The sound of thrusters dying filled the emptiness in Page's gut with relief. She released the tension in her shoulders, removing her grip from the steering wheel. Oh, dear Flessus, she was knackered. She glanced at the time-keeper in the ship's control board. Not even a full hour after a space-dive? Cool.

She flipped certain controls off, her gut exploding with all sorts of feelings. After years of wanting to be an explorer, here she was, finally making her first landing. It took every ounce of her self-control to avoid pumping her first in the air. She didn't want to rip the space suit she wore—one that was too small for her when she tried it on.

What more could she ask for, though? She was here because her people needed her. It sucked; her first mission might be her last considering how bad it was back home. If not for her insane convincing skills and the fact that most of the older generation sailors were too sick to even brush their teeth, she wouldn't be here. On Exa-40-p—her first discovery.

She even took the liberty of assigning a name. It took her the entire space-dive—all five hours of it—to come up with a perfect one. Perhaps, she should revert back to Exa-40 and eliminate the p, but hey, the weirder it was, the better. People remembered weird facts and forgot about mundane ones. Page would go down in history, and when her name was mentioned, they should be able to attribute the Exa-40 to her. And more. This was just her first voyage. Who knew what would happen on her next ones, right?

She hummed a folk tune to herself as she did the basic maintenance check for the condition of her ship. The Callagheen 203 was her uncle's property, and he treasured this beauty more than his wife and children. Of course, it brought problems later on, but the point stood. Page couldn't let anything happen to it—not even a scratch—or she would find herself out in the backyard as a new offering to the vengeful goddess, Shakha.

If not for her mother's insistence, Page would have gotten the Callagheen 201, which was her father's, and the issues that hunk of scrap was tantamount to a million headaches. Despite her entire clan being involved in the ship-crafting business for more than enough years, her father had no idea how to take care of a ship, much less his own hide. Before all of them got sick and the air turned hostile, Grandma used to chase Page's grown father around the lab, lecturing him about not turning the thrusters all the way up or coaxing the engines to reach past optimal speeds.

A smile brought the corners of Page's lips up. Such memories always cheered her up even during hard times. They were the only things keeping her going, so when the Plague came and she was forced out of her own home and planet, they were the only ones she kept close to her heart. The journey couldn't have taken an entire day, but years would have gone like mad back home. The entire family knew that, but they still chose Page.

A sneaking suspicion itched at the back of her head. Maybe the reason she was out here was to save her before the Plague got her. It wouldn't work, though. She would find the cure for the Plague, and it would be her turn to save them.

She checked the last item in her maintenance list and punched the button that would open the hatch. A breath-filter went into her face, the locks fastening around her head. If there was anything weird about the air in this new planet, she wouldn't breathe any of it in. The inventors in her planet were trend-setters that way. She doubted there were similar gadgets on other planets.

A blast of humid wind blasted her in the face, threatening to take away her suit and skin with it. What the—was this planet trying to exfoliate her? She fixed her filter in her face, turning the mechanical device on. It should last her a whole day of exploring, and if she wanted to get to the Athepaliah before the day was over, she would have to walk a little faster than the wind was letting her.

She leaned her body forward, her arms shielding her face from the hostile debris pelting her in various, unnameable directions. What the hell was this planet? Where were the lush trees? The animals? It was a barren wasteland at its finest, with leafless twigs stuck to the ground and reddish-gray skies that couldn't have been because of incoming rain.

This couldn't be the seat of the Athepaliah, the universe's greatest archive of knowledge and oldest historical records of what has been. Legends had it that it also contained records of what was to come. And if there was anywhere that contained the answer to reverse the Plague, it would be in the Athepaliah. Page knew it in her gut. It just has to be.

She continued fighting against the wind. At this point, she'd refer to it as a blizzard. Brown, and far from the blustery white wonders in her planet during winters, but close enough. Her ankles strained from skidding back and carrying the weight of her steps for so long. She glanced behind her, the braided strands of her hair whipping against her neck and shoulders. The ship hasn't even vanished into the horizon yet. She hasn't even made it past a mile.

Her soles thumped against cracked soil, sending more tufts of dust into the swirling wind. She gritted her teeth. This wind didn't exist when she landed. Otherwise, it would be more than impossible to land. Did...did she start this, then?

A figure appeared from the hazy horizon. It wasn't like the thin branches of trees quivering against the blizzard. It moved...and was coming for her. Despite the danger of getting poked by foreign particles, her eyes widened. Turn back. Run.

She pivoted, using the blizzard's direction to propel her forward. Come on. She glanced back. The figure was closer than ever. What the—weren't they affected by the wind? Here she was, barely slogging through, and he was running? Were the locals on this planet barbarians or something?

She clenched her jaw and dashed for her ship. Her calculations must have been wrong. No way the ancient Guardians stored their prized treasures in a savage land like this. Then again, maybe this was their tactic to make sure no one unworthy retrieved it.

The blizzard was close to howling in her sand-clogged ears, but she felt a presence whisk behind her. She turned too late. A heavy shadow latched onto her, tackling her to the ground. Her instincts kicked in, swinging her arm in a wild arc. Her closed fist caught the side of her attacker's head. A grunt. The grip around her waist didn't loosen. Instead, she felt herself dragged to her feet and forced to run.

She opened her mouth to demand something, but the blizzard stuffed sand particles into her throat. Her squinted gaze followed the tight grip on her wrist, tracing up an arm, a broad back, and finally, a round head with a hasty bun of red hair bouncing against it. It was a person.

Seemingly sensing the confusion in Page, the person turned and put a finger over a makeshift cloth mask tied around the head. Be quiet, they seemed to be saying. Focus on running.

With Page not having any other choice, she did exactly that.