Chapter 1: Prologue

Lorena hurtled through the vacuum of space, and the Arcling of True Cold pursued.

Ice projectiles tore through the inky black. Lorena flared her anima thrusters within her Forged cerulean armor, twisting and dodging out of the path of the Arcling's frozen barrage.

Almost there.

The Sterexen star system came into view, a dense asteroid belt and eleven planets orbiting a red giant. This was Lorena’s last chance to deal with the artificial god on her tail before she burned every last drop of anima in her channels. The odds were not in her favor, but still, there was a chance.

A chance to see her daughter again.

A projectile burst through her right greaves, tearing away the armor plating in a cloud of light-blue anima. Lorena resealed the breach instantly, cursing herself for losing focus for a fraction of a second, for wasting the precious anima she had left.

She dived into the asteroid field, darting through the non-linear path she had mapped, the icy, silicate giants blurring past her. For a heart wrenching moment, she didn’t see the blinding blue light of the Arcling behind her on her visor readout.

Come on. Come on.

There!

The ARCling careened around the shadowed side of an asteroid and burst toward her. She had taken the bait.

Lorena grinned. Now, let's see who is the true master of cold.

She triggered her Enhancement. Light blue circles lit up the asteroid field, each cycling with rotating rings made up of runes atop the igneous surfaces Lorena had set them upon.

The Arcling didn’t have a moment to course correct when Lorena tapped every reserve she had. Frostfire shot out from each circle, blue and white flame raging through the silent dark, detonating on impact with the Arcling.

Lorena flared her anima thrusters just in time to make it clear of the other side of the belt when her Frostfire bloomed outward to the size of a small dwarf sun.

Lorena turned, slowing her velocity with her sputtering thrusters. Ideally, she wouldn’t have stopped, but that last reForging of her armor combined with her trap burned her anima stores to dregs. There was nowhere left to go, not unless she wished for her momentum to carry her into the belly of the system's sun.

She’d need to wait and replenish her channels.

She squinted against the light of her destruction, panting for breath, sweat dripping down her face under her visor. It was a clean hit. Strong enough to turn any Daemon into stardust, but was it strong enough for an Arcling?

Moments followed one after another, Lorena’s pulse beginning to slow. Hope trickled into her chest—little Mori’s smiling face. Living to see the dream of a free galaxy come to fruition. Maybe her part didn't have to end here.

A silhouette appeared at the edge of her Frostfire supernova, and the ARCling burst forth unscathed from the burning cold. She hit Lorena like a meteor, Lorena’s cerulean armor plating crunching with the impact.

In a second they cleaved through an ice planet on the rim, through its mantle and frozen core and out the other side. Lorena’s armor webbed with cracks, icy blue anima bleeding through in wisps.

The Arcling gripped Lorena by the helm, her palm blocking her vision. Before Lorena could counter, the artificial god of True Cold hurled her through space. She lanced through a ringed gaseous giant. Writhing storms and lightning bolts consumed her, her ears ringing with the boom of thunder, and in an instant she was out, spinning end over end toward the inner system.

The blue light of the Arcling grew in proximity with every rotation of her spin. Lorena reached for any ounce of anima she had left, her thrusters barely flickering, her channels burned with use. Burning anymore could cause her Vessel to rupture.

Did it matter at this point?

Lorena entered the atmosphere of a desert planet in the habitable zone, her armor plating falling away in chunks on the entry burn, dispersing into shimmering anima frost. She gulped air when her visor tore apart, only for it to rush from her lungs as she bored through a mountain and out the other side, tearing a fissure through the dry sandstone of the planet’s cracked surface, jagged stone cropping up in her wake.

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Eventually, she came to a stop with the sound of stones pelting the surface all around her, dust filling her throat. She coughed up warm fluid, tasting iron on her tongue.

Blood.

Her body thrummed with pain, but she gripped the stone with a blue veined hand and pulled herself up onto her unarmored, bare feet, her light blue martial robes in tatters.

With a jump, she soared through the dust cloud out onto the expansive plateau, her knees threatening to buckle underneath her upon landing. When she straightened, the Arcling faced her tens of meters away, waiting.

The woman’s lean figure was sheathed in a celestial blue, consuming her face and long hair, which twisted and twirled in the air behind her like smoke. All around her, the air hissed and crackled with cold. She met Lorena’s gaze with glimmering ice blue eyes, grinned.

Trest, Arcling of True Cold.

Lorena spit red onto the dry stone, a dry wind causing strands of her white hair to drift across her face.

Great tan clouds churned overhead.

“That was an interesting show you put on display back there, Osai,” The Arcling voiced. “Though your kind consists of tyrants and traitors, I must admit I wasn’t expecting such advanced trickery. Here I thought the Osai were known for their honorable duels.”

Lorena cracked her neck, desperately looping her burnt anima through her channels to put up one last fight. She gave the Arcling a lopsided grin. “I suppose I took inspiration from your ARCborn. Us tyrants do tend to think alike.”

Trest bared her icy blue teeth, then gathered her composure. “Impressive you can make levity in this situation—you, the last of your Order, staring down your executioner.” The Arcling nonchalantly clasped her hands behind her back and stretched, taking a step out to the side, her hair swirling behind her as if underwater. “Our Osai hunters all but hung up their titles after you and your husband evaded us for so long.”

She turned, smiling. “But now, it is only you.”

Lorena balled her hand into fist, nails digging into her palm. Vadrion had given up his life for their daughter, for the mission. She thrust her open hand out to the side—the veins along her arm blue from the burned anima—and Summoned Wraith.

She pulled the white as snow katana from a portal of blistering cold, its hamon ice blue. Giving it a flick, the plateau out to her side cratered in a cloud of destruction.

Now, Lorena would give her own life.

She stoked the burnt anima in her channels, cycling it faster and faster, her Vessel stretching at the seams. Her channels began to rupture, anima streaming from her blue veins in the form of crackling frostfire.

She wreathed Wraith in the cold flame, stood down the Arcling—an abomination, a mockery of her ancestor’s blood, of everything the Order once stood for.

Trest cooed, sliding a foot back into a stance. “I like your style, Osai. An admirable choice. I will grant you this valiant death.”

Lorena smiled. Frostfire fled in white-blue embers from her lips. Despite her own anima consuming her from the inside out, there was a sense of relief. While she had been distracting Trest, the pieces had been placed.

Her daughter was hidden and safe, and so was the weapon. It ached knowing she would never see her and Vadrion’s dream of liberation with her own eyes, made her heart wrench knowing she would never see Mori’s face all grown up, but she had done the best she could.

Right?

Tears streamed down her cheeks and froze.

Lorena angled the point of her blade toward the Arcling’s heart, and with the frostfire of her ancestors streaking out of her Vessel, she charged.

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