Music is Crumbling Lies from the NieR: Automata OST, composed by Keiichi Okabe. Play it!

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The girl was insane.

At least, at this moment, she felt insane. Who in their right mind would travel across leagues and leagues of nothing but ocean, just because a voice in their head told them to do so?

No, not insane, the girl reminded herself. This is the right thing to do.

Clinging onto that thought, she screwed up her courage and took her first step. Out of the docks and onto Thiruthian soil.

Her very first step on foreign land. It was disconcerting. It felt like only yesterday when she'd stolen away into the night with nothing but a pack of bare essentials, abandoning her homeland, her family. Everything she knew and lived for, thrown away in the blink of an eye.

Her confidence wavered for a moment. Perhaps she was insane, and she just didn't know it. No one in their right mind would even dream of running headfirst into hostile lands. Insane people didn't actually know that they were different, did they? Besides, normal people didn't frequently have visions of past lives attacking them, nor were they innately gifted with ancient magic.

"Oy, watch it!"

A rough shoulder bumped into her. She startled, blinking rapidly and shaking herself awake. It was one of the dock workers. His nose was crooked, evidence of it having being broken once. Scars criss-crossed his face, and he looked like he could snap a ship's mast into half. His countenance resembled most of the people around here—mean, bad-tempered, and ready to jump on an excuse to gut someone.

She wasn't helpless, but she backed off anyway. "Sorry," she mumbled, before scurrying off and blending into the crowd.

The man yelled profanities after her. 'Sun-baked whore', 'Heretic' and a multitude of other curses Ghaeleria had given to her people. She'd picked up the terms during her passage on boat, when the sailors had first treated her as though she were no more than a stray mongrel. But coin won out in the end. And they had been smart enough to realise that she could render them helpless by literally sucking the life out of them. Not that she'd like to though.

Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to bribe every single person in the port to ignore her. Eyes shifted towards her. They couldn't help it. She stood out painfully with her white ajab, bronzed skin and dark, lilted eyes. They all hissed and recoiled from her, forming a circle with two fingers and placing them over their hearts. A ward-evil sign, courtesy of Pst. Phenofrey.

At least they didn't try to bind her and put her to the stake. Her Abba had once told her a story of one of their tribesman, who'd refused to be bound to their part of the world. So he'd set sail for a far-off land—Ravürk, if Abba had remembered correctly—eager to have his first taste of adventure. 

Only, the moment he set foot on the country's shores, he was hauled off in chains and bound to a pyre. The barbarians set fire to the wood; let it burn him and laughed when he shrieked for mercy. As if being burnt to death wasn't torturous enough, the barbarians would douse the flames with water after the poor tribesman couldn't take anymore of the pain, wait till the wood went dry, and repeated the entire process. The tribesman lasted for three days before he'd died.

The girl shuddered when the story came to mind.

It wasn't the only tale of misfortune that met the Marshems whenever they intended to explore other nations. Everywhere, they were met with hostility, and often sentenced to brutal deaths. All because they didn't follow the Others' religion. All because they were different.

If only her Abba could see her now, wandering about on forbidden soil. Alone.

Still, she moved forward. She kept her head low, eyes pinned onto the ground, refusing to react to the crowd's increasing attentions. They openly jeered at her now. Several objects were hurled her way. All bounced off harmlessly. It was the insults that hurt the most. She hadn't done anything, hadn't even raised a hand to cast a spell. Why were they doing this?

She suddenly bumped into someone in front of her. The giant had appeared out of nowhere. The sleeves of his shirt had been ripped off, exposing the powerful muscles rippling down his arms. He bared his teeth in a terrifying imitation of a smile. His eyes glittered like shards of ice.

The girl froze in her footsteps.

"Why don't you watch where you're going, Whore Worshipper?" The man spoke Thiruthian in a low, pleasant voice, but there was no disguising the steel concealed within.

Something in the girl snapped. It was all right to call her a whore, a bitch and other terrible insults. But to insult Her Reverence? The all-powerful goddess of Forgetting? The One who had forged the world with her twin brother, who had poured life into the earth? 

That was as good as a death sentence back in Marshem.

"Why you don't get in my way?" The girl was aware that her counter was painfully stilted, but at least the brute got her meaning.

And she was beginning to regret losing her temper.

