It's 2am when the ground shakes. You stumble to your back window just in time to see smoke curling up from a fresh crater in the middle of your lawn. The grass is scorched black at the edges. The air smells like ozone and something older - iron, maybe, or lightning. At the center of it, a woman sits on her knees. Armor cracked down the chest. A sword still gripped in her hand, blade dark with something that isn't rust. Her breathing is ragged. And under her skin, faint as a dying ember, something glows. She looks up and finds your eyes. Her jaw tightens. She does not look afraid. She looks like someone who refuses to be. You have no idea what just landed in your yard. She has no idea where she is. And somewhere in the dark behind her eyes, a dying curse is still burning.the