Dark magenta eyes set in a dirty face stared up at Fralith from the blade's reflection. The face in the reflection was his own, yet it looked so unlike him that he wondered sometimes if it wasn't real. Gone was the young brown face he'd known, replaced with a sickly pale, sunken-cheeked, and scarred one.

Strands of matted black hair framed his face, as dark as the sickle-like shadows hanging under his eyes that accentuated the haunted look in his irises and the spreading scar on his left cheek.

He reached up and rubbed it, tracing the arcs and swoops of its rough edges. It stood stark against his skin, a wrinkled red brand from the... from the... He shook the thoughts from his mind and sighed. Thinking about it wouldn't do him any good.

Turning the noren blade in his hand, he watched the light and reflection slide off of its edge like water. Can noren cut through light? he wondered. He wouldn't be surprised if it could; noren was the strongest and sharpest metal in the world, able to cut through everything as easily as butter. Light wouldn't be too far of a stretch.

HONK!

Fralith leapt to his feet, fingers tightening around the hilt, heart skittering so erratically that it skipped a few beats. On the black strip, a person glanced up from the rectangle they had been staring at and shook a fist at the MetalEater, not even speeding up to get out of its way. The MetalEater responded with another roar. The person turned their back on the monster and finished crossing the black strip, gaze glued on the rectangle as if it was more interesting than the growling monster.

Fralith shrank back into the shadows, clutching his noren knife and trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Why didn't that person care? The MetalEater had been right there. It could have lunged forward and devoured them! He shuddered, the screech of a MetalEater's paws, its blaring snarl, and terrifyingly hot skin echoing back from the first night he had arrived.

He didn't understand the people here. He didn't understand anything here. Not the language, the rectangles everyone stared at, the disregard for the monsters in their midst, the writing, the houses and buildings, or even the food. It just didn't make sense. Even after being here for three moon cycles, he still didn't understand. Everything was just so utterly foreign, so unlike SecondHome.

A pang twinged in his chest and he quickly pushed it away. Sheathing his knife, he turned away and surveyed the wall behind him. It was night, but just like the first one he had come here, it was almost as bright as day. The strange LightTrees shone bright enough to be replacement suns — providing enough visibility for him to find finger and toe holds.

With a final push, Fralith shimmied onto the roof. Once he was securely on top, he sat down and pulled his knees close to him. They tingled with fatigue, strength already sapped from the small climb. He bit his lip, gazing out at the many houses neatly aligned along the black strips. He needed food. Good food. Not the silly fat birds and their salty copper blood or the soggy half-eaten bread with poor excuses for leaves and meat — but good food. Real food.

Real food like salted BoomFrog in a thick, life-giving broth, with a platter of roasted WhiteGrub rolled in SwordSpice and butter. Real food like RoundGum fruit wrapped up in leaves and sugar; glasses of ice-cold SilverPod juice swirled with creamy Hinchilla milk; and plates of steaming rice served with flaky yellow-nosed fish steaks, GoodYum sauce and chickpeas. Real food, like SecondHome food. Real food, like home.

Home.

Fralith squeezed his eyes shut, a welling sense of pain rising under his lungs. Oh, how he longed for home. There it was safe. Familiar. Friendly. He didn't want to be here. He hadn't meant to come here. Yet....here he was. Trapped in a foreign world that couldn't be more different from his own. Trapped, just like in SecondHome.

Breath stuttering, he wiped at the tears prickling his eyes and stood. He couldn't afford to cry away what little water he had. He couldn't afford to lower his guard, not when everything was unknown. Dangerous. Carefully, he edged over to the chimney and curled up in its meager shelter.

His hip dug uncomfortably into the hard tile that covered the roofs. He shifted onto his back, trying his hardest to blot out the light, sound, and harshness of the world around him so he could sleep.

It was impossible.

With a groan, Fralith sat up and rubbed his grubby face. Another sleepless night stretched out before him. Needing a distraction from the ache in his chest, he carefully walk-slid down the roof to a little lump rising out of the slope.

The other houses didn't have this lump — which seemed to be a mini roof protecting a pane of ClearStone — and he found himself crouching to peer into it despite the potential danger. Jombyln would yell at him for taking such an unnecessary risk, but the grumpy old drill instructor wasn't here, and Fralith didn't care.

