him as she walks away, the man is left looking dumbfounded.

  Travelling through the city, Astraea passes many pedestrians, all glancing and murmuring about her condition as she passes them. She pays this no mind, travelling by shops, markets and other services until she finally arrives at an ironically compact place, a hanging sign identifying it as “Spatial Central.”

  She enters, and a short distance in front of her is a woman, who looks only a little older than herself, sitting behind a desk that is as grey as the surrounding walls. The only thing else that stands out is another door on the back wall. The woman looks up from a pile of papers on the desk, her eyes widening at what she sees, and she speaks in a voice obviously put on for customers.

  “Welcome! Are you here to reserve or to access?” Astraea arrives at the desk, replying immediately.

  “Access. My code is seven, three, eight, four.” The attendant spends half a minute or so flicking through the pages before leaning closer to them. She looks back to Astraea, squinting.

  “You barely resemble your picture right now, but I do not think it could be anyone else. Follow me, I'll take you to your Space.”

  The woman stands up and walks out from behind the desk, leading them to the door at the far wall. She opens the door to reveal a room barely wide enough for the two of them to fit in. There is a ladder to their right that leads up to more platforms, each row having ten numbered doors. The total height exceeds what could be seen from the outside by a considerable margin.

  “I shall let you go now, your room is number thirty-five. When you want to leave, there is a one-way exit door on the top floor. I hope you enjoy our service, and I suggest you recommend us to your companions!”

  With that, the employee turns around and leaves, slamming the door behind her. Astraea thinks nothing of it and ascends the ladder until the third floor, walking to the door labeled with a big, red number five. The only other thing differentiating this one from the rest is the light emerging from beneath it.

  She pulls the handle and a respectably-sized room is revealed. The floor is covered with a red carpet, there is a desk and chair on the left, and a bed on the right. Opposite the entrance is a wardrobe, which she goes to and opens right away. Inside are a couple of sets of spare clothes, an ornately-decorated book, a basic dagger and a small pouch.

  “I truly am glad to have been wise enough to keep backups,” she mutters to herself, before taking out some of the clothes.

  After changing into an outfit not shredded into pieces, she places the pouch round her shoulder. The money she has managed to scrounge up back in the forest and the dagger go into it, and she places the book on the desk. Flicking to the first page yet unused, she takes a quill out of the inkpot and begins writing.

  ‘This despicable lifeform cannot be allowed to remain much longer. I do not yet know how, but I will enact my revenge on him. A dam of vengeance has built up, one that is hopefully close to bursting.’

  She closes the book. As she does so, an unconnected sheet sticks out, causing her to frown. Astraea removes it. On the side she can see it is blank, but she turns it around to reveal unfamiliar writing.

  ‘You are formally invited to meet the emperor. Within the next 24 hours, hand this to a guard outside Alpha Primary.’