The ground was dry, cracked in places from lack of water, her footsteps barely making a sound as she trudged warily through the desert. Her lips were cracked, and caked with dry blood. Her clothes, battered and torn, barely fit on her toned body. She drew in a ragged breath as she looked up at the setting sun, the sky lit up in resplendent reds, bewitching blues, and picturesque purples. A smile crept upon her dusty lips as she scratched at her unkempt black hair. How long had it been since she bathed? Too long. She was pulled from her reverie of bathing by the sound of a vulture landing on the scorched earth not too far from her. If she had had the energy to chase it away she would have. For now she focused on getting out of this desert. The vulture hopped closer to her, frenzied eyes flashing a maniacal green. The bird lunged at her, but she was faster, bringing her fist up from her hip to defend her exposed side. The bird's beak smashed into her knuckles causing the dry skin to crack open and bleed. She grabbed the bird with the fist she defended her side with and brought her other fist down on its neck, crushing its windpipe. She felt bad, but she needed the food, and the blood, to stay alive, even if for a little bit longer. She needed to escape this desert. She picked up the carcass of the buzzard, and broke the neck for extra measure. Hearing the crack she needed to hear, she slung the bird over her shoulder, and trudged onward.

She wandered for hours, until the sun had set beyond the sandy horizon and a chilled wind was blowing. Looking up at the sky, she noted she could not see the stars.

"Fucking wonderful," she muttered. Thankfully she could see a rocky outcrop faintly against the dark sky. Wandering over, she noticed an overhang and plopped down underneath, her back against the cold stone. Luckily there was some brush nearby and she was able to make a fire to keep warm, and to cook some of the vulture she had killed. She had to use most of her remaining shirt to make the fire, but thankfully what she had left would keep her warm for some time. As she was not a very large chested girl, she was able to turn the remainder of her shirt into a bandeau. The vulture had started to stink, and she was loathe to eat it, but a meal was a meal. The meat instead of being a fresh red had turned to a deep brown.

"Still edible… Thank God," she reached for the knife she had stored at her side, and groaned when she missed, the knife no longer there. "This is just great. Fucking-" she stopped mid-sentence as she had heard what she had assumed to be footsteps nearby. She chuckled heartily to herself as a rabbit appeared form around the corner. Sniffing the air, the rabbit darted away quickly, leaving the girl with a very confused look on her face. Slowly she turned to see the old man grin, before everything went black.


She awoke in a bed that was not her own, to a swaying sensation and a splitting headache. As she attempted to stand up, she immediately had to sit down. She retched, but nothing came up. She groaned. "What did I do to piss off the fates?"

The old man she had seen from before she blacked out appeared in the room, again with the creepy smile. "Who are you?" the girl asked in a croaked voice. The man chuckled before responding.

"I think the better question here may be, who, my dear, are you?"

She eyed the man warily. He seemed to be missing a few teeth. He wore a pair of spectacles over his nose, but one lens was missing and the remaining lens cracked beyond repair. His beard was well below his knees, and he was clad in some robes that were unfamiliar to her. He held a gnarled staff, which looked like it used to be the branch of an ancient tree.

"My name is Alyx, Alyx Dara. I'm the blacksmith to the Royal Family in Kil" she stated matter-of-factually, "or at least I was, until it was raided. I don't know how many survivors there are, if any at all." She laid back down and stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. Shortly afterward she drifted off into a fitful sleep, full of nightmares.