Has anyone seen Kira Min Calla, daughter, twelve, separated from mother in flight to the tunnels?

Errin An Perra searching for her baby, Seanine Min Perra, blue eyes, brown hair, 19 months old, separated near the south walls.

Torro Wen Marin looking for his parents, Karin An Tamen and Parro Wen Marin, both missing since the day of invasion.

On and on. The papers pile so thick on top of one another, a stack of anguished searching, that it looks like the wall itself is made of paper. I wonder if Basea’s walls were like this, too, after the smoke cleared. I wonder if there was even anyone left to search for us.

Every home has a door hung with the Karensan seal. Every storefront has prices written in Karensan notes. Every corner has at least one or two Karensan soldiers, most of them looking bored as they shove their hands into the pockets of their scarlet uniforms and complain about the chill.

Six months was all it took for my memories of a free, independent Mara to fade away. I had settled into the routine of life here, hopeful that things would stay the same, until I was reminded once again of how quickly everything can vanish. One instant, there is a society, a set of steel walls, and a home. The next, there is ash.

I stand beside Constantine Tyrus, the young Premier of the Karensa Federation, in the arena where I used to train with my fellow Strikers. This place, too, has changed—its sides draped with enemy banners—but its purpose remains the same. We’re here today to oversee the punishment of prisoners.

Constantine’s brother, General Caitoman, stands on his other side, the two speaking in low voices. Other soldiers stay at attention near us. I cast a brief glance toward them. A few catch my eye—immediately they lower their gazes to the ground in terror, their heads hanging in bowed deference to me.

I feel a tug of satisfaction at their fear. Then revulsion washes over me. They’re afraid of me because they see a monster created by their Premier.

From the corner of my eye, I can make out where the soft skin on my forearm between my wrist and elbow now has armor running underneath it. The bones of my body are now fortified with the essence of steel. My hair has taken on the same metallic sheen that Red’s has. The backs of my hands bear a tattoo of a diamond shape, the symbol of something indestructible.

I am indestructible. I am stronger than any living human should be, and I can feel that strength every time I move. Where I once only saw grass, I now make out a sea of blades. The air looks like it ripples with wind. The world vibrates with a thousand new movements. My back has been torn open and rebuilt, my limbs laced with steel, my face partly hidden behind a black helmet and mask.

Only my eyes remain exposed. They are still as large and dark as ever, though they have been broken down and rebuilt into something new and superhuman. And now I see something different reflected in them whenever I pass a mirror—the presence of someone else haunting the back of my mind.