Which Faction Will Claim You?

Your little sister, Evelon, is dying. Five days of coughing. The last three with blood.

Your supplies are depleted, forcing you into a small village made of crumbling shacks and debris. At its center you spot a building with a sign that reads: "Kaivee's Noodle Shop."

You hide Evelon behind a hollowed-out car frame and pack loose dirt over her legs, so anyone passing by sees just another body the wasteland claimed.

You have no money. The one thing of value you carry is a compass carved from Verillium, a stone so rare and so illegal that showing it to the wrong person is a death sentence.

The front door's too dangerous, so you circle the building for another way in. A young man steps onto the porch, bright red hair spilling over a bandana, one eye hidden beneath a black patch. Beside him, a girl not much older than Evelon wipes flour from her cheek.

He's reading her a poem. The words make your head sway. Color blooms at the edges of your vision and the wasteland melts into a green forest that isn't there.

Then your shin slams into a rusted car frame. The man smirks. "You drunk, buddy?" The girl elbows him. "Reed." Then, with a gentle smile, she turns to you. "I'm Yenna. Are you okay?"

"Yenna!" a gruff voice calls from inside. "Coming, Dad!"

Around the back, half-swallowed by shadow, you find a small door sealed with an iron lock.

You are an Ignarus, one of the last of a nearly extinct kind of Myth. Fire is in your blood. The sun has hammered your back all day, a curse to most, but empowering to you. You've soaked up enough heat to melt that lock in seconds.

But if anyone sees what you can do, you stop being just a desperate brother trying to feed his sister and become a threat to humanity, one that must be put down.

Inside, the air shifts. A hot spring bubbles at the center of the room. Herbs, greens, and mushrooms grow in neat rows along the walls. A pot simmers with the smell of meat and broth.

Hunger hits so hard your knees nearly buckle.

This room has everything Evelon needs to live. It just doesn't belong to you.

A door on the far wall leads to the bar. You press your face to the warped boards and peer through the cracks.

The red-haired man, Reed, sits sketching in a leather book. An older man chops greens behind the counter.

Your heart stops when you see the small stone carvings lined up at the end of the bar. Wanted statues. Each one the face of a hunted Myth, chiseled by traitors who sold out their own kind for the Arbiter's food vouchers.

You clench your hand into a fist when you see the one in the middle. Tangled hair. Green eyes. Three triangles nested inside one another, burned into the back of her hand.

It's Evelon.

Younger. But unmistakably her. Someone carved your little sister into stone so the whole world could hunt her down.

The door slides open. The girl from the porch, Yenna, steps through and shuts it behind her. She freezes when she sees you.

You lunge forward. One hand clamps over her mouth. Flames spark to life in the other, inches from her skin. A stray lock of her hair singes and curls. She looks up at you, shaking in fear.

"Yenna! Stop slamming doors!" her father shouts from inside the shop. He's one room away, and he has no idea you're holding his daughter hostage.

The front door of the shop creaks open. Then a sound stops your blood cold.

Clink. Clink. Tap.

Your legs tense. Like all Myths, you know that when you hear a Grafter's scales, you run, if you still can. Bodies fused in metal scales, Grafters are the augmented soldiers of the Prism Spire, built for one purpose: hunting Myths like you.

Yenna's eyes go wide. She heard it too.

You edge toward the back door to slip out. As your hand finds the latch, sunlight catches a glimmer of metal scales just outside. The Grafter has circled the building.

You spin toward the inner door. Through the cracks, a shadow shifts on the other side.

Front. Back. Both covered.

You are boxed in, and Evelon is still out there. She will die if you don't get back to her.