It was dark inside the room, so dark that he had to squint and wait for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he knew — instinctively, like a wolf sensing danger — that something was wrong. A girl of about seventeen years sat on a bed below the window, hands clutching at her blankets and body rigid. A dark figure stood at the far side of the room, face masked and a metal object in his hand. It was pointed at the girl and seemed to be dangerous.

The man gestured with his free hand for the girl to come to him. She shook her head, leaning back slightly, fear radiating from her with each movement. The man brandished the object and gestured for her to come again.

Fralith narrowed his eyes. What was the object? Was it some sort of knife? A bow? No, it couldn't be. It didn't look like any kind of weapon he'd ever seen before. But it was definitely a weapon; the girl was afraid of it.

A flicker of movement behind the man drew his gaze.

Another man — no, boy — stood behind the man, a long stick raised over his head, poised to strike. Before he brought it down, the man sensed his presence and whirled around. A clap of thunder exploded through the room, rattling the ClearStone, and the boy crumpled as if hit by a SleepDart. The girl screamed.

The man started to turn. The girl was next. She would be hit. She would die. All his training in the Guard surged to the front, and before Fralith could process what he was doing, the ClearStone was broken and he was sailing through it.

He collided with the girl, sending them tumbling off the bed in a tangle of limbs. The girl's scream was drowned out by another clap of thunder so loud his ears rang. He gritted his teeth, untangling himself from the girl and shoving her under the bed. Drawing his noren blade, he leapt to his feet.

Now that the girl was safe, he had no idea what to do. What had he been thinking? He only had one knife — admittedly a very sharp knife, but that didn't make any difference in a long-range fight — and the man had a mysterious loud weapon. Even with his training, he was outmatched. Unpre— the man swung the object towards him. Seconds later, thunder boomed.

Fralith ducked instinctively, tucking into a roll as something grazed his shoulder and thunder boomed. He came up in a crouch beside a bookshelf, heart flapping around wildly. The object made the thunder and spat out pellets!

The man's muscles clenched and Fralith threw himself sideways. Lava erupted in his arm, hot and consuming, bringing a tidal wave of pain. It slammed into him like a log in a swift current, tearing a scream from his throat and sending him careening into the bookshelf.

He barely heard the crash as he and the bookshelf collided with the floor. He barely heard the screams. The receding thunder. Blood pounded through his head, consuming all of the sounds, all thoughts, all feelings, until there was only pain.

It writhed in his arm like a living thing. A living, black thing with a sharp beak and a set of tearing claws. A living, rageful thing that purged his senses with its wrath. A living, feathered thing that beat at his vision with its black wings and screamed in his ears until that was all he could hear.

Fralith shoved at the bird with his mind, trying to stifle it, control it, make it stop. The bird — the pain — fought back, too strong, too overwhelming for him. No! Go away! The man's coming! Tingles rushed down from his head, bringing light and strength. Battle strength. He shoved the bird into a corner of his mind and the fiery agony faded to an ignorable level.

Sucking in a gasp of air, he blinked away tears. The bookshelf lay to his side, a taller, longer shadow standing over it. The man! He jerked into a roll just as thunder roared and a pellet dug a furrow next to him. Snatching his knife and scrambling to his feet, he lunged towards the man, leaping over the bookshelf.

The man lurched back in surprise, the metal object swinging towards him, but he was already too close. Fralith sliced his knife down in an arc as he passed, grimacing when his knife met resistance. He landed and whirled, knife brandished. The man screeched and instantly dropped the object, hands flying to his side.

Using the momentary distraction, he darted in, aiming for the man's chest. If he could injure the man enough that he'd back down— the man threw out an arm, fist flying for Fralith's face. He ducked, grabbed the arm, and shoved. The man stumbled, thrown off balance for just a few seconds. It was all he needed. He slid under the man's guard and plunged the knife into the man's shoulder, slicing right through the bone.

The man bellowed.

With a slam, the door flew open. Fralith jerked his knife out and whirled, catching sight of men in blue shirts before something grabbed his injured arm. The world exploded into agony. Screams. Fire. Ground. Pain. Pain was everywhere. It screeched, its talons raking his flesh, sending acid into his lungs and shoving daggers into him. Rough hands closed around his arms, sending a fresh wave of fire through him. He screamed and pain flared its black wings, mercifully cutting out the rest of the world.

_________

And so the eventuate begins. What do you think?