The transition from endless dream to murky awareness was an awkward one this time. No frog telling me they want my soul. No spiders poking my arm into oblivion. No sudden cut off, no yelling, no jumping awake in terror as pain seized my body, then struggling before feeling a warm liquid on my lips and the familiar pull back into unwanted sleep.

It wasn’t really unwanted. I enjoyed the descent into my own personal dreamworld, the escape. I loved it. And every time I was wrenched away from those comforting memories, I clawed at them, holding on desperately so they and that long-forgotten peaceful me wouldn’t turn to dust and ash in my mouth.

I was already very different from that girl in my memories. And I wanted nothing more than to just be her again, for five more minutes.

But no, this time, I was dreaming in one second, playing by a running river on a sweltering summer day, fresh wind blowing through my hair, the sound of friends and family in my ears. A gentle warm touch on my hand that lingered even as I closed my eyes and all sensation disappeared.

Then, I was awake. Back in my dark nightmare. My punishment in hell. The temple of Glom the toad.

I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t move. I didn’t scream, or mumble or moan in pain. I wasn’t feeling much. I was just empty.

As it turned out, being empty of any pushes or pulls of emotion, memory, doubt, needs and wants, even if for but a moment, was exactly what I needed. It gave me an empty slate where I could think clearly, organize my thoughts, my want-to’s and have-to’s.

First. I’m alive. This is a good thing. I’d rather be alive than dead. Knowing this is true is also a good thing. It means I’m healthy and I’m not hopelessly despairing. The world beat me down, but I’m still breathing. And in all honesty, after not having to do anything, rather, not being able to do anything for a few weeks straight, I feel… ok. The world isn’t crumbling around me just because I decided to lay in bed for a few days. Though, I should admit to one lie I have been telling myself.

I am not a knight.

I was born a farmer’s daughter, the first of eighteen children.

I am Elia Rye. Just Rye, for now.

I was buried with armor and a sword I couldn’t wield. But I am not what I wear. Even if the armor feels comfortable and looking at a sword fills me with a joy I can’t quite pinpoint, I am still small, am still weak and up until I killed the demon-lady, I was basically blind to everything but fear.

And now, I’m not so sure she was a demon either. The wolf called her bekki, as in a race, tribe, people or something. She glowed, like me after I took her soul, but where she attacked me out of hunger and desire, I killed her out of… well, out of what? Anger? Stupidity caused by fear? A need for revenge, to drown the feeling of helplessness?

It could be any of the above, but the result stands. I killed her. And I killed six others as well. I’ve settled on the old lady’s demise being my fault. I know what the wolf said, but my heart says no. And where other people are concerned, I’ll follow my heart rather than his advice.

But still. I saved people. Him and Pim and six more, though they don’t seem to do much but bumble around aimlessly, staring holes into the air or muttering the single word each of them knows. They are dregs. I assume that means ‘people without light’, through it could imply more. Putting these people I’ve saved from certain or uncertain death opposed to those I’ve killed means the scores are eight to seven. If lives can even be counted like grapes or tomatoes, weighed one against the other.

That’s one more I’ve saved than I’ve killed. What did Da’ call that? ‘Net positive’? Can I even count lives like that? I can, evidently, but rather, should I? I don’t know, but one thing is certain: I’d rather do something than nothing.

I want to be out there. Not because it is ‘out there’, a place of endless adventure and mystery (as in: suffering and darkness), but it’s where I can do good. Help people. Hunt monsters. Find loot. Find souls. Find answers. And, well, in the best case, be a good example for everyone else. I can do good, but I can do better.

Even after admitting that I’m not one, I’m still trying to be a knight in literal shining armor, aren’t I? I’m certainly not doing a great job at that. I’m bad at fighting, I can barely even run away, and I don’t really have anything left except my armor and a club. Every time I got into a fight, I was essentially letting my foes wail on my armor until an opening so obvious, even me, a novice, could take advantage of it presented itself.

