Rain poured down the streets and alleys of Dwol, Naurasia's royal city. Like it usually was on stormy days such as today, the cobbles and stone paths were deprived of any creature, but not for long. The side door to the palace walls was ajar, and a hooded figure slipped out into the drenched lane.

It was easy to see that the Naurasian was escaping; the shadow peering around corners, a bulky knapsack slipped beside a full quiver of arrows.

Anyone who bothered to peer outside their window would have thought today a perfect day to make a getaway; it was one of the very rare instances the Crog guards were all relaxing in the ruined palace. And so the figure ran on.

Sandals sodden, fifteen-year-old Princess Evika slid stealthily down the alleyways of her beloved city. For ten whole years, she had planned her escape from the invaders, the Crogs who had taken just about everything from her. Just about everything she owned, she had in the shrunken knapsack bouncing on her back. And yet, she had to leave them, her parents…no, don't think about them now; don't turn back; they bid you go, slip away as fast as you can…

King Aikka and Queen Eva of Naurasia were currently where they had spent their lives for the last ten years; put under lock and key in their own dungeons and constantly guarded since the invasion a decade ago. She, their only daughter, was a mere child of five when the attack commenced.

Just a few more strides…

They had only five minutes to try and escape, the three royals in the nursery. The memory still was a bright flare: Father ushering her into a door that led to a cramped room that materialized out of nowhere; the last face-to-face moment for years, kissing her forehead and asking for courage; the scabbard and band stuffed into her tiny hands as the door closed, seams evaporated, and her parents along with it.

Not too far now…

Her world was the memoirs in her grip: Father's dagger, honed to a deadly sharpness, and which she was now firmly satisfied to use now; and Mother's goggles, enriched with bedtime stories about flying in the mythical race of Oban. Eventually, her caretaker, Sicila, had opened the door into a changed palace, a dark reminiscent of her home. She had set a complex magic to tan her pale skin, brown out the dark locks, lighten and blue her irises; changing her to Malira, a humble servant of the Crogs.

Almost there…

Ten years. Ten eternal years of enduring will pressed on escaping punishment, cleaning on time, resisting the jeers of the hulking warriors now inhabiting the stone rooms. In between work shifts, the royal swords master, Zaviroa, had taught her everything she would have learned as a princess if not for the Invasion: manners, magic, physical fighting, weaponry, history, et cetera, but not flying for fear that they would get caught. She really didn't mind; she probably couldn't handle all those skills in the air; but sometimes she caught herself daydreaming about soaring free in the air, feeling the exhilaration that her parents had felt years ago.

Just around the corner…

Right after jumping out the Servant's Wing, she chanced the first physical meeting of her and her parents. A basic Naurasian sleeping spell brought her two minutes, enough to last a lifetime.

The two didn't look themselves; all thin, dirty, and, admit it, barely alive. It was bad enough on the mirror; knowing that this was real nearly made her regret her choice. And yet she felt like the carefree five-year-old left in the nursery oh so many years ago when they recognized her and embraced her through the bars of their prison. Evika hurryingly told her parents about the escape, and, bless the guardian, they told her how to get to a safe haven.

Now she just had to get there through the deluge.

And there it stood; the slorion tree so dangerous in the gusty storm, flailing thin white limbs like whips. Breathing deep, she charged for the unnoticeable crevasse in the roots, closing her fingers around a…rock? As the twigs snagged on her hair not caught by the hood, she cleared the sticky clay from the round stone, revealing a white rock the size of her palm.

A symbol was carved in the marble: a small circle with a large oval on each side. Upon clearing away the dirt, the mineral began to shimmer, and then shine with a steady light. Evika began to feel light…

Princess Evika was gone from Naurasia.

---------------------------------------------------------

Don Wei was sitting in his home office; or more exact, office/bedroom. Even in his sixties, he still was managing Wei Race with a firm hand.

Eva, why didn't you ever call back? he thought again for the zillionth time from the past decade. It was bad enough that nobody seemed to know anything about Naurasia at the moment, and he couldn't take the Intergalactic Express for work had to be done…

The air began to chill slightly. A small breeze swept around the room despite the closed window and door. Then a blast of light…

Don removed his arm from his eyes, then gasped in surprise when he saw a Naurasian face down in the center of the room, unconscious. He ran forward to see who it was, but flinched as he saw the brown skin change color slowly to a creamy white color, the brown hair beginning to streak black. Quickly turning the newcomer onto his/her back, he vaguely recognized the paling face of a fifteen-year-old girl. But then her cheeks started to blush.

The tinges of color strengthened into a stripe on her left cheek, a starburst on her right. Just like his daughter's left stripe and right star.

Her clothes were wet, but clearly Naurasian; pink goggles were tangled into her matted hair, and an over-stuffed backpack was rubbing shoulders with a quiver of arrows and a longbow.

So familiar…he thought. "Evika, is that you?" he gasped in surprise, staring at his long-lost granddaughter.