The sun set, and the wind swept its frigid tendrils over Amelia’s fleshy, glove-less left hand.

Fleettwixt was a place with many wonders. The cityscape was massive, the colleges were renowned throughout the world, the streets were free of snow. It was very near to the sort of utopia one might read about in a speculative novel. But one thing that the Gods among glossals could not control was the temperature outdoors. As the sun’s path of radiance sent it past the horizon of the seas to the west, so too did the cold creep into every crevice of the city.

Amelia put her hood over her head, stuck her hands into her pockets, and entered the street crowd. Partly this was to keep from the cold. She still felt the same sensations as any real human would; this was a benefit in a multitude of ways, both in love and in combat, but it also meant she had pain, discomfort, and all the things that mortals were supposed to feel in their blip-sized lives, but that golems were supposed to be blissfully free of.

The better reason for her slumped-over style was, of course, the fact she had just murdered five people about an hour earlier. The more anonymity on the streets, the better chance she had that nobody was tracking her, if indeed Fourland or anyone else had even discovered her just yet. She was sure they had dozens of soul mules entering the city on any given day, and one employee and his goons going missing was not a big deal just yet. Still, it was better to keep safe, especially with her easily spotted face.

Even as the air grew colder, the Highden district and all its gleaming towers still bustled with the energy of a hundred thousand people every city block. Helped keep her profile low. She walked casually down city blocks, just soaking in this brand-new urban life.

A few golems stood sturdily in the streets beside the doors to unmarked buildings. Silent monoliths acting on specific directives, made of clay and rock and whatever other materials their golemancers cobbled together. It always hurt her to see beings so close to herself being used as mere bodyguards, and yet there was nothing yet she could do but pass them by.

Never in Amelia’s exceedingly short life did she ever suspect just how little chatter she would hear on the streets of the biggest city in Sunwell. There were murmurs and occasional conversations, but nothing more. Most people passed through with lowered heads and silent frowns.

Was life here truly so bad that it was better to be lonely than to interact with any of the hundreds around them? Never in any of the villages or towns that Amelia lived in had she experienced so much negative energy swirling around.

And yet she found herself enjoying the obscurity she faced. Just one of many, just a random hooded person who declined to say a single word. Just taking in the mana that rose up from the grounds, that spewed out from the distant factories, that exuded in small waves from the endless beings around her. Her soul gem recharged passively just by existing here. What an amazing way to live, that she could extend her life just by being in a crowd.

Though it was advisable for her to find refuge soon. With her higher-level systems still likely malfunctioning, she knew she could not turn on her Combat Module again without at least going into power saving mode—or sleep, as glossal beings might call it. It was best not to find any further fighting for now, then, and staying in this heavily populated area was far more risk than she wanted.

If Theo and his thugs were any indication, betraying the Fourland Growth Corporation would very soon deliver her some negative consequences—the “hit squad with rifles” sort of consequences. If they had any level of competence, they would go after her with the maximum level of force with absolute immediacy. She needed to be well-rested and maintenanced before dealing with any of that. Or as best as she could do on her own.

Luckily, transportation around Fleettwixt was unparalleled. It had, in addition to the trains going in and out of the city, three train lines encompassing nearly every important district and neighborhood across forty stations—the Ethel Line, the Nyx Line, and the Pomonok Line. All of them converged on Highden Station as a central hub and moved outwards from there. One could travel almost the entire city without even setting foot on the ground.

She circled back to Highden Station, made sure she wasn’t being followed, and boarded a rickety train up on tracks three stories in the air, on the Pomonok Line. Not too many were on. Amelia found an empty seat without much issue.

“Now leaving Highden Station,” a train announcement said over the speakers.

An advertisement for a flashy casino in the dungeon’s first floor played, first in Common, then again in Imduin. After that, a Community Wellness Manager from North Sunwell spoke for thirty seconds about the importance of reporting any suspicious individuals who might be unauthorized residents.

