When the Evernight fell, ten years ago, I don't know where I was or what I was doing. I don't remember much of anything before the chaos, but I remember that at first there was no panic.

I'm sure my child-mind permanently blocked out the stain of pain and fear from my memories to protect myself, but I do remember longing for the arms of someone familiar. Though now I can't recollect his face, my heart warms then shatters when I think of him. Sometimes I wonder why I care, since he left me behind in this forsaken city, but there's a sliver of me that hopes he misses me, that I wasn't forgotten, that it was all just an accident.

When the ancient elven Moon King descended from above and the elves returned to their home in the Skyscape, and I was left behind, there was shock and disbelief plastered on every netscreen, but still faith in the dream that life would return to normal. Even I was hopeful that the elves glowing skyships reached safe haven as I jumped between apartments and community houses growing up. I refused to believe I was the last elf in existence. The reality of that kind of loneliness would've crippled me a long time ago.

When cities started flickering out one by one is when it really went to shit. Less Skyships came in and rarely any attempted to leave, creatures rumored to be snatching up anyone who dared face the dark.

Running from this city and the House of Horns isn't an option—I'm stuck. If it was a possible path, I wouldn't even be here.

I'd be across the sea, in the lands where the Fall of Night didn't reach, where the sun shines endlessly, and the warmth makes the land blossom with flowers in hues that technology cannot truly recreate on its screens.

Or I'd be in Skyscape surrounded by others like me, ancient and newborn alike. I'd be with my brothers and sisters of bone and blood and magic, by my family if I was lucky enough to find them, and the voice that so often kisses my memories with words of hope.

I'd be away from the lies of the tech-human Court who control the city, away from the power-hungry criminals who force the lost and the weak to do their bidding, and away from the cold of a sunless sky and the bitter reality of knowing I'm stuck here like a rodent in a cage.

And just like every other time I think about the possible bliss that lies waiting on the other side of the darkness, I remember why it's so hard to leave and the protection the Aura provides and what had happened to me when I'd tried to escape before.

I hadn't believed the horror stories I'd heard of nightstalkers ripping their victims apart limb by limb. Because of my foolishness, I'd learned the hard way when I tried to flee over a year ago—the night I witnessed the murder. The night the House of Horns claimed me.

That night, I'd bolted home to my tiny apartment on the top floor of the building, unable to think clearly enough to formulate some kind of plan. All I knew was that I was no criminal and definitely not the kind of elf they imagined me to be. Once they found out how useless I really was, they'd toss me out like a dirty rag. In my mind, I had to at least attempt to make an escape while my hands were still clean, before they ruined me. I packed what little food and clothing I had and was out the door in just a few minutes. There was no time to waste, since there was a possibility Jojin had me tailed by one of his cronies, but when I stood on City's Edge with the abyss of darkness in front of me, I hesitated.

My gut tightens every time I think about how empty and cold the Night was. From inside Voltyss, the view of the shade stretches as far as the eye can see, a haunting void that always reminds me that what used to be is gone. The city is only a speck of light in the unforgiving darkness, like a distant star in a sky without a moon. It always prods at me, whispering for me to look, to feel lost and broken when the hollow gloom stares back. And that's just observing from a distance.

Seeing it up close was something different entirely. Standing in front of it was like being right on the cusp of every nightmare and crippling fear I'd ever had. I'd never felt so cold, my breath fogging, my bones trembling as if I'd been touched by ice.

I don't know how long I stood there, letting the glow from my lightstick illuminate the barren ground around me, not realizing that I was most likely a beacon for any predators lurking in the dark. I could have been surrounded by nightstalkers lurking in the abysmal shadows, and I would have never known. The light I held in my hand only reached so far. Not being able to see a thing around me only pushed my already escalating fear further over the edge.

Everything was just so cold.

I remembered the encouraging words from the forgotten face in my memories. Don't be afraid of the dark. I breathed a shuddering breath, clenching the lightstick tighter in my fist. I was safe with the glow around me. Light was why the city was still safe after ten years of Night. As long as I had my lightstick, nothing could touch me.

I know now that those were foolish thoughts.

When I took one staggering step forward, something moved in the dark. It wasn't there before, but now a figure loomed on the edge of my stick's blue glow. It didn't move closer. In fact, it stood frighteningly still.

A wet growl echoed in the silence between me and it.

I'd heard theories on the streets of what nightstalkers looked like—winged beasts with venomous fangs, reptilian creatures with oozing black scales, wisps made of shadow and suffocating death. But all of the stories were wrong. There weren't many who'd seen a nightstalker and lived to tell the tale, and the few who did were silent in their trauma. It was easy to see why as I faced one in the dark with the safety of the city behind me.

Even from this distance and the faint glow from the lightstick, I could make out the creature. It stood on two long bone-white legs with two arms hanging on either side of a narrow torso. It stood like a person and maybe that's why I was so chilled. My lightstick glowed blue against its chalky white skin, reflecting against its big black eyes.

I watched in horror as it opened its mouth, its jaw unhinging, opening too wide as it revealed shimmering sharp teeth. Black liquid oozed down its chin like it was salivating at the thought of devouring my flesh and bones.

Death. It looked like death.

My lightstick flickered.

Another growl sounded to my left and I took a step back. Then another and another until I was smoothly moving back toward the city, the white silhouette of the nightstalker fading into the black. I didn't turn around as I slowly retreated, afraid that any sudden movement on my part would incite my bloody end.

