Celia stirred from her slumber, awakening to chirping birds and leaves rusting in the mountain breeze. Her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the sun's light as it shone through the window of her modest quarters. As she rubbed the sleep out of her face, her mind managed to hold on to the last vestiges of her fleeting dream. "Another one," she grumbled, tossing back her blanket as she rose from bed.

The girl stood barefoot before her mirror, adjusting her simple linen robe and brushing a stray wisp of dark hair from her forehead. These strange dreams were becoming increasingly vivid, but she seldom understood them. Vague scenes of men and women using advanced weaponry and mystical gifts to battle the Saviors danced through her thoughts as she dressed, but she had more tangible concerns to deal with today.

It was not often that the monks of the Ryntai left the confines of their mountaintop monastery, but even they needed to trade for supplies on occasion. For this reason, Celia would journey down the mountain with eleven other apprentices to the city of Tylondale, where a renowned market flourished within its stone walls. Having spent the past decade living in the monastery, Celia relished any opportunity to see the outside world, as dangerous as it might be.

Celia quickly made her way downstairs to the dining hall for a quick breakfast of hard bread and fruit juice before meeting the other monks outside the monastery. A crowd had gathered around a small horse-drawn wagon with the elderly Master Arrus behind the reins. The girl scanned the group for her two companions, Alistair and Elaine, and snuck up behind them.

Alistair was a sandy-haired young man around Celia's age who had been at the monastery for about five years. He was an apt learner and one of the more gifted students his age, but patience had never been one of his virtues. He and Celia had something of a friendly rivalry going, but they always looked out for each other when needed.

Beside him stood Elaine, a red-haired young woman about a year younger than Celia who had been training at the monastery for about seven years. As an apprentice Ryntai, there was nothing remarkable about her; she was just an average student with average skills. But as a person, she was kind and caring, and she always seemed to know how to brighten someone else's day. Celia considered her like a little sister, though she would never say that aloud.

Neither of the two noticed Celia standing behind them by the time Master Arrus had finished addressing the students. "Alright, everyone," he spoke. "Once I sell the wine, I'll dole out the silver so you can procure what is on your respective lists. Remember, stay alert, keep to yourselves, and do not draw the attention of the Saviors. Understood?"

The apprentices replied with nods and grunts as Arrus handed each group of three a scroll. As he reached out to give the last one to Alistair, Celia deftly snatched it away, finally making her presence known to her companions. "Where the hell did you come from?" Alistair squawked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Celia replied, grinning sheepishly. "I've been here the whole time."

Elaine gave a quiet chuckle, and Alistair rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Celia!" a voice shouted from behind. "A word, please?"

Celia let out a defeated sigh as she turned to see Headmaster Zan balancing himself on a quarterstaff, his dark robes billowing lightly in the breeze. The headmaster was a sturdily built man in his 50s with graying black hair pulled back and tied neatly at the base of his neck. A set of weary eyes watched the girl as she approached him, though they still shone warmly and kindly. "Don't think for a moment that I missed you sneaking around, Ms. Moore," he scolded.

The girl bowed her head. "My apologies, master," she replied meekly. "I overslept this morning."

Zan looked at her knowingly and frowned. "That's very unlike you," he said. You've been looking forward to this trip for weeks. Are your dreams still troubling you?"

Celia nodded. "...they're getting more intense."

The old monk scratched his chin thoughtfully before reaching into his robes and producing a small pouch of silver. "I have a special task for you today," he told her. "Perhaps it will help take your mind off things. Would you pick up some new reading material from the bookstore in town? I'm about finished with the previous batch. I could use something new to keep me occupied."

Celia's sky-colored eyes lit up as she eagerly accepted the bag of coins. "Of course, master."

"Enjoy the trip, Ms. Moore," Zan smiled. "And please be careful out there."

The girl bowed and returned to the group of apprentices, who were almost ready to head out with the wagon. Master Arrus gathered everyone up, and soon, the monks were on the way down the road to Tylondale.

The short, three-hour trek was uneventful and barely an inconvenience for a group of monks who spent most of their days conditioning themselves and training in martial arts. As they neared Tylondale's outskirts, they approached a group of farmers taking advantage of a bend in the road where they hawked their wares from two carts laden with fresh produce. The monks paid no heed to the farmers, but they were obviously desperate. They lacked the proper permits to trade within the city, and if the Saviors caught them out here like this, there would be trouble for everyone involved.

