The girl woke up with a fright. It was still dark, which meant it was still night. A lot had happened in one night, a very very long night. She looked at her surroundings as her heart pounded. Before she could take anything in however, the pain began. Her body burned, it ached and it stung. Every inch of her person was in some sort of pain or another.

  She looked down to see almost no skin, it was all in bandages or other sorts of dressing. The few parts that poked through were red with blood or bruises. Every attempt to move just sent more ripples through her, like someone scraping nails from her toes to her scalp. In surrender, the girl let herself fall to her pillow and whimpered, the pain too much for her tired mind.

  ‘Steady on Fogg, ya young. Ya body will recover.’ She knew that voice. The familiar voice of an old family friend.

  ‘Gus?’

  ‘Aye, it’s me, though can’t say there's much left of me.’ She turned her weak head towards the old man. A wave of shock ran over the young Scorchlander.

  Just as he said, there was barely anything left of her old friend. One missing arm, half a missing leg replaced by a basic cheap prosthetic, and half of his face burnt off.

  She could feel tears on the edges of her eyes. ‘Did you. Did you patch me up?’

  He chuckled weakly. ‘Used the last of me strength.’

  Gus matched eyes with his patient and let a trembling voice escape. ‘Now don’t look at me like that young Fogg. I’m an old man. Only right I save the young.’

  As to respect his wishes, Fogg turned her gaze from his, as it only strengthened the guilt and rage in her heart.

  Still, the tears couldn’t be stopped. ‘It’s not fair. It’s not fuckin’ fair!’ She whimpered through stinging tears.

  The broken old man couldn’t argue. She was grieving, he was too. Only his grief wouldn’t last too long and eventually, it would just pile more on to hers. Even in the United Cities, a young woman shouldn’t have had to go through what she had.

  Their home burnt to the ground in a few hours. Their neighbours, their friends and even her parents were killed. All due to a misbegotten ideology. The Antislavers, believing their perceived morality put them above everyone else.

  ‘I don’t understand why they did it, what did my parents do wrong?’

  He sighed. ‘Your parents were Slaver Guards, in their eyes they’re monsters,’ he paused. ‘You always had sympathy for the slaves haven’t you? Slipped them dried meat and the like.’

  She tried to dry the tears in her eyes, only causing her more pain. ‘Mum always said it could happen to anyone. But it was necessary,’ she paused, sniffing from a runny nose. ‘They were just making a living. To pay for our home, to pay for me.’

  Gus wished he could sit up, he wished he could lean over and comfort her, but his strength had fled. He had nothing. They were in the burnt out husk of her family's home in a burnt out labour town. There wasn’t even food left save for what he had already brought in.

  It was the end for him, he had to use what little he had left for her. His right hand lifted, shaking and with great struggle. ‘T-The sword. Your parents always said you were strong,’ he chuckled weakly. ‘Th-they saved up and got it for you as a, as a joke they said, but I think you can do it. I think you can wield it.’ His arm fell weakly to his side, his breathing weak, wheezy.

  Fogg lifted her head. She had no idea what sword he meant, until she caught a glimpse. A Fragment Axe. The heaviest weapons in the land, wielded only by the strongest Shek or liars trying to impress everyone around them. She was neither.

  The Scorchlander was indeed naturally strong, and she constantly trained to grow stronger, but a Fragment Axe was another question. That required strength almost inhuman.

  ‘I can’t do that Gus, no one's st-’ her voice escaped her, a feeling burst up from her chest. Gus lay unmoving, his mouth agape and his eyes locked in place. She was now alone, surrounded by ghosts and ash.

  She could no longer put off her tears, even if they hurt, her heart hurt more. They flowed and burned for hours, until finally, the girl fell asleep. Exhausted and weak. She was utterly lost.

  Three days she spent in that bed, with just enough food in arms length to stop herself from starving. Nothing to watch save for the slowly rotting body of her oldest friend.

  Eventually her tears turned to rage. Anger at the United Cities for not helping, anger at the Antislavers for their cruelty and anger at herself, for being so pathetic, so powerless. She couldn’t let herself die here, no matter how broken she felt. Even without the disrespect it would bring to Gus and her family, she had to get revenge, she had to end those that took so many innocent lives.

  At the dawn of the fourth day, after enduring pain beyond anything she had suffered before, Fogg forced herself to sit up. She panted and screamed, struggling to even move, but she did it.

  Then she went even further and forced herself to stand. The Scorchlander channeled her anger, she forced the image of the Antislavers dead at her feet to the forefront of her mind. With glances to the Fragment Axe she imagined the infamous Tinfist cut in half, screaming like her parents must have screamed.

  Finally, she had done it, her mind was hazy and her body unbalanced, but she stood. Her first job was to bury Gus. He had managed to do so much for her despite the state he was in, so she had no excuse.

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  She knelt before him, and wrapped her bandaged arms around him. With a grunt, she lifted his body, struggling to keep her breathing steady. One step at a time, she brought him outside, looking for somewhere to bury him. That’s when saw the two graves outside her house, ones he must have already dug. They held the names of her parents, Roland and Dee. She could feel her tears once again, but forced them dormant.

  As she buried her friend, every second suffering, every movement painful, her determination only grew. She held out until the last of the dirt covered him, then let herself collapse, exhaustion forcing her asleep.

  The next day when she awoke outside her house, lying upon her family's graves, she forced her body to move once again, slowly crawling back into her home. She ate some old steamed vegetables and dragged her aching body to its feet.