This needs to change. I need to change. I don’t want to solve everything with cold steel, but where words completely fail against monsters and beasts, most of my attempts to talk with humans have turned sour just as if we were speaking a different language. Even then, despite the risk, I still have the need to try.

And all I can do is try to be good. I will fight with my words before swords. And if, again, I am forced to kill, directly or indirectly, I swear to never forget those I do. That’s something I swear, something I can do. And even if I struggle and fail to be a good egg, at the least I won’t be rotten to the core. I need this, so I can live with myself.

My next steps forward in this world without light? Get more light, get more food, get better (I still feel pretty sick), get more gear and somehow try to make sense of all the things I’ve been ignoring so far. Or that I’ve overlooked. To be honest, now that I can see, I feel even more blind than before.

The pile of outstanding issues feels like I’m standing in front of a mountain. At least I know that I’m good at doing chores. However, that doesn’t prevent me from complaining about it.

“Fugg. Five more minutes.” I moped.

I finally roused from that perfectly calm state of mind. The first thing I felt was the slight heat of a great many lit candles and their smell as well, probably something in the wax. The second thing I felt was ill. I covered my eyes from my own light and reached around blindly, until I found a bucket. Then, with as much grace as any lady could muster, I expelled my stomach contents with only minor spillage.

Ew.

I definitely wasn’t doing completely fine yet. But at least I was awake. I lifted my arm and looked around the temple, finding myself quite snugly put under a heavy blanket. It was old and coarse, but I was feeling way too cold to care. At the back of my head, a familiar sand-filled pillow rested beneath my head.

I tried getting up, but in that instance a bout of dizziness hit. I was convinced keep lying down a while longer. I was still sick and if I didn’t take that as an excuse to slow down and maybe keep on resting for a bit, then when else would I get to rest? With that line of reasoning, it certainly wasn’t hard to snuggle back under the covers and feel good about it.

Finally, fulfilment of the elusive ‘five more minutes’ dream.

I stared up, my eyes getting used to my own light and that of the candles. To my pleasant surprise, the light revealed expansive scenes depicted with colored rocks and glass under the dome of Glom’s temple. Many of them had fallen off, and the colors were faded doubly so by age. The dim light that reached them only furthered my difficulties in making out details. But between the cracks and crevice’s, what I saw and what I imagined was a story on its own.

At the center of the dome, there was a hole in the ceiling. It was surrounded by a broken band of flames, shining outwards in straight faded lines. The inside of the dome was covered in colored tiles and the golden ones were the sun, most likely. Around it, facing in two different directions, were two figures, a man and a woman. I recognized them as Worga, goddess of order, and Ruthe, god of Peace. They were each holding hands with one of their arms and presenting their sacred arms outward. Worga’s was a spear and Ruthe a hammer.

Placed in a ring around them in turn were ten smaller figures, each with details I couldn’t clearly make out. But I knew that they represented the inner gods, the children of Worga and Ruthe. Even though they were the children of the union of Worga and Ruthe, the inner gods weren’t all born by the pair. Most were in fact adopted, though a family they remained still. I envied that, knowing that I’d loved to have added some people into my family as siblings or as a partner. And removed some others as well. Though, I’d never really do that. That wouldn’t be nice at all.

They were all pointed away from the sun, our gods. All were holding things that represented them, weapons, tools, symbols, as if warding off the world outside. There was another outer ring of even smaller figures, and I knew those to be the outer gods, who themselves numbered in the dozens but for evident reasons weren’t allowed into the inner family. While they were divine and recognized as such by the cults, they weren’t given the position of kin because they all lacked in some central aspect. The inner family was supposed to be perfect and complete after all.

Although, I do remember there being thirteen instead of twelve in the inner family, including Ruthe and Worga. Maybe the painter forgot one?

Oh well.

What was far more interesting was the absolute mess of depictions crawling down the wall. They depicted miniscule figures, humans and grug, and horses and wolves and many other such creatures most likely, but also mountains and cities. Compared to the gods above, so much was going on in that region, I spent hours searching for the little details on this band around the circular insides of the dome.

