Chapter 1 Isabel

I woke up and looked at Yang’s former bed. My hands trembled as the wind howled outside, and I knew today was going to be worse than usual.

My name is Isabel, and I’m seventeen years old. I live on another planet, one where humans would die if they tried to survive. The acid rain would poison them, and the powerful winds would tear through anything in their path. However, the natives who live here have adapted to the harsh environment. Sandstorms plague our land, and there is no government to control us. We govern ourselves because we don’t see the purpose of letting other people control our lives.

Our society is divided into two classes: Prodigies and Commonfolk. Prodigies are a minority, and people look down on us because our magic gives us abilities that others don’t have. They believe we have an unfair advantage over them. Most Prodigies possess one or two powers, but having four or even five is extremely rare.

Then there are the Hunters. They’re an organization that hunts exceptionally powerful Prodigies and absorbs their powers for their own gain. They want to exterminate us—to wipe us out until there’s no trace of us left.

Their gleaming masks. The red streaks. They make me shudder, and their gleaming scythes haunt my nightmares. I don’t know how they got into my mind, but they changed the way I think forever.

The ground is slick and brown with mud, and the sky is a freakishly pale shade of green, without its usual dark blue clouds. I notice a freshly posted notice announcing our monthly gathering, where people come together to socialize. But what’s the point? I can’t remember the last time anything interesting happened there.

Nothing ever seems to happen in Faldera, the small world we call home. Sometimes, it feels as though the entire planet has come to a standstill.

Almost nothing about this place makes sense anymore, and I’m sick of it. There are authorities who enforce the laws, but they aren’t quite like the authorities you might find elsewhere. Here, things work differently, and not always in ways I understand.

Cars are rare, and many of the things people need must be imported from other worlds. Cars, clothes, jewelry, and technology all come from elsewhere in the galaxy. We depend on imports because we can’t produce everything ourselves. The things Yang told me about other worlds, where life seemed so different from ours, feel like a distant dream.

Sandstorms are frequent, although they occur most often during the summer months. They can strike outside the season, too, leaving us with little warning before the sky darkens and the winds begin to howl.

The storms ravage the surface for hours, sometimes lasting more than six hours and blanketing everything in an ethereal sheet of dust. Yang once told me that sandstorms are a lot like snowstorms. The dust piles up, the winds roar, and the storms can last for hours.

The howling wind.

I’ve always wanted to see snow falling peacefully.

I was born with magic that nobody knew about, and the few people I told never understood it. I’ve lived on Faldera my entire life, in a small shelter made of stone and brick, just like many others here. It protects me from the harsh winds, although there’s only so much it can do. Electricity is limited, and some people don’t have any at all.

I don’t know exactly what happened to my parents, but they abandoned me when I was around three years old.

Yang used to tell me about a different world, where transportation was available to everyone and houses were more than hastily assembled shelters made of stone and clay. Now that she’s dead, I have to take care of myself. Sometimes, it feels as though nobody wants me, loves me, or cares about me anymore.

I look at my reflection in a murky puddle near the house. My blonde hair falls to my chest, framing my fair skin and green eyes. I’ve grown a little since the last time I really looked at myself. I haven’t had a haircut in ages, so I decide it’s time to cut my hair. I add it to my mental list of things I need to do—a list that seems to grow longer by the minute.

I may look human, but biologically, I’m different. My lungs can handle Faldera’s atmosphere, allowing me to breathe without a problem. Humans, however, can’t breathe our air. It would destroy their bodies and eventually kill them.

Our planet has barely been discovered. I can only imagine how shocked humans would be if they ever came here and found other life forms living on a world they had barely known existed.

There are gangs here, too, and some of their members pay special attention to me.

Nobody ever comes here from Earth. They don’t dare venture into a world with such a precarious climate and people who possess magic. Faldera barely crosses their minds. They stay on their own planet, the one they call Earth, while we remain here.

Most people on Faldera are simply trying to survive. They work, feed their families, and do whatever they can to make ends meet. Life isn’t easy, and there’s little room to think about anything beyond getting through the next day.

I know I’m different, but all I want is to be ordinary, just like everyone else on Faldera. Only a few people are born with as many abilities as I have, yet sometimes it feels as though I’m the only one on this cursed planet.

Nothing seems to work the way it should here. Everything feels dysfunctional, and chaos has become part of everyday life. I have to figure out whether my powers are a curse or simply fate challenging me at every turn.

I have three powers: illusionism, teleportation, and telekinesis. Even saying that makes me uneasy. Most people have only one or two abilities, but I have three, which makes me remarkably interesting to anyone who knows about them.

Teleportation can be useful. It saves time and resources, both of which are precious on Faldera. Surviving here is difficult enough without having to worry about everything that might be waiting around the next corner. When predators come after me, I can sometimes teleport away.

The problem is that I can’t do it too often. Teleportation drains my energy and can make me seriously ill if I push myself too far. I learned that the hard way once. I was nearly bedridden for a week, staring at the ceiling and wishing I had someone to keep me company. I never wanted to experience that again.

Some of my earliest memories of my parents involve them feeding me a strange liquid. I don’t know what it was, and the memory has blurred with time. I long to see their faces again, touch their skin, and finally learn who they are.

Sometimes, I wonder why I was born with these mysterious powers. Who am I, really? Why did my parents leave me? How did I end up here, in this cursed world?

I have so many questions and so few answers.

At least I have one person who knows me. My best friend, Jaxson, is the closest thing I have to family.

I look into the distance and see a sandstorm tearing apart a building far away. My body tenses, and I tremble at the sight.

I’ve seen what these storms can do. One struck my home before, forcing me to spend months rebuilding my shack. For a long time, I had nowhere to live and had to find ways to adapt. That was before Yang passed away.

I step outside. The wind brushes against my face, and a shudder runs through me.

Leaves swirl through the air, caught in the breeze. One drifts down to the ground, and I pick it up, studying its delicate details. For a moment, I’m captivated by something so small.

Then I deliberately crush it beneath my foot.

I stare at the crumpled leaf. That’s how broken I feel inside, as though something that was once whole has been crushed beyond recognition.

I’m just a broken person trying to survive in this wretched world.

I can’t hold it in anymore. I break down, hot tears running down my face.

I know my parents ran away, but why? Were they afraid of me? I’ve searched for them for seven years and still haven’t found them.

Everything has been harder since Yang died. Now I have to feed myself, maintain my shelter, and constantly search for water and other resources. Every day brings another problem I have to solve alone.

All my life, I’ve been the odd person out. Nobody wanted to spend time with me or get to know me. For so long, it felt as though I had no one.

There has only ever been one person who truly knows me.

My best friend, Jaxson.