Night held the city in its grip when Kanna left the Theatre, the stars winking in the narrow slashes of sky between cramped sepia stone buildings. She wound her way through the twisting back alleys of the city of Gaoler, where once straight roads narrowed and widened to make room for the circular arena that had shoved its way into the middle of the city.

When Kanna had arrived in Gaoler she’d slept in alleys and doorways. Eventually, concerned parties insisted that she get lodging in the Keeper’s cast off barracks with other fighters passing through the area. 

From what she’d been told, an unspoken detente had arisen between independent regions and the Solarian Empire in recent years. With the ease in tensions the Keeper’s ranks had dwindled over time, leaving vacant space that the Governor rented for a pittance to those willing to live without modern comforts. 

Kanna approached the squat, nondescript building from the side alley. She rubbed her palms together, running her left hand over the aching joints of her right, and ran at the building on the opposite side of the alley. Vaulting from the wall, she grabbed the hanging escape ladder. It jolted down, the mechanism loosening before ratcheting tight once more, and she hoisted herself onto the landing. 

She waited for the screech of metal to die in the still air, crouching on the landing until she was sure she hadn’t been followed, before beginning her climb on quiet feet.

At the top floor she pressed her hands flat against the cool glass of the window and pushed it up and open before ducking inside. Sitting on the windowsill she kicked off her boots and let them drop to the floor, the thunk as the rubber hit wood breaking the silence.

The room was dark, as she always kept it. It was small and cramped, furnished with a wash basin and a single narrow bed with barely enough room to move between them. Kanna shrugged off the grey jacket that guarded her against the chilly desert night, wincing as the fabric pulled against the tacky blood on her arm, and dropped it across the thin mattress.

On bare feet, Kanna edged to the water basin. Above it, a cracked mirror revealed the purpling bruise, a stark relief against pale skin. She leaned into the reflection, squinting to check the damage in the dim ambient light. This close, she could almost make out the smattering of blood that blended with freckles and red hair.

Kanna turned her attention from the spectre and plunged her hands into the water in the chipped metal basin. It was frigid, chilled from sitting out in the night air. She scooped it over the gash with one hand and the cold ran down to the tips of fingers, the red turning pink as it whorled in the water of the basin.

Finished with cleaning the surface, she pressed her fingers against the cut and hissed when the barely knitted skin popped and fresh blood welled from it.

She didn’t have anything for it here.

Kanna unlocked the door to her room, stepping into the orange light of the hallway. Oil lamps flickered intermittently, though some had long run out their wicks and remained dark. The top floor was used less frequently, with most of the remaining Keepers opting to bunk in the lower levels, and the difference in maintenance showed as she descended. The light was brighter at each level, the wicks of the lamps properly trimmed and their oil replenished.

At the ground floor, voices drifted from the lounge and the light from it glared out into the dark hallway. 

Kanna followed the sound, blinking when she stepped into the brightly lit room. The Keepers inside jerked to attention at her intrusion and the card game they were playing shifted with the movement. A few cards fluttered off the rickety table they sat around and drifted to the stone ground, one catching a draft before landing at her feet. 

Kanna reached down and picked it up, turning it over in her hand. On the face of the card was a thin building rising through dark clouds. A storm was set behind it, with a single bolt of lightning captured in the moment of its strike. The precipice of the building was set alight in flames, and waves curled at the base of it.

She returned the card to the table, laying it down face first before peeling away. 

Kanna could feel the eyes of the Keepers on her back as they sat in silence, though none attempted to stop her. She aimed for the medic box hanging on the wall past the card players, and the cabinet opened with a metallic creak in the tense air.

She shuffled through the box, filling her arms with an assortment of supplies. A roll of gauze fell from the cabinet and bounced away but she ignored it and continued her plunder. Once finished, she exited the way she had entered.

