The planet was full of ruins after the defeat.

This place seemed like a forgotten corner of the galaxy, where refugees and escapees hid everywhere.

Here, there was no humanity, only killing and fighting.

The person who had been smiling and serving you a delicious dinner just a second ago could be holding a sharp knife to gut you the next.

In this place, one’s own species was also a kind of food.

That year, Hannah was only six years old.

After leaving Southport, she came alone to this place rumored to have been cursed by the god of death—Blythe.

A six-year-old child here was like a mouthwatering feast.

Whether to be sold off or captured for rations, either would be a good choice.

Hannah went to the refugee area of Blythe.

It was a relatively safe place in the whole of Blythe.

But it was only relatively safe.

If every region had a sin value marked, then Blythe would surely be the highest.

It was as if a group of people who had fallen into an abyss had turned into evil spirits, gnawing at each other’s flesh and blood to survive.

On her first night in the refugee area, Hannah was still quite lucky.

She found a dilapidated little cottage to shelter her from the wind and cold.

The cottage was built from piled stones, topped with a piece of plastic sheeting, with a big hole on the left side that lay above a pile of weeds, on which there were dried, darkened bloodstains.

People around said that the previous owner of this cottage was someone who had been eaten alive right at this spot.

Such terrifying stories were commonplace in Blythe.

When Hannah walked in, people from nearby cottages stuck their heads out to size her up.

Even though she looked only five or six years old, no one dared to approach carelessly.

It wasn’t because they feared Hannah, but because they were wary of others with the same intentions as their own.

On the road, there were scruffy people dragging dark hemp sacks, walking like wandering spirits.

They would occasionally pounce to the ground, grabbing whatever they could to stuff into their mouths, mixing it with mud and stones.

They didn’t care about anything else.

As long as they could fill their stomachs.

Dusk fell.

Someone knocked on the door outside.

Three soft taps followed by an elderly woman’s voice, "Is anyone there?"

Such courteous politeness seemed out of place in Blythe.

After a while, the door opened, and a small head peeked out.

It was six-year-old Hannah.

Thin and small, her messy hair was tied with a thin string. Her face, covered with dust, concealed her original appearance, leaving only her exceptionally bright eyes.

They were clear and distinct, like the stars twinkling in Blythe’s night sky.

The old woman’s smile at the corners of her mouth grew warmer, and even her voice was gentle, "Little girl, are you hungry?"

Hannah looked at her without saying a word, her demeanor very restrained.

The old lady seemed kind, with her head covered in a gray cloth. Although her clothes were worn, they were still quite clean.

"Did you come to Blythe alone?"

She bent down, an arm cradling a basket hung over her arm, covered with a cloth that barely revealed a corner.

It was silver.

Hannah glanced at it, seemingly curious, "I came alone."

Her tone was light, carrying the softness and innocence of a child.

The old woman’s eyes filled with affection, "Poor child, where are your family?"

Hannah shook her head, her head hanging down, and her hand seemed to wipe away tears, "Just me."

She said this.

The wrinkles at the corner of the old woman’s eyes deepened, but her voice was subdued.

As if feeling sad for Hannah.

"What’s your name?"