On the crumbling steps of a battered building, a girl with eyes the color of molten gold sat surveying the world before her. She blinked slowly as she took in the charred stumps of once beautiful trees, the blackened and scarred ground that had once been warm and nurturing before They came. Glancing up, she saw the bruised-colored sky and paused as she took it in. Scattered around were the dry, broken bones of the houses and buildings that had once reached longingly up to the stars. Tendrils of smoke still rose lazily from a few skeletons. The girl tilted her head, her golden eyes fluttered shut as she listened for something, anything but all she heard was the random rustle of burnt wood falling to ash. Not a single sound reached her ears. There was no playful whisper of wind, no babble of running water, no animal voice or birdsong, not even a cry of pain from some hurt soul in the hopeless wreckage that now inhabited this place where a great city had just stood. This little wanderer had stumbled upon the very picture of destruction and she was all alone. Sitting there on the concrete stairs, the girl took all this in. As she looked out at the world she now lived in, only one question formed inside her head: Why was the concrete so cold?