But just as I inhaled a shaking breath, my lightstick flickered twice before dying completely. I was plunged into darkness and I panicked.

I blindly spun around, tripping over myself as I sped for Voltyss, its neon aura beckoning me with safe, open arms. The growls rose in crescendo around me, growing closer as I neared the city. I didn't glance behind me in fear of what I might see, but it was nearly impossible to keep my head forward and keep clumsily running as the sounds of creatures in the dark picked at my mind, threatening to make me lose it completely and curl in a ball on the ground to await my death.

I was almost to safety when it happened. I was so close that the city's glow illuminated the barren ground just a few paces ahead. But before my foot could cross that line, before I could sigh in relief and look back on the foolish choice I'd made, fire tore through my back.

Hot blood soaked my clothes from the searing wound, my body drastically weakened. I was even colder than I was before. Yet when I fell to my knees, I continued to drag myself forward.

I don't know why they didn't finish me off. It would've only taken one of them to pull me into the shade of the Evernight by my ankles, but instead I made it to City's Edge. Somehow, I remained in one shredded piece, although it felt like I'd been split in two from the nightstalker's claws.

After I pulled myself through an alley and under the beam of the first light I saw, the memory becomes fuzzy. Must have been a combination of the pain and the whole dying aspect of the situation. Someone found me, laying under the light, bleeding out on the pavement, and I woke up days later in the Med Center with tech-humans hovering over me, murmuring to each other about my apparent elf-ism.

Now, every time I look over my shoulder at my naked back in the mirror, I'm greeted with three diagonal scars arching between my shoulder blades and the the sides of my ribcage. The marred lines are a glistening black, infected or tainted by the nightstalker's claws, the color reminding me of the ooze that dripped from the creature's jaw.

Since my return to my apartment after my most recent, world-shattering meeting with Jojin and his infuriating son, my encounter with the Evernight has been all I can think of. The pile of dishes by the sink and the annoying blink of my cracked gigapad I'd tossed in the corner aren't even enough to distract me. I debate whether to try to run again, this time with backup lightsticks and all of the daybreakers and volters I can steal from the House of Horns. But I know any attempt will still end in failure, and during my next venture I might not live.

Come on, Alyndra, I tell myself, like somehow an internal conversation is going to miraculously solve all of my problems. Get it together. You don't have to leave. You just have to...kill someone...someone with powerful magic.

Easier said than done.

I don't give myself days to prepare like Venjo would have urged me to do. He can take his advice and shove it. I can't trust the words of someone who wants me out of the House of Horns while Boss is trying to keep me in. I wouldn't put it past Venjo to sabotage me, since every time he looks at me it seems like he is fighting the urge to kill me.

The guy has issues.

And right now, so do I.

I leave my apartment dressed in all black—a bit dramatic, but a color that will let me slip away quickly into the shadows of the alleys. With my volted knives tucked into the back of my belt and the cuffs at my ankles, I hop onto the glider waiting for me in its stall outside the front doors. I bring it to life with a twist of my heel. The oval board lifts from the ground, hovering over the concrete while casting a purple glow beneath it. I nudge the board forward with my toes and I zoom down the sidewalk, the wind blowing my white braid behind me like a tail.

I didn't bother to cover my ears, leaving them on full display for the curious eyes who are keen enough to spot them. I've learned to use them to my advantage over the years, whether it be for a distraction or to get what I want. You would be surprised how many times I've stolen shinies from the pockets of drunken men as they marvel over what I am.

Hopefully I can do the same thing to Macon Falcove—distract him enough to slip a knife in his side before he can fry my brain with his electric magic. But as much as I want to imagine that I am this tough little thing made of steel and grit, the image of someone dying by my hand has me feeling like I'd eaten something rotten. My cheeks are cold, my palms slick with sweat as I ride through the city, past buildings glittering with huge netscreens showcasing the upcoming Race for Light, and through the maze of zoomers stuck in the late-hour traffic.

All of the lights are so distracting, yet my mind can't slip away from the creeping guilt.

Is this how everyone feels before their first kill? Like they're the one who is going to die? Or maybe it's just me and I've still kept my heart in tact during the years of turbulence.

The Cobalt District is on the southern side of the city where the lights do not shine as bright. I'd once believed the Court cared about the safety of all the civilians in Voltyss, but after a previous visit to the dimly lit streets, I know where their loyalties truly lied—with those they deemed valuable, with elitist tech-humans just like them. If it weren't for them and their advanced abilities with technology, the city would have succumbed to darkness with all the others. We should all be eternally grateful to them, and some are, but there is something off-putting about their smiling faces on every screen, from netscreen to gigapad. Their false narratives with a promise of a new tomorrow poison the minds of civilians who just want to live long enough to see the sun again.

Based on the picture that Venjo had shown me, I have an idea of where to find Macon Falcove. I glide through the unfamiliar streets of the Cobalt District, avoiding nearly all of the blinking lights as my paranoia pecks at me. Most of the lights in this district are blue, which will hopefully make my search for red bulbs a little easier. I remember the half-lit words behind the image of Macon and try to piece together what the random letters could've spelled, but instead of lingering on it, I focus on the color.

I suddenly feel the weight of so many eyes watching me, but as I slow down and look around, I see they're not even looking at my ears, they're staring at my glider—some of them with hunger in their eyes.

Starfox territory.