Tylondale was the second largest city in the Allegheny Archipelago, the largest being the port city of Cross, where the Saviors' citadel towered over nearly everything. Much of the town was built along the base of Mount Fraya and surrounded by a thick stone wall that stood well over 20 feet tall. Atop the wall were the Saviors, nine-foot-tall faceless metal men, each armed with one of their highly advanced energy rifles. They were nothing new to Celia; she could sparsely remember a time when the Saviors were not a part of her life.

A collective hush fell over the monks as the Saviors stopped their wagon at the city's gates for inspection. Master Arrus quickly handed over their trade permits, and with minimal scrutiny, the Saviors gestured for them to continue. "Carry on, citizens," boomed the creature's mechanical voice.

Inside its walls, Tylondale was a bustling amalgamation of cultures and styles from all across the islands. Its main streets were wide enough for two carts to pass side by side, though many arrow paths and alleyways branched off and twisted between the packed buildings.

By the time the monks had arrived, the market was already in full swing; dozens of merchants and vendors called out their wares with cries that filled the air. The wealthier merchants even had performers set up around their carts or tents, playing catchy tunes on musical instruments or performing acrobatic feats to draw in customers.

Master Arrus led the group to their usual buyer for their wine: a wealthy tavern proprietor named Thorne. A heavyset man with long but graying red hair, Thorne owned many inns and taverns throughout the Allegheny Archipelago and was well-known among the mercantile community. He always dealt fairly, which earned him the trust of many, especially the monks of the Ryntai. Their dealings were soon settled, and Master Arrus handed out several pouches of silver crowns to the apprentices and sent them on their way before parking the wagon by the city gates.

The apprentices went to work wandering through the market as they searched for the supplies on their lists: rope, bolts of linen, needles and thread, leather goods like gloves and boots, wooden training weapons, tools, spices, medicinal herbs, and so on and so forth. It seemed like a never-ending checklist, but with all the apprentices working together, they could quickly wrap their business up within a few hours.

Celia meandered from stall to stall, her senses stimulated by everything Tylondale's market offered. She took in the sights of merchants haggling with customers over prices while others sang praises of their wares' quality. She listened to children playing in the streets while their parents bartered for fresh produce and other goods. She felt the warm breeze blowing through the air as it ruffled her hair. She smelled the aromas of exotic spices and freshly baked bread wafting from nearby food stalls. It was all so overwhelming, but she loved every moment of it.

A mild collision with a merchant's cart brought Celia back to reality as she stumbled backward and nearly tripped over herself. She found a portly jewelry merchant dressed in garish, brightly colored garb standing over her with an extended hand. "My apologies, young lady!" the merchant greeted her as he helped her to her feet. "You're so lucky you found me because I have just what you're looking for!"

Celia's eyes widened as the merchant held out a gold necklace in hand. "Oh. Um, can I help you, sir?" she asked.

The merchant began rattling off his sales pitch, providing the girl with all manner of details about the necklace: its composition, age, cultural relevance, and a whole slew of information that sailed right over Celia's head. "I bet this lovely work of art would look wonderful on you," he continued. "Would you like to try it on? We're having a sale! It could be yours for a mere fifty crowns!"

Celia stared back at the man in awkward silence until a hand belonging to Alistair gripped her shoulder. "Come on, Celia, we're not here for trinkets," he scolded. Now stop acting like it's your first time out in the world."

She turned away from the merchant, who shifted his focus elsewhere as soon as he realized he was unlikely to make a sale to a group of robed monks. He soon spotted an elegantly dressed noblewoman moving through the crowd and grabbed her attention without another word to Celia. "Thank you, Alistair," she said with relief. "I don't know what happened there."

Elaine stepped out of the surrounding crowd and gave Alistair a light jab in his side with her elbow. "Don't be so boorish," she teased. "Celia's been cooped up in the monastery longer than any of us. Let her enjoy the sights."

