“So we’re going to Kinoa to find a retired Pioneer to help us against the Fheitgr?” asked Ratchet. 

 “Precisely my friend, and may I add, he is an old acquaintance of mine,” Piotr said as he maintained his steady pace. Looming ahead was the fortified Valence Gate, bustling with guardsmen and finders alike. Valence served as the town’s main gate, the walls standing thirty feet tall. Hanging from the mouth of the archway was the retractable iron gate. Providing excellent vantage points of the Barakat plains were two tall stone towers.

 A guardsman stationed at the gate raised his middle and index fingers together in a two-finger salute.

 “Mister Henlein, sir, Chancellor Abrahams informed us of your departure to Kinoa. Your transport has been arranged at Roe Stable just beyond the gate.”

 “Wonderful! Thank you, my friend; you've been a great help. We shall be on our way then.” Piotr shook the man’s hand to show his gratitude. 

 Christi trailed behind the group. To her left were the high walls of Barakat. Moss and greenery creeped along the foot of the walls. The stonework was chipped and darkly grey, with guardsmen pacing the ramparts. Three guardsmen stood idly; she felt their glares upon her. She glanced over in their direction, the trio whispered. At her current pace and route, she would soon pass just by them. 

 “Hey girl, come over here for a sec. Got something we want to ask ya” the tallest of the three said, beckoning her over.

 Christi ignored him and pressed forward until the same man stepped in front of her, obstructing her path. She attempted to sidestep the tall man, but he continued to stand in her way. A deep frown dominated his face.

 “Now that’s just downright rude; we only wanted to ask ya a question. Hey, you listening to me?” 

 “Move out of my way,” Christi hissed at the man.

 "Relax, will ya? You haven’t even heard what I’m about to ask ya,” the guardsman laughed wickedly.

 With an exasperated Christi punched the guardsman square in the gut, he keeled over to the ground clutching at his stomach. Without delay, she was wrestled to the ground by the two other guardsmen.

 “Bitch has got a mean streak, goddamn,” one of her assailants barked.

 “Fucking Fheitgr, savages the lot of em,” the other snarled.

 “Get off!” Christi screamed. She squirmed side to side, but their grips never waivered. Unfortunately for one of the guards, he had failed to realise that Christi’s prosthetic arm was more than meets the eye. With a thought her arm burst into flames. 

 A guttural scream sounded from her left as the man fell backwards clutching his arm that had been singed. The other guard relinquished his grip; this was her chance. Pushing herself up, she made it about halfway up to her feet before she received a sharp kick to her stomach. 

 “Fucking bitch!” roared the first guardsmen.

 Christi was sent tumbling backwards; she clutched at her stomach and raised her head. The guardsman whipped out his sap, a blunt club, and quickly advanced. She tried to jump to her feet, but it was too late. Pain exploded across her face, again and again, blow after blow. The metallic taste of blood trickled from her mouth. Heat rose in her body, her rage tempered with every strike. Steam vociferated wildly from her arm, and suddenly her muscles tightened. Her body was bursting with energy—energy that needed to be released. 

 As the guardsman came down for another strike, Christi delivered a swift kick to his jaw. With all her might, she kicked. The guardsman was sent flying backwards, sprawling onto his back.

 The two men rushed to his side, the colour drained from their faces. 

 "Axci above, she broke his jaw,” one of the two whimpered.

 Christi rose to her feet; the guardsmen drew their weapons, but their bodies displayed no conviction. They pointed their saps at her, their hands shaking.

 “Stay back! You hear me?! Stay the fuck back!”

 Christi wiped away the blood around her mouth. The heat inside her once again dissipated. The power was invigorating but fleeting. She needed to learn how to maintain it for longer, like the warrior on the pier did. Unbridled strength—that’s what she needed. She stalked away, leaving her three tormentors in awe. 

 Piotr, Ratchet, and Sam all stood around a carriage. Four six-spoke wheels supported a wooden bed of planks. Two benches lined the frame inward on either side. A perch for the driver rose above the seating. Leading the carriage out front were two Atfur. She recognised the animal. Four powerful limbs, a white mane, and a long, elongated head. The atfur was the primary animal used for transportation in Barakat.

 Ratchet sat idly in the carriage, and Christi slumped down opposite of him. Piotr and Sam rounded the carriage, completing their checks.

 "Well, let’s get going then. No time like the present,” Piotr climbed into the carriage, joining Ratchet and Christi.

 “The reins are yours, Sam.”

 “Thank you kindly, sir,” Sam tipped his hat. 

 Sam hoisted the reins, and the group pulled away from the stable. The walls of Barakat consumed the horizon behind them as the carriage trotted along the beaten country road. Every few seconds, the carriage would lurch and bounce as the wheels dipped into potholes. Piotr, Christi, and Ratchet gazed back at Barakat. 

 “Still can’t get over the size of those walls,” Ratchet said, breaking the silence.”

 "Impressive, aren’t they? A hundred years they’ve stood. You can thank Jax Reveil for that. He was the architect responsible for revamping Barakat’s overall design during the trade boom period.”

 “Could’ve stood to have made the streets a little less cramped.”

 “Believe it or not, that was an intentional decision. Jax was known for his optimal usage of space. Barakat bolstered a far greater population back then.”

 “How much are we talking?”

 "Oh, about a hundred thousand.”

 Ratchet’s brow raised, and subsequently his face hardened. 

 “And then the Creuse disease came along.”

 “Fifty-four years since then. Town isn’t quite what it used to be,” Piotr concluded.