  There were three things she needed. The trading backpack her mother used to use, sitting in the corner of their bedroom, some food and bandages and a heap of iron. The bag was easy enough, the food and bandages too, her pain still held on, but she was learning to ignore it.

  All the difficulty came in the iron. She trekked across the entire town, to the slave houses. The storage was by them, it would be another five or so days until a caravan came to pick up this week's quota. When they came she planned to ask to join them, but until then she did not want to waste time.

  One by one she loaded the heavy ores into her backpack, each one weighing her down a little more, each one making her nerves scream and her body pulse with discomfort. She kept going until she literally couldn’t take any more.

  Then the Scorchlander began. To begin with, all she did was walk from one side of the town to the other. Back and forth back and forth, no matter what. If she felt the urge to stop, she looked at the sword laid against her wall and the graves, laid outside.

  When her body finally gave up again, she slept and repeated the process. As long as her body held out she carried on. Stopping to eat, stopping to drink and stopping to reapply her bandages. They loosened and became soaked with blood, but the pain became easier to manage.

  By the third day, she had changed it up a little. Mixing up her training with push ups. She needed muscle as well, to wield that weapon effectively. When her arms gave way underneath her, she carried on making laps. Then she tried to lay on the floor of her house and lifted the bag above her head.

  At the end of each night, she attempted to lift the sword, each day she failed, but at the same time she could feel it move a little more. At the dawn of the fifth day the girl had nearly run out of bandages. She knew she would have to keep it up, but if she bled to death, or died in another way, she wouldn’t be able to accomplish a damn thing. So, for that day, she paused her training and simply waited.

  Exhaustion approached her by the time the sound of weighed down Garrus rattled in the distance. She forced her eyes open, and her legs to stand as they entered through the door. The caravan stopped, immediately.

  ‘The fuc- Kaleb, Dense check the slave pens. Rik and Porr, go check the noble house.’ The caravan leader began barking orders to her guards.

  Fogg wandered into view. ‘There’s no point,’ she told them, her voice crusty.

  A few guards jumped in front of their boss, weapons drawn on the young woman,even in the state she was in. She couldn’t help but scoff. The boss in question pushed them out of her way.

  ‘Move you idiots. Look at her, does she look like she’s capable of a damn thing right now?’

  Another member of the caravan moved past, a man Fogg recognised. ‘Shit. Ain’t you Dee’s little girl? Fogg right?’

  It was an old friend of her mothers, named Dogroll, a Hive Soldier who had visited the family a few times. They trained together when they were Fogg’s age. They weren’t close and she barely knew him, but at least it was something.

  ‘You know her Dogroll?’

  He nodded. ‘Friends kid, like I said. Her and her husband are guards here,’ he looked around, then spotted the graves. ‘Or I guess, were.’

  ‘So they’re dead, most of this town looks dead. Are you the only survivor?’ The leader walked to Fogg, arms crossed.

  ‘Yeah,’ a stifled tear threatened to rise. ‘It was the Antislavers, slaughtered every last one of us, burnt the town then ran away with the slaves.’

  ‘Shit.’ The caravan boss replied.

  She looked around, then shook her head. ‘Alright you lot, grab what you can, no point staying here tonight, we’ll camp on the road. Need to report this to the Nobles. Especially since they lost one of their own.’ She looked over at the nobles house, burnt bodies laying outside in what remained of their armour.

  ‘What about the girl? We just gonna leave her here?’ Dogroll asked.

  The Boss eyed Fogg up and down. ‘We have no obligation, but… You girl. Can you walk? Can you keep up?’

  ‘For fucks sake boss, i’ll carry her.’ Dogroll walked towards Fogg.

  Fogg held up her hand. ‘No. I need to walk myself, I need to do this.’ The Scorchlander then turned to grab her backpack, pouring out the ore onto the ground. ‘Here’s most of what you were looking for.’

  A few of the caravan made their way over and started gathering the ore. The boss simply stared at Fogg. She smiled. ‘So that’s how it is, huh?’ She reached out a hand. ‘You can call me Darci Blue, you’re called Fogg right?’

  With hesitation, Fogg reached out her hand to shake the woman's. ‘Yeah, I just got one last thing to grab.’

  Darci backed up and gestured for Fogg to do what she needed to do. ‘It'll take a few minutes to gather the ore anyway.’

  The half broken woman hobbled back to her room and came back out, using the Fragment axe as a crutch. Each movement she lifted it with what seemed like less effort than walking normally.

  A while implied Darci’s approval. ‘In that state? Damn woman, you’re going to scare the shit out of someone when you’re recovered.’

  Fogg didn’t smile, she didn’t wipe the scowl of her face, but she did answer. ‘I fuckin’ hope so.’

  They gathered the rest of what they needed and after burying the noble that watched over the town, the caravan headed out of town. Fogg took one last look at the burning husk that was once her home and turned back to the caravan, her resolve only strengthened.

  Dogroll slowed down to walk by her side, for now her shuffling kept up with the slow pace, but he held a worried expression. ‘Listen. Your ma and I weren't exactly close, but I respected her enough. You need some help, need to be carried just let me know yeah?’

  Her heart had steeled, she couldn’t let anything slow her down, anyone help her, if she even softened for a minute she would never avenge her parents. ‘No thanks. If I fall behind that just means I’d have never succeeded in the first place.’

  ‘Succeed at what?’

  She looked at him, eyes dark and teeth clenched. ‘The Antislavers. I’m gonna kill them all.’