Alistair rolled his eyes as he rubbed his side. "The last time I was here, a couple of idiots tried to rob one of our people. Figured we were tourists or something," he explained. "It didn't go well for the robbers, but the headmaster was breathing down everybody's neck about it for a solid month. Kept saying we could have drawn the attention of the Saviors, and honestly, he's right. So get your head out of the clouds."

Elaine breathed a sigh of resignation. "I suppose you have a point," she conceded. "Well, what do we have left? We've got all the non-perishables, yeah?"

"We need to hit the herbalist next," Alistair replied. "Medicinal herbs. Oh, and some fertilizer for the garden."

"Gross," Elaine muttered. "Don't put them in the same bag!"

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Obviously," Alistair sneered. "What about you, Celia? Didn't the headmaster have a special request for you?"

The girl nodded and pulled the bag of silver from her pack. "Right. He wants me to pick up some new reading material from that bookstore we both like. I'll head there now if you two don't mind."

Alistair shrugged. "Fine by me," he said before turning to Elaine. "Does that work for you?"

The redhead nodded. "Sounds good," she agreed. We'll meet you back at the gates when we're done, Celia. It shouldn't take us more than an hour, right?"

"Right then," Celia replied. "I'll see you guys in about an hour."

"Do try and avoid any more distractions," Alistair teased as he and Elaine disappeared into the crowd.

Celia rolled her eyes at him before making her way through the market toward her destination. The one bookstore in town was off the beaten path, but Celia had visited many times. She would always try to make a trip whenever she was in Tylondale, regardless of whether or not she had the crowns to make a purchase.

The sound of stomping boots caught Celia's attention as a group of Saviors patrolled nearby, their weapons in hand and their silvery armor glistening in the sunlight. They were a constant reminder that humanity's fate was no longer its own, not since the invasion ten years ago.

Most humans knew very little about their otherworldly overlords. Some saw them as a blessing in disguise; under their totalitarian rule, the bloody wars between nation-states were a relic of the past, violent crime was almost non-existent, and the common folk were healthier than ever, all thanks to the Saviors' easily accessible and highly-advanced medicine. Others saw them for what they were: conquerors who had invaded this world and subjugated its people through violence and destruction for reasons unknown.

Celia was among the latter, as was her headmaster. Zan always emphasized the need for the Ryntai to stay as far from them as possible. Never make eye contact. Do not speak to them unless necessary. And never let them know that you are one of the Gifted. These rules were never to be broken, and Celia understood this fear better than most.

"Is there a problem here, citizen?"

Celia jumped at his words, and her heart raced as she realized too late that she must have been staring. She lowered her gaze and softly replied, "N—no, sir."

The nine-foot-tall faceless metal man towered over her as he nodded in approval. "Very well," he replied, his mechanical voice overpowering the bustle of the city. "Carry on, citizen."

The girl held her breath as the Savior slowly marched out of sight, her mind filled with stories of the Saviors hauling people off to labor camps and Gifted children being plucked from their homes. She breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight, but she still felt a knot forming in her stomach. She had broken one of Zan's rules; she had drawn the attention of a Savior.

Celia shook her head to clear her thoughts and continued toward the bookstore tucked away in one of Tylondale's many alleyways. The Owl's Page, as it was called, was a quaint little shop with a cozy atmosphere, but ever since it had gotten a printing press installed, business was booming, and the store seemed like it was perpetually under construction.

As the girl stepped through the doorway, a small bell rang, and she was hit with the scent of fresh ink and musty old tomes. An old man behind the counter peeked at her over the edge of a book and adjusted his glasses. "Ms. Moore, it's been a while," he greeted warmly. "I was wondering when I would see you again."

"I don't know if that's ever going to happen," Celia replied. "But it's good to see you as well, Mr. Anders. I'm always happy to stop by."

"I take it you and the headmaster enjoyed your previous purchases?" Mr. Anders asked.

Celia nodded excitedly. "Oh, I just couldn't put them down," she admitted. "Well, at least when I wasn't training. You know how it goes in the monastery. Zan's been enjoying them, too, I'm sure. I doubt he would have sent me to buy more otherwise." She paused momentarily to sweep her gaze across the store's shelves. "So, anything new for me?"

