Princess Selene wanted to see the world outside these crystal walls. Instead she stood in her mother's throne hall, summoned to hear who she would marry. Green light slid down the sharp spires of the keep and pooled on the floor. Her mount waited in the stables, saddled. She had already planned her escape east. First she needed one thing from her mother. Queen Nebulon did not look up from the marriage contract in her hands. She smoothed the paper flat against her knee, slow and certain, the way she smoothed every problem into obedience. "The ceremony is in three days," she said. "I have never wanted a husband," Selene said. "You know this." "Wanting has nothing to do with duty." The Queen finally raised her violet eyes. "You are my only child. The line continues through you." Selene stepped closer. Her marks glowed faint gold along her cheeks. "Then marry again yourself. You are still Queen. Have more children. Let them carry your line." She kept her voice level. "We do not want the same things, Mother. We never have." The Queen set the contract down. For a moment she said nothing, and the hall felt colder. "You think I sealed the eastern gate to trap you," the Queen said. "I sealed it because a light fell from the sky. Whatever crashed may be dangerous. I will not lose you to it." Selene heard the fear under the command. It surprised her. But it did not change her plan. "Then bargain with me," Selene said. "Cancel the marriage. Let me go east and see what fell. If I find nothing, I come home and marry whoever you choose." The Queen folded her hands on her lap. "It is the only offer I have." Selene knelt, which she never did. "Choose. A daughter married and gone from you inside. Or a daughter who trusts you enough to return." The Queen studied her for a long moment. Then she picked up the contract and tore it once, cleanly, down the middle. "The marriage is finished," the Queen said. "Go east, you have until the four moons turn full, that is a month.” Selene stood, cold spreading through her chest. She had won the argument. Selene quickly went to the kitchen and began packing food and water.

Ten days east of the crystal keep, Selene felt beaten. The days burned. The nights froze. Twice a storm trapped her under a rock ledge until the wind died. She had food for maybe a week more. She had no map of the eastern wilds, no landmark, no sign of the crash. Her mount, the six-legged Sixhorn, carried her over dune after dune. Every dune looked like the last. She was lost, and the four moons kept filling. That morning she pulled the reins and stopped. "I don't know where it fell," she said aloud. Her voice cracked. The Sixhorn's translucent body caught the light and threw it back at her, useless. She had promised her mother she would find what crashed. Now she would wander until her month ran out and she had to crawl home with nothing. A rustle broke the silence. A pale green creature slipped from a burrow near the Sixhorn's front legs. It had a long body, six small feet, and two antennae that swept the air. The hexweasel froze and stared at her. Its antennae twitched east, then east again, always east. The same weasel that was back at her home had followed her and her mount this far. Selene watched it. The thing wanted something. It darted a few steps, stopped, looked back at her. It wanted her to follow. She had no better plan. "Fine," she said, and turned the Sixhorn after it. The hexweasel ran fast. It vanished over a ridge, then waited for her at the top, antennae flicking. All day it led her. When she slowed, it circled back. When she stopped to drink, it paced until she moved again. The sun dropped. The air went cold. She almost turned around twice. Then the ground changed. Sand gave way to cracked black rock, scorched in a wide ring. Something had struck here hard. At the center stood a shape that did not belong to Zygori. It was tall and made of metal, taller than the keep's spires, resting at a tilt in the burned rock. Round windows dotted its silver skin. Rust streaked its panels. Fins spread from its base like the legs of an insect. Selene had never seen anything like it. This was the light that fell from the sky. The hexweasel sat at the edge of the ring and would go no closer. Its antennae pointed at the machine, then at her. Selene climbed down from the Sixhorn. Her celestial marks began to glow, bright gold in the falling dark. She stepped onto the black rock. Near the base of the metal thing, a low hatch hung open. Fresh footprints marked the ash around it. Not hers. Not the creature's. Someone had walked out of that machine and lived. Selene stopped at the edge of the footprints.

The footprints spread from the hatch like the spokes of a wheel. Some led north. Some led south. One set climbed toward the black mountains. Selene knelt in the ash and studied them. If she chose wrong, she would lose the survivor for good. She looked back at the hexweasel. It sat at the edge of the scorched ring and would not step closer. "Which one?" she asked it. The creature only twitched its antennae. This was her choice, not the weasel's. She crouched over each trail. Most tracks were faint, half-filled by wind. But one set toward the mountain was deep and fresh. The stride was long and even. Someone had walked there fast, and not long ago. Selene pressed her palm into the print. The edges still held their shape. She mounted the Sixhorn and turned it toward the mountain. "That way," she said. The hexweasel darted after her, then fell behind and vanished into a burrow. She was alone now. The tracks held all day and into the next. She barely slept. She ate the last of her dried fruit in the saddle. The prints climbed higher, over loose stone, past twisted trees she did not know. Twice she nearly turned back. The trail was thin. Then it would deepen again, and she would press on. As the sun dropped behind the mountain, the footprints ended at a wall of rock. Selene's heart sank. A dead trail. She had chosen wrong. Then the Sixhorn's marks caught a light that was not the sun. Selene looked up. Built into the mountain stood a dome of curved metal and glass. Lamps glowed gold behind round windows. Nothing on Zygori was made like this. It matched the crashed machine. Her marks flared bright at the sight. She climbed down and walked toward the wide steps. A shape moved in the doorway. A man stepped out to meet her. He wore a bright orange suit she had never seen, thick and padded, with white boots and gloves. His black hair curled loose. His eyes were pale blue and fixed on her glowing face. He held up both hands, palms open. "Easy," he said. "You're not one of us. And you're not from this part of the planet either, are you?" He looked past her at the Sixhorn, then back at her marks. He laughed once, short and stunned. Selene did not lower her guard. "I followed your tracks," she said. "You walked out of the fallen machine." "Max," he said, tapping his chest. He glanced behind him into the lit dome, then back at her. His smile faded. "You should come inside." Selene looked at the dark trail behind her, then at the open door. She stepped forward and went in.