The skyship had crashed, missing the moon. There was sparks, fire, wreckage. Debris streaked across empty space. The sky sparkled with fizzled dreams. But lairie was alive, a yellow bob peeking out from from frozen thermal metal. Still alive.

Her head was still attached, her gear still intact. She pushed herself up to the surface, jade blue eyes scanning the horizon. Things weren’t good, but it could be worse. It could always get worse.

Scuttling down the ice caked bumps, not unlike softly served ice cream on a knoll, she looked for other survivors. But it was not other survivors who were looking for her. It looks as if the rest of the skyship had crashed elsewhere.

All, still stuck, in the coinosphere. She paused, a soundless sigh.

This frigid silence, this would not last long.

Frostbytes were converging on her. It could be worse. But she had her axe, a pickaxe, that screamed light and fire. Puffs of flames and sparkles and smoke. Frostbytes dispatched into wild swings of fumes and frost fire. They became sponges of ice and water. But there were more. This was not the best of days.

She had to find the nearest domain. This was going to be a long walk.