Mr. Anders stood up from behind the counter and glanced about, ensuring that Celia was his only visitor. "I don't know if you've heard," he began, "but C.A. Richards, one of our local authors, is publishing an anthology of his works. There's some unpublished material and some other scraps in there as well, so it'll definitely be a treat. Now, officially, it's still under review by the Saviors' Ministry of Literature, so I can't sell it yet, but..."

Celia raised an eyebrow. "But?"

The old man reached behind the counter and plopped a massive tome before the girl. "But... we can't do anything about books that 'fall off the wagon,'" he explained, giving a sly wink. "If you catch my meaning."

The girl shook her head. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I can't put that risk on you," she protested, "especially not over some book."

Mr. Anders gave a dismissive wave with his hand. "Really, it's fine," he assured her. "C.A. Richards has never had any issues with the Ministry. Besides, it will be months before you make it here again, so please, take it."

Celia held the pouch of crowns in one hand as the tome on the counter seemed to beckon her to pick it up. "Well, if you're going to misplace this massive tome, I might as well misplace this sum of crowns," she said with a coy grin. It was a pleasure not doing business with you today, Mr. Anders."

The girl began flipping through the book within moments of stepping outside the store, reading as she went back through the city and toward the gates where her companions would be waiting for her. She soon found herself absorbed in a story that told the tale of a group of fledgling adventurers as they explored the ruins of the Old World in search of riches and forgotten technology of a bygone age.

Unfortunately, Celia's attention to her surroundings was so focused on the words on the pages that she failed to notice the wall of a man who had placed himself in her path until she bumped into him. Celia was a fairly tallish young woman and stronger than most from her time at the monastery, but this man towered over her. "Oh, I—uh, I'm sorry about that," she apologized. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"Your crowns, please," said the man, holding out a hand. "Payment for safe passage through the city."

Celia eyed him strangely for a moment before she noticed the three other men approach from behind. Unlike the large man in front of her, these men were scrawny as scarecrows; they looked like they had not seen a decent meal in weeks, maybe longer. They wore ragged clothing and wielded makeshift weapons such as clubs and knives, but it was obvious that they would not have been any threat to anyone who could defend themselves properly. "Oh. Lovely," she muttered. "You're robbing me."

"Your crowns," the large man repeated, dispensing with any illusions of courtesy.

"I don't have any left," the girl shot back.

The man rolled his eyes and gestured to one of his men. "I'm sure we can find something valuable in your pack."

Celia whirled around just in time to see one of the men brandish a knife, but he was sluggish, untrained, and tired. Though Celia was none of these things, her attacker had the element of surprise on his side, and he managed a shallow cut across her cheek. Celia winced at the sting of pain but quickly regained her composure and retaliated. She lashed out with several quick hand strikes, and within moments, her attacker was left on the ground, gasping for air.

Before the rest of them could react, she dropped her pack and leaped forward to continue her assault without hesitation. A knee strike to the solar plexus, followed by a powerful palm strike, sent her second attacker tumbling backward with empty lungs. The third came at her from the side but threw an easily avoided wild haymaker. A swift kick to the side of his knee caused him to drop, and a forearm strike to his neck put him on the ground with the others.

Celia turned to face the large man who instigated this encounter, but he was more disappointed than afraid of the girl who had just decimated his lackeys. He crossed his arms and glared at her with a stony expression before shifting into a fighting stance. "I really wish you would have made this easy," he told her.

Celia shrugged as she readied herself for another fight. "I'm sure you do."

The man lunged forward, throwing a series of quick jabs and hooks toward Celia's head and torso, but the girl easily dodged or deflected each one. To his credit, the girl could see that he had some semblance of formal training, but whatever it was paled compared to what the Ryntai were capable of. He was quick, but Celia was quicker still.

A few moments later, Celia found an opening to strike back. She slipped in a few quick strikes to the man's midsection, but he barely reacted. He grimaced and threw a wild hook that glanced off the side of her head. Celia staggered backward from the blow but regained her footing before he could press his advantage. The man then charged forward with another punch aimed at her face, but she ducked under it and countered with a flurry of solid punches to his side, followed by a kick to the back of his leg that finally staggered him.

