The day of the attack, I was sitting at the park, reading a book. Slavers rode in on monstrous ships. They took everyone, including me.

I was taken to a horrible black city called Nuerva, where the buildings were jagged lines cutting across the sky. A man, the Captain, took me as his plaything and kept me as his own prisoner. After many days, I finally found the courage to escape.

Alone and frightened, I ran to the furthest edge of the city, and there I found hope. There was another city in the distance—a bright, colorful one. All I had to do was cross the bridge.

I didn’t make it. I was shot at the edge of that bridge which connected the light and the dark cities, moments from freedom.

But I wouldn’t die just yet. It wasn’t my time.