Smoke and flames engulfed the little village of Xinabi. Reds, oranges and yellows licked up the sides of the mud-and-straw houses, the smoke blacker than the night sky it spilled onto, blacker than the finest ink. The inferno stretched in a ring around our circular village and made it nearly impossible to find a break in the blaze to escape. It was so hot; just way too hot. The burns that we survivors received still scream in pain, and the skin peels so much that several of us have been killed by the pain.

The day was dry, and having had no rain or snow for a week, the embers from a small house fireplace could catch on to a white tablecloth and begin the dreaded fire we didn't know about until it had reached over half of the homes.

We were at the house farthest from the one that first caught fire. Everybody in the entire village was here to celebrate the fifteenth birthday of my dear friend Kari. Fifteenth birthdays are very important because they signal the end of childhood and the beginning of adulthood. It also meant the loss of your Guardian, and your memories of them and their protection.

However, during the middle of the festivities, somebody who, unfortunately, was well-known as a trickster, announced that they smelled smoke. By the time anybody else did and therefore believed him, the fire was untamable. What could we do? We had nothing to put it out with, and nobody would come do it for us. Many people ran into their homes to try to get their possessions, and few of them came back out. We had no choice but to evacuate Xinabi, and stand outside of village and watch it burn all night to the ground.

The tablecloth story was what police told us had happened, after they'd come to inspect it the next morning. It had just come out of the blue, even during the winter as it is now, and I know a lot of people, myself included, do not truly believe that story, but we said we did so as to not get in trouble with the authorities, who are patrolling the street we walk on now…

That was two nights ago. Now, the rain is back. It's icy cold, and it hurts very badly when it slams into our burned bodies. The only sounds are of that of the thunder, splashed puddles, and the occasional cry of pain. No words are spoken as our silent group makes its way to Ranswood, a big city miles away in which we are to make our new homes. The road down which we are traveling is half dirt and half cement, a substance of which the knowledge of making it vanished long ago. (There were a lot of things that people had years ago that we don't have now, such as the extremely rare Styrofoam.)

The grass around the road is all dead and mostly just dirt now, causing large puddles of mud. As we walk, I look to my left and see in the distance the ruins of a Great City. I've seen it before, but from afar. It is forbidden to enter a Great City of Old, for they are cursed, and the reason why humanity almost died out. At least, that's what we're told. This particular one was once named "Atlanta", I believe.

My Guardian, Ulja, walks beside me. Only I can see the beautiful angel with fair skin (a rarity these days; hardly anyone has really light skin anymore), dark blue eyes, russet curls that tumble down her back, and feathery wings that appear only occasionally. At birth, one is chosen by a Guardian and is their Son or Daughter for their first fifteen years of life, for only children are blessed with Guardians. Adults do not need them.

I am just days shy of fifteen, almost at the age where Ulja and I will have to separate, and I can't bear to let her go. I'm determined to remember her. I never speak of such, of course, because I'm a young man, almost an adult, and adults did not do or say childish things as that.

My eyes turn to my mother. She's shorter than I am, and her stringy black hair hangs in front of tired brown eyes. I despise everything about her, but I still love her. After all, she is my mother, and the only biological family I have. But I hate how weak she's become. She used to be a very strong woman before I was born. Now she can barely look me in the eye, but she's not afraid to yell at me or hit me.

She is very weak, so I try my hardest to be strong for her. But my patience with her has whittled its way down slowly to zero, and I find myself angry with her constantly.

I look away from my mother and at Ulja. I love her, much more than I love my own mother. Ulja understands me, something that my mother will never be able to do. Home has never been much of a home, and I know my mother means well, but it was still agonizing. Thankfully, I have Ulja to keep me from doing something dastardly.

The rain stops.

As we walk, a flicker of rapid movement catches my eye. I stop in my tracks to look at it, but I see nothing but the dirt road and the far-off City.

My mother stops to glare at me, but I don't notice that she's stopped either (or that people are shoving by us, annoyed) until she brings her hand back and slams it into my back so hard I fall into the mud.

"Adin Tulsbourne, get out of that mud and start moving," she snaps, kicking my side. Her worn-down wool boots are soft, but they hit me with much force and in a very bad burn area. I groan and roll away, curling up against the pain. "What is wrong with you, boy? We've got to get to our destination, and nobody here wants you in their way! I know I don't."

"Fine, Mother, leave without me," I retort, forgetting all about the thing that had stolen my momentary attention. My brown eyes flare with my temper. "I'm not going to Ranswood," I declare loudly. "It's not Xinabi, and it will never be. So leave without me!"

"I will do no such thing."

"You don't love me, anyway, so why do you bother?" I stand up, my holey-from-the-burns wool rags-for-clothes covered in mud. "All I am to you is a bad memory of that night fifteen years ago when my father cornered you!"

Mother gasps. Ulja and I do the same. Such disrespectful talk is a horrible crime, and I just spoke in that manner.

"Oh, Mother, I'm so, so sorry," I whisper, shrinking away from her.

"Quiet, Adin." She turns her back to me. "You have shamed me. I have no other option but to report you."

My eyes widen. Report me? No! If I'm reported, the authorities will take me away to the Place. No one knows what happens there except that terrible things do.

…But, at least I will have Ulja by my side, if I go. At least for a few more days.

I frown. "Report me, Mother, for all I care," I snarl. "How bad could the Place be, anyway? No worse than my current life, I'm sure."

"Adin, you're making a mistake," Ulja mutters. "Guardians can't go into the Place."

That makes me lose it completely. I turn and run off, shoving through the crowd. I look back. Mother has turned away and is headed for a patrolling officer to report me. I grit my teeth and run. How can she, my own mother, betray me like this?

Ulja picks me up and flies away. Because she's holding me, I can't be seen, as she can't, either. We fly far away. I look back to see the officer punch my mother in the face for causing a false alarm. She lands in the mud and I turn my head away.

I watch the barren landscape sail beneath me. Everything is dead and dirt. Ulja told me that once, this very land had been covered in trees, and then with towns full of people and their amazing technology. I close my eyes. I don't want to look at this wasted world.

We land in the ruins of my home village. I run toward the house that I grew up in and use its remaining structures for shelter tonight. Ulja stays beside me, keeping a silent, sleepless vigil as she holds me in her arms so I cannot be seen or found.