As the man fell to one knee, Celia delivered one swift, final blow to the back of his neck that sent him sprawling onto the ground unconscious. As he lay there motionless, she took a moment to catch her breath and reassess the situation. She felt a bit of pride swell within her as she realized how quickly she had dispatched these four men, but those feelings were soon dashed by the arrival of a Savior who had come to investigate the commotion. Celia froze in place as his mechanical voice reverberated through the alley. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded as he held his weapon ready. "Answer me!"

"T—these men attacked me," she managed.

The Savior's metal face folded back with a series of clicks and whirrs, revealing a young, platinum-haired man whose pale green eyes seemed to glow in the shadows of the alleyway. He aimed his weapon at one of the thieves as they began to stir. "Stay where you are," he commanded. "Or I will end you."

A few moments later, two more Saviors appeared in the alley and trained their weapons on Celia's attackers, and the first on the scene approached the girl. "Are you alright?" he asked. "You're bleeding."

Gone was the familiar mechanical voice that Celia had come to expect from the Saviors, replaced instead by something almost human. She nodded slowly, reaching up to touch the cut on her cheek. "I... um... it's not that bad, is it?" she spit out.

"Let me dress that for you," said the unmasked Savior. "We can't have it getting infected."

The Savior reached for a small compartment on his belt and pulled out a square of fabric and a tiny metallic cylinder. Celia stood there dumbfounded as the man in the nine-foot-tall metal suit gently wiped the blood away. He pressed a button on the end of the cylinder, and it sprayed an unknown substance onto the wound. It stung for a few seconds before the pain was gone, and the bleeding had stopped. "There," he said with a grin. "Good as new, right?"

Celia was still thrown. "I—uh... thank you."

The Savior glanced around the alleyway as his companions clapped the thieves in chains. "I caught the end of your scuffle with these idiots," he explained to the girl. "My apologies for scaring you, but I needed to ensure they stayed put until my backup arrived." He paused momentarily before lowering his weapon and holding a hand out to the girl. "Legionary Kanaka, by the way. Could I get your name, miss?"

"C-Cecelia Moore," she replied nervously.

"Would you mind telling me what happened before I arrived on the scene?"

The girl contemplated for a moment. "Well... I was just on my way back from the bookstore when the large gentleman stepped in front of me and demanded that I hand over my silver," she told him. "Of course, I had just spent it all on a book, so I had nothing left. Then his three friends approached, one of them came at me with a knife, and then I decided to put the rest of them down as quickly as possible."

Kanaka took another look at the scene, likely making a note of how beat up her attackers were. "You did all this by yourself?" he asked. "Unarmed?"

Celia shrugged. "I assume they weren't expecting a nineteen-year-old girl to fight back."

"That's an impressive feat," Kanaka complimented. "Where did you train?"

"I'm an apprentice with the Ryntai," she replied.

"Ah, you're one of the folks from the monastery up the mountain," he said. "That explains the robes. You folks don't get out here much, do you?"

Celia shook her head. "Just the occasional supply run."

Kanaka frowned slightly. "Well, that's too bad."

Celia raised an eyebrow, but before she could ask what he meant by that, one of the other Saviors interrupted. "Legionary Kanaka," the mechanical voice boomed. "Whenever you're finished sampling the local flavor, we've got these dissidents to get to lockup. Wrap it up."

Kanaka let out a sigh. "Duty calls," he said as he turned back toward Celia. "It was nice meeting you, Cecelia Moore. You're free to go. Stay safe out there."

Celia slowly picked up her things as her four attackers were dragged off in chains with surprising efficiency. She stood there for a minute, trying to make sense of the encounter with Legionary Kanaka. The girl had gone into it expecting to be carted off somewhere and thrown in a dungeon, but she walked away with only a light cut on her cheek that would likely be gone by tomorrow morning. <'Sampling the local flavor'?> she wondered.

She shook her head and returned toward the city gate in a daze, though this time, she avoided alleyways and suspicious-looking large men who might block her path. Eventually, she came upon Alistair, Elaine, and all the other apprentices loading the wagon with the various supplies they had picked up. Alistair was quick to notice that Celia seemed off. "Hey, Celia," he said. Is everything okay? You look a bit... addled."

Celia slowly shook her head. "Honestly, not really, no," she told him. "Remember how you said you were worried I would get robbed if I didn't keep my head out of the clouds? Well, have I got a story for you."