She did not know what reserve rations were.
But she knew that every few days, someone would be taken away and never return.
Just then, a commotion rose in the distance.
She looked up and saw an angel in a tattered robe walking over.
That angel was different from the others. His wings were broken, leaving only two charred scars on his back. His face was pale, his eye sockets sunken, as if he had not eaten in a long time.
"You." A guard pointed at him. "Get back."
The broken-winged angel stood there without moving.
"I said get back!"
The broken-winged angel raised his head. His eyes were pale gold, but dim, like lamps about to go out.
"I'll take their place," he said.
The guard froze for a moment.
"Take whose place?"
"These humans," the broken-winged angel said. "You want energy. Draw mine and let them go."
The guard looked at him, then suddenly laughed.
"You? A half-dead piece of trash like you, how much energy could you possibly have?"
The broken-winged angel said nothing. He raised a hand, and a faint ball of light appeared in his palm, so weak it looked like a candle flame about to be snuffed out by the wind.
The guard kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Get lost!"
The broken-winged angel fell onto the sand, a trace of golden blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. He struggled back to his feet and stood there again.
Impatience flashed through the guard's eyes. He drew his light blade and walked toward the angel.
Just then, a sharp whistle sounded in the distance.
Everyone looked up at once.
Beyond the shield, a dark crimson streak tore through the night sky, racing toward the fortress.
It was