Cold; that's all she felt. Everything from her fingertips to her toes was ice. Ashlin began rubbing her chafed hands together for warmth, but it was like trying to make a fire out of damp wood. Despite the failed effect, Ashlin continued rubbing until she winced at the tiniest bit of pain from the friction. At this point however, she was thankful to be able to feel anything besides the cold, even if it was a sharp prink in the nerve endings near her fingernails. It was surely better than the droning numbness of the mind and senses that had accompanied Ashlin ever since the battle.

At first she had truly felt nothing. Her leg, which should have been throbbing and aching relentlessly, instead lay motionless and unfeeling in the sand. Eventually her face, splattered in blood and buried in pieces rubble, could only sense the cool surfaces of the bits of rock and shards of metal that pierced Ashlin's pale skin. They would certainly become scars in due time.

Nevertheless, Ashlin refused to pity herself. There were many soldiers, young and old, who had lost their lives in this battle. Countless more had been sacrificed for the war effort. At least she was alive; frigid and lame, but alive.

Far and near Ashlin could hear those whom had not yet been taken. They wavered on the fence between life and death as their bone chilling cries provided and appropriate backdrop for the situation. If her lips and lungs had allowed, Ashlin would have cried out as well. She, and those around her, were the unwanted, those whom death had refused and life continually pushed back into their hellish existence. Would it really be better just to let go now? Ashlin thought to herself. How could she return to her father like this? He had raised a strong daughter to take his place as ruler when the time was right.

Maybe she was already dead. Maybe what Ashlin had confused with the after effects of battle was really just the brink of Hell. She felt helpless and alone with only the distant sounds of gun fire and fellow unwanted soldiers to keep her company. I must be dead. Ashlin thought decidedly. Ripped from the world that abandoned her and tossed carelessly into a pit of hopelessness, this must certainly be the afterlife.

Rolling over slightly, Ashlin adjusted her broken leg. It felt like a stone had been strapped to the socket where her left leg had once been. Could you feel pain in the afterworld? Apparently not. As Ashlin carefully stroked her bruised body, a memory flickered in the distant corners of her mind.

There was a golden basin, filled to the brink with cool, clear spring water. A woman whose skin was not brown, yellow, peach nor any of the other natural colors hovered at the edge of it. Her face was a ghostly white with small highlights of yellow and red. Who was she? Ashlin struggled to remember. The woman was mumbling something, some lost, forgotten language. 'Paleen Encontaba' she spoke more clearly now. Ashlin grasped someone's rough hand.

He spoke in a deeper voice. 'Bring her to us, let us see her' he ordered more than asked.

'You know as well as I the ways of the after life, Praxis. Once fate has taken her, there is nothing left I can do' the woman spoke with a lullaby monotone.

'Fate has nothing to do with it' he snapped back 'My wife was not taken by fate. She was taken by mistake, by the most despicable of creatures. Still, within me I can feel her heart beating. She may not be dead. Let us see her.'

'I prefer not to tempt our precursors' the woman stood rigid 'Witnessing what we are not meant to see binds our own destruction' she finished so strongly that, even out of the memory, Ashlin flinched.

Suddenly, Ashlin's father dropped her hand and pulled a knife to the woman's throat. 'You will show me what I desire to see or risk your own destruction'. Ashlin could see the madness in his eyes as the knife quivered.

Yet the woman whose words belonged in a forgotten time did not tremble. 'Very well'.

With a gasp of air Ashlin was brought back into reality. Unexpectedly, her bones began to ache and the dried blood on her face felt tight. She wanted to rip the flesh of her very bones. It stung, itched and ached all at once. For the first time she was able to let out a deafening scream.

Someone was carrying her. Yet, Ashlin could not feel the metal armor of one of her fathers Krimzon Gaurds. He was not of the army. The boy was struggling to lift her and stumbled himself through the field of bodies. As her vision dimmed, Ashlin caught a glimpse of the boy's blue eyes before everything went black.