The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Six: The Desolation of Demelia

"Those who have succumbed to the dark will find themselves emptied of all they were before. Tirelessly will they chase their enemies, unyielding in their resolve and utterly without mercy. They have wholly and completely earned the name heretic as the great scourge of the galaxy. Those who would refer to heretics with weak names such as 'the Marked' would be better served put to death with those they wish to defend."

—Indigal Faress, Founder of the Uzuai Valley Memorists

Zaina fired off another mapper. A pop pierced the stillness, making Kitali jump. Still no large life forms, still breathable air, and a few streams nearby. The hairs on the back of her neck were dancing as she advanced further into the foggy forest, unsure of what awaited her. It could be Beni, or other afflicted creatures, or that shadowy monster—

An icy shiver crawled down her spine. The last thing she wanted was to face whatever that thing was again. Her father had taught her about self-defense and survival, but this was beyond her scope.

The forest's edge, a field of scorched stumps, was near. Fire had consumed the forest and plains ahead, leaving behind a wasteland blanketed by a veil of black ash.

Zaina streaked across the burnt plains. She came across a sharp, high-curving hill with all the grass stripped off. The hillside was covered in pock marks. She gasped.

This was our old practice spot.

She stared at it for a moment. For a second she lost herself in a pleasant memory—the first time she shot her father's scrapshot. Back then it was the size of her arm—she was barely able to lift it.

"Why do I have to do this, Papa?"

"It's a mad galaxy out there, darling. If you want to see it all, you have to be prepared."

"All the other girls are going to the Ryrda Auditorium. I wanted to go with them."

Her father knelt and placed a hand on her shoulder—Zaina almost felt its weight now.

"I promise, there'll be another time. Besides, we'll make it fun. If you can hit this center dot here, I'll buy you ice cream at old man Sidora's shop after dinner. Deal?"

Despite her situation, she smiled. She had always complained whenever he dragged her outside to practice shooting or martial arts. Now those were the moments she most wanted back.

She knew the way home from here by heart—it wasn't far. Its silhouette stood atop the hill like a shining beacon. As she trekked up the hill, its normal outline gave way to a strange disconnect—this place was home for her entire life, and now it was something else. Little more than a rock or a tree—part of a soon-to-be-forgotten landscape.

Their farmland tucked into the hills below was destroyed—the wooden fences had fallen into disrepair. The world she loved was stranded in memory.

Moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes as she stepped onto the porch. The house was, aside from some busted windows and the open door, intact, but for the first time in Zaina's life, it was empty, devoid of the life it once so lovingly held. It wasn't truly home unless her family was there.

I'll make it to them. Whatever it takes.

She crossed the threshold to the house. There, she witnessed a moment in time—a teakettle atop the stovetop, its bottom blackened by long burnt-out coals. On the table were unfinished drawings by Zaina's younger brother and sister, their wax pencils strewn about on the table. One had fallen onto the floor—she reached down and picked it up to put it with the others.