Even after twelve years, half of Pricus remained destroyed, struggling to rebuild itself. For many of its inhabitants, the town was a reminder that extinction could appear in the sky at any moment, as many feared the gods were still angry and would seek retribution for what had transpired. Not since that fateful night had anyone seen or heard from them, and each passing moment meant an even greater reckoning.
For that reason, most of its citizens left for greener (and safer) pastures. The township, situated in a distant corner of the land and far from the bustling capital, had lost its trade route due to fears and superstition, leaving the remaining residents in a constant state of poverty and hunger. Not even a prayer to Plutus, the God of Wealth, could save them.
On a particularly hot day, a young woman stood in a long line that stretched down a dusty street. It was hot, and beads of sweat rolled down her arms and legs. Even at twenty years old, Lyra's crimson eyes held a hardness that could not be missed.
"Next!"
Lyra moved to the head of the line, dropping the sword in front of the merchant. Rust had spread on the blade like a cancerous growth.
The merchant stared at it, then gave Lyra a hard look. "Is this some kind of joke?"
She held her ground. "No."
"What in the name of Kreios am I supposed to do with this?" he asked.
Lyra winced slightly before speaking. "This is real thunder metal."
The merchant laughed, his hard belly shaking the table. "Ha, thunder metal! As if you have thunder metal."
A few people in line laughed along with the merchant. Lyra's face remained unchanged. She stared down.
"Test it," she said with a tense voice.
He gave her a cold look. "Look, miss. I can't test nothing. This ain't the capital. I appraise things with my own damn eyes, and this thing looks like pure garbage to me. Ain't no thunder metal in Pricus."
But Lyra is not taking no for an answer. "Look at the hilt. It's pure gold. It's been in my family for generations."
"And who's your family?"
Lyra stopped, her face turning red. "I-it doesn't matter. This is easily worth 10,000 gems."
The merchant laughed again. "Not a chance in hell, kid--"
He suddenly stopped talking, looking Lyra up and down. "Hey, I know you. You're that girl whose sister died in the rebellion twelve years back."
Lyra's face was now a bright red. She suddenly grabbed the knife from the table and walked away. Many eyes followed her as she went. She crossed the street, walking down a road with small merchant shops on either side. Most of the shops were closed, with layers of grime on their windows—a reminder of a time that has long since passed into dust.
She turned down an empty street. It was quiet, save for the wind blowing in her ears. Just up ahead, a woman poked her head out of a second-story window. She spotted Lyra and smiled hard.
"Hello to you, Lyra."
Lyra stopped, looking up. "Hello, Merope."
"How was selling that sword?"
Lyra shrugged and revealed the sword.
The older woman nodded in understanding. "Don't worry, love. You'll find a way to make the money."
"Maybe," she said, a twinge of doubt in her voice.
"Perhaps try the marketplace in Aion? They might have a better eye for it than that cheapskate, Talos—"
A sudden bout of laughter cuts through the air. Both Lyra and Merope turned to see a group of young men coming down the small, deserted street. They were dressed in armor and carried a banner of gold and black. They were soldiers of the realm. But there was nothing righteous about these men. They were mercenaries and mercenaries only.
Lyra's face turned into a glare of hatred as the men approached her. Most of them barely noticed her, but one turned to look in her direction—running his eyes up and down her body. His eyes were cold, and his face held a sinister gaze beneath his helmet. But there was a gleam of desire in his eyes.
The group of soldiers continued to walk down the small street and turned out of sight. Merope let out a sigh. "This patrolling of theirs is getting worse by the day. When are they going to leave us in peace?"
Lyra was barely paying attention; her eyes still trained on where the soldiers disappeared.
Merope glanced down from her window, with nothing but concern in her eyes. "Hating them won't bring her back, my dear."
Lyra looked away, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know."
Merope suddenly looked up at the sky. It was streaked with beautiful orange and pink hues.
"You'd better run along, dear," Merope said, suddenly. " It'll be night soon. You don't want to be caught after dark. They'd love to run into a pretty girl like you all alone."