Unlike the mana-levitated ride she took coming into Fleettwixt, the Pomonok Line was bumpy, loud, and extremely convenient as well. It looped around the entire city, mirroring the city walls and almost perfectly matching the outline of the Manadhmeth Dungeon. The sun elves who built this town took pride in circles, in orbits, and the city’s rounded design was something of a sacred mark for those long-ago architects forgotten by time. That this train followed suit was only a natural extension of what came before.

The train went north, passing under the thin, unremarkable Loeb River and finally to the northernmost station in the whole city, not too far from the city walls—Beechhurst Station.

If the eastern city entrance of Highden Station was the skyscraper-filled, sparkling gem of Fleettwixt, then the northern edge, across the river and accessible only by train or by bridge, was the place furthest from it. A time capsule to when Fleettwixt was a humble fishing village, not the capital of commerce and arts and industry for a massive colonial corporation. A perfect place for Amelia to hide out while the heat built up on her.

So when she stepped off the train and exited Beechhurst Station, she was greeted not with the same glimmering, overwhelmingly vivid sights she experienced when she first arrived in the city. Instead, across the street she saw a run-down weapons reseller with a rusty sign that read “Last Call at Lobe’s,” and next to it a closed-down shop with graffiti carved into the front.

Amelia took a leisurely stroll down the sidewalk, searching for lodging with the map on her HUD, but unfortunately when it came to Beechhurst it proved almost entirely inaccurate. None of the busildings around matched, or when they did the business had already closed. All of the major inns were long-ago boarded up.

She could go another day or two without entering power-saving mode, but she certainly did not want to risk it if she were able. Nothing came, though. A few residential homes with gardens or tiny farm plots, and a few assorted businesses. There were tall buildings, yes, but they were drab, gray; many of them looked abandoned. This was the main road coming from the station, right? Where had Fleettwixt gone?

A few more weapons shops, none of them particularly compelling. A tiny restaurant serving noodles with standing-only tables. Two elderly women staring in her direction from a front porch rocking bench.

The further Amelia walked, the more she came to see that Beechhurst was an idyllic, rustic, worn-down neighborhood long forgotten by the massive development everywhere else. She had only been here for a short while, but she already knew she had found a new home. Just as long as they would accept her.

The further she walked away from Beechhurst Station, the worse the district looked, the fewer people roamed around. She wondered what could have happened here to cause all this. It seemed like the neighborhood used to have plenty of businesses, plenty of livelihood. But now, here as Amelia walked it, it was like the life had been sucked into some giant soul gem and taken far away from here. There were more broken windows than people out, other than at the local pub, which seemed far more active than anywhere else.

One thing Amelia noticed quickly was that the diversity had completely disappeared since she came to northern Fleettwixt. What was once a jumbled mix of goblins and elves, orcs and myxos, had become, well, only elves. Sun elves, to be specific, the multicolored native race of the continent of Sunwell. She saw in a small park a group of old ladies chatting about nothing in particular. Next to them stood a climbing structure and a slide. A small park for children, covered in enough rust to show that it had gone unused for years, maybe decades.

That anonymity Amelia had loved about Highden was gone in Beechhurst. Her scarred, stone-covered face was even more obvious when she was the only human (“human”) in the vicinity.

Ah, well. No point in pretending she was someone she was not. Amelia removed her hood, straightened her posture, and let everyone around her know that, yes, she was a human, and one with only one ear to boot. A few people gave her looks, including a patrolling police officer who gripped the handle of her baton, but no more than any other town she had been in. It wasn’t as dramatic as she expected.

Finally, Amelia found a two-story building wedged in between a liquor store and a place titled only “Lisya’s Gift.” This three-story building would be unremarkable in any other circumstance except for a tiny sign by the front door that read: “Check-in: 16:00-22:00.”

Upon closer inspection, the building actually had a sign or the remains of it—at one point, the place read “Beechhurst International Co-Lodging House,” but the letters had since been removed, and only their outlines in the off-colored brick still remained.

Was it open? Was this some relic of an earlier time?

She put her gloved hand on the door, tugged on it, and sure enough it was unlocked. She slid it open and—

Lights on, jukebox playing a quiet tune, and a pink-haired elf at the bar.