When everyone in town died, we heard no scream. We should have—every sound echoed up that forest gorge. Winters in the south bend of Noé carry no birdsong, no rustle of leaves, just the crinkle of our feet rolling over the snow as softly as possible so as not to spook the deer. My brother Iden tipped his bow in the quiet, as still as the trees staring down. The deer died in the silence of that winter morning. A village of three thousand did too.

At fourteen, I stood almost to my full height, my lanky frame already capable of lugging back game, wood, or baskets of whatever herbs, berries or mushrooms we could gather from the forest. Iden, a year older, stood just as tall and strong—though the scrubby blond stubble he called a goatee still eluded me. Each day, we tested our muscles to hunt or gather what we could until we were old enough to do our part in the mineral mine. I gutted the doe that morning amid trees as wide as I stood tall. Iden prepped the pole to carry it between our shoulders. 

I inhaled earthy blood as we trudged back to the cobble road, eager to get that deer butchered in our shed. We made it down the road a ways, talking about the venison stew Mom would soon bubble over the fire, adding chives, potatoes, and wild root vegetables to make it perfect. I dreamed about a good shortgrain bread to go with it, but Iden reminded me we’d have to wait until spring to save up. Imports were expensive, and money was tight since Dad died last year.

Death wouldn’t be new to me that day, just the scale of it. We’d all banded together after Dad’s death because we knew all Chaeten had to. Our ancestors already survived the death of a planet, coming to a new one as refugees, and a war—when the native humans on Nara Mnaet couldn’t agree if we were coded human enough to say so. Through these last few generations, we’d changed everything about our genetic code to live here, to make ourselves belong. Dad always said Chaeten don’t break, we mod ourselves stronger and move on. We’d stood tall in that town for three generations, stubborn enough to flourish in a place where our Asri neighbors once slaughtered as many of us as they could.

“It shouldn’t be this quiet,” Iden said as we reached the maple grove.

I shifted the deer on my shoulders. “I’m fine with quiet. The twins just learned to whistle.” 

He groaned. “Yeah, they woke me up this morning with a new whistle-song.”

“Yep. Told them you’d love that.” I’d relished my little sisters’ smiles just as much as Iden’s annoyance.

“You shit.” He laughed, but he’d been right about the quiet. There were no work trucks on the road, or rumbles under our feet from the mine. A breeze chimed through the icy trees, then running footsteps. The moment I first saw the Red Demon will be etched in my mind forever—every slow second of it.

I didn’t know what she was then, or what to call her, but I recognized she was something special, powerful, beyond the human I was. My eyes were sharp enough to see her on the far edge of the field, to make out the maze of scars down her golden arms and the long, wine-red hair streaming behind her. I hadn’t seen hair that shade before, glowing a little more than it should, hovering with something brilliant on the edge of perception. Her hair bloomed as all colors do when we’re children, warm and shining bright. Her movements flowed, precise, flawlessly fast. I couldn’t pinpoint the otherness of it, but I couldn’t look away, even when she swerved to charge us. 

She came from the village, all lean muscle and grace across the field of white powdered snow. She crossed twin swords in front of her, their blades glinting with blood. I’d dropped the pole from my shoulder, but I still stood there like an idiot, too transfixed to be afraid. Iden drew his bow.

Mid-stride, she wiped one blade in the snow with a flash of sunlight. Another step, she flipped it and cleaned the blood off the other side. Lunge, wipe; lunge, wipe, all without changing pace.

“Get your knife out, Jesse,” Iden said. His voice sounded calm, too calm. All the same, his green eyes flitted with panic when I didn’t jump immediately.

I unsheathed my knife, my heart pounding when only a few paces remained between her and my neck.

She stopped, letting out one slow, frosty breath. Her blades shone clean as she stared at us with vacant, yellow-green eyes, meeting ours for a moment before her gaze flitted down the road beyond us.

Iden breathed in deep beside me, his bowstring taut, every muscle prepared as we waited for her to speak or take one step forward to meet his arrow.

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