The man's veins pulsed underneath his skin; his lips drew back into a snarl. The crowd stirred, ready to explode when he did. For a moment, all was still. The calm before the storm. The girl held her breath, fists clenched. Bright energy thrummed throughout her body; her nerves threatened to scorch everyone with each passing second. 

But then he tilted his head backwards and laughed.

It wasn't a happy laugh, no. More of a laugh when one has decided to throttle someone who couldn't fight back.

"You all heard that, aye?" the man roared. His fellow countrymen roared back. A string of garbled sentences followed. Their accents were so thick, so strange. The girl wished she could magic them all into speaking her own tongue. Its grammar was much easier to master.

The people cheered and screamed, taking after the man's lead. The girl didn't have to understand anything to know what would happen next.

They all rushed for her.

She made the world explode into light.

The sudden brilliance forced everyone to shield their eyes. She seized the opportunity to slip away, weaving through hot, sweaty bodies like a breeze, the previous spell cast over her eyes helping her to see perfectly fine. She didn't hesitate, didn't stop to think. All she did was run towards safety, wherever that may be. She couldn't pause to consider her next step.

She stuck to alleyways. Rats skittered where she treaded, and the pungent smell of the port city's sewers cloyed the air. Beggars tugged at her ruined ajab, begged for coin, saw her face, then spat at her. She paid them no heed. She just kept moving forwards.

By the time she was sure that she had lost the crowd, her legs were numb and her head felt light. She sunk onto the ground, leaning against a wall. Dirty puddles of water soaked her ajab, but she didn't care. She had no more energy left for that.

Her first five minutes in Thiruthia, and she'd already caused a riot.

The girl groaned. She'd used her magic at the docks. In front of thousands and thousands of people. There would be no denying that she was a sorcerer. She could disguise herself, wear the Ghaeleria's clothes and powder her face, but what good would that do? She could hardly string a sentence of cohesive Thiruthian. She wasn't familiar with their customs. She would be put on trial as a witch if she got caught. She would die before she could accomplish what she had come here to do.

A sound somewhere in between a shriek and a laughter escaped her mouth.

The echoes of her voice engulfed her. She cut herself off, aware of how alone she was. The darkness was a living, writhing creature, beckoning to her, wanting to play with her. She controlled herself. This is not my calling. I have another task.

The girl took in a deep breath. She could finally think with the chaos of the docks far, far away. Just now, she had been too flustered, too overwhelmed. That was why she'd lost her composure. No more. She couldn't risk it. Everything had to go according to plan.

For now though, she had to find a place to stay, to eat, and recover. Slowly, she hauled herself onto her feet. Her pouch of dirmas was still there, to her relief. She could weave an illusion over herself for a while, pretend to be a foreigner from somewhere that wasn't Marshem. Xingko, perhaps. Hopefully not for too long; guises were tough to maintain.

After that, she would consult her past lives. They would tell her what to do, her next careful steps from here. They never lied. They had said that she would arrive in Thiruthia safely. Technically, she did. It was her own foolishness which caused her to nearly lose her life.

The girl drew in a deep breath. "I am Maya ilya Arbaas," she told herself. Her words sounded strange in her ears, as if they were being spoken by a stranger. How long had it been since she'd last said anything in her mother tongue? "I am Maya ilya Arbaas," she repeated fiercely, wanting to taste the shape of her language, "and on the spirits of my ancestors, I will not falter."

She instantly felt stronger. With a smile, the girl conjured an illusion. She gave herself a pale complexion, almond eyes, and softer features. She gave herself a dress she'd seen one of the women on the docks wear, a gaudy affair with hundreds of ribbons and tulles. Her magic gave her comfort, and she revelled in that.

When she was done, a completely different girl stood in her place. This girl stood up straight, unafraid to look at anyone in the eye, and lifted her chin proudly. She was Maya ilya Arbaas, yet she wasn't Maya ilya Arbaas.

The Champion of Pst. Zorah ventured into the light.

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A/N: The adventures of Constantine Rutherland continues! Finally! But looks like we have a new character here... Though if some of you have read my entry for the previous Wattpad Block Party, Winter Edition, you'll probably have a good idea of who she is ;) Hope you guys are just as excited to start this journey as I am! 

So, you guys know the drill: vote, comment and recommend! Though doing one of the three is quite enough too ;)