Bandaids and single use foil packets of various ointments drifted from her arms as she returned to the fifth floor. Kanna waited again, listening for any movement in the room, before pushing the door she had left ajar open with her foot, leaning back on it to shut it behind her.

In front of the bed, she crossed her legs beneath her and dropped to the floor, releasing her assortment of supplies. 

The wound on her arm had continued its slow flow, the blood on her thumb and forefinger smearing against the foil wrapped packages as she tested their contents by touch. She opened a cardboard box of bandages, then tossed it aside. Holding a brown bottle to her ear, she shook it. Satisfied by the slosh of the contents, she cracked the lid then placed it nearby.

 Taking one of the rolls of gauze, she unwound it around her hand, running it over her knuckles and around her thumb reflexively before catching herself and untangling it. 

A plastic wrapped tin was Kanna’s last find. She ripped through the seal with her teeth, spitting out the piece that came away before tearing it open. She pried open the clasp with jagged nails and a curved needle and its accompanying thread greeted her. 

Something churned inside of her at the glint of thin metal and she snapped the case shut.

After a few easing breaths, she opened the lid again, slower this time, before taking the needle and thread in hand and setting the case aside. 

It took her several tries with fingers that were both shaking and stiff and sticky-slick with her own blood to thread the needle. She huffed quietly in triumph when the task was completed.

Keeping the needle in hand, she poured the disinfectant from the bottle she’d set aside over the wound. The first contact of the liquid was a stinging jolt, sharp and alive. 

Kanna shifted her arm, angling out her elbow so that she could see past her shoulder, then brought the needle to her skin. She focused on easing the tremors in her fingers, only moving once they stilled. 

The needle pierced her skin and she let out a breath as the thread followed through, the pain tingling through her fingertips. 

After the first few stitches, she grew used to the displaced pain, more confident in the action itself. When she reached the end, she considered her next move before knotting the thread back on itself as best she could. 

She bent her head and bit through it, the line snapping and releasing with a pop.

Kanna dropped the needle immediately, then shut her eyes. She brought her knees to her chest and trapped her hands between them, rubbing away the feeling of metal against skin.

When the lingering pain and revulsion faded, she opened her eyes. The strand of thread hung loose, so she retrieved the small scissors that had been included in the kit and snipped the trailing end. After wrapping the stitching in the loose gauze, she sat back and surveyed the detritus now strewn about the room.

At least she wasn’t bleeding anymore.

She stood, wary of her footing and the now buried needle, and moved to an empty space before peeling out of her jeans, the mix of dried blood and sand flaking from the denim and falling to the floor. She then removed her uninjured arm from her shirt first, easing it over the injured one and dropping it in the gathering heap.

Kanna kicked some of the loose supplies to join the pile, her reflection catching in the cracked mirror and drawing her attention. 

The gold veining on her skin radiated from her right side and threaded out from the scar below her ribs. If she stared long enough, it almost pulsed with the beat of her heart, but it was off rhythm. She ran her fingertips over the lines, like tracing a path on a map.

It reminded her of the smell of copper and dust. Not like the Theatre, a place soaked in it, but of once pure air carrying the fresh taint of it. It reminded her of blades of light raining down and screams. Flashes of white, blood blooming, the wet thunk as flesh tore. And pain, and falling. Falling, falling through the cold and the dark.

It was something like a memory, both fresh and old. 

It came at night, in the day, with each breath she took. Not a thing she could understand or see, but the impression of it, something that lived inside of her. The only time it stopped was when she was fighting, when her body took over and the shock of new pain outweighed the traces of it.

She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her palms into the back of her closed lids until she saw spots.

She sunk into the mattress and lay back, waiting for the sharpness of the memory to fade. When she was certain it was safe, she opened her eyes and turned her gaze to the window.

On the top floor of the building, she was never out of the light of the stars. They were a bright thing against so much dark, a constant, something that she could be sure of. She watched them as her lids drifted shut, her hand pressed against the cold glass.