At the very edge, roughly ten feet off the ground, the mosaic devolved into a hellish mess, like scenes from a nightmare. All was surrounded by a forest in the shade of faded green, filled with little clearings with monsters of legend and fairytales, clawing at the human figures and each other. It was quite visceral, but it got the message across well: what stood against the edge of civilization and the gods was horror, pain, death and demise at the hands of beasts too horrible to fully depict.

Some of them even had their faces scratched out.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

That at least was as far as I could make sense of what was drawn. I’ll admit, I spent a lot of time looking at it. Hours. I had nothing really else to do and the silence that pervaded the room allowed me to focus my whole imagination on the scenes above. There were monsters, yes, but in between I found human creatures, with small golden rays of the sun. They were fighting the monsters. They were the chosen of the gods who battled fiercely to keep the world order and the forest at bay. The gods rewarded such bravery, even before adherence to the faiths was made law.

I hope they still do.

I closed my eyes for a few moments, letting the scenes play out in my mind. There, I was still a knight, a hero even, maybe. I was just getting to the good part when my bladder, for the first time since I first woke up in my coffin by the way, demanded its due attention.

I sighed, having just gotten comfortable, and opened my eyes. A head with a stone mask stared back at me, literally leaning right over my head.

“GAHFUCK!” I shook, startled.

“H-hello. Pelts?.” A female voice behind the mask asked timidly.

We stared at each other for a solid few moments. How am I even supposed to answer that? Do I just say ‘hi?’, do I say ‘no?”, do I tell her that she’s maybe a bit too close for comfort? Her mask looks really odd, but also kind of regal, pretty much how I’d imagine the missing heads of the monarch statues in the graveyard would look like.

“Uhhh…” I said, ever one with an ingenious mind for words.

Luckily, unlike the feverish and confused mess that was me, the person behind the mask knew how to start a conversation like a normal human being. At least on the second try.

She cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Avice. That is my name. Greetings. I am but a humble merchant who has found refuge in this lonely temple. Can I interest you in some common pelts?” Her hands held a choice of a black pelt and a less black one in front of my face.

Ok, so maybe not exactly a normal way to start talking with someone who literally just woke up from what I can only imagine were days of fitful rest. On the other hand, those pelts do look soft and fuzzy.

“Only lightly used, barely a century old. Peasants’ favorite. Honest wares, not pilfered from graves at all.” She said, going through another set of choice-pelts.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, but I’m kinda broke.” I answered.

She looked at me for a moment, then slung her pelts back over her shoulders. She was absolutely covered in them, looking like some weird cave monster with a man’s stone face. A cave monster with a pleasant voice and a bit of an accent I could only place as slightly old-timey. At least we spoke the same language.

She’s… weird, but I think we could get along. Also, those pelts look nice and soft.

“Do you by any chance accept payment in anything besides souls?” I asked her.

She looked at me for a long time and it only made me really, really like to have seen her face. Talking to people without seeing what was written on theirs was getting really annoying. The wolf I could at least understand, he was stuck in his rusted armor, probably, but this woman was quite obviously covering her face and body on purpose.

“I… was not aware souls could be used as payment.” She finally answered.

Great. Now I look like the crazy, soul-sucking demon one. I don’t even know how to pay with my own soul! I refuse to find out how. But it was a refreshing thought that not everyone here defaulted to, well, dealing with their own souls as if they were currency. Who knew what kind of side-effects that would have on them?

I also made the assumption quite quickly, just because she is a merchant as well.

“Sorry.” I said.

“Sorry for what?” she asked.

“Sorry… nothing. I just, well, I’m glad you aren’t trading in souls like Harris.”

Her mask remained unreadable, but I could definitely hear gears grinding in her head. She smacked a fist on her open palm.

“So that is how that lowborn wretch has gathered so many riches. Damned blasphemy and sorceressness.”

Blasphemy? Well, that is something we can agree on. Wretch? That doesn’t sound fair. Did something happen between them while I was asleep? Well, of course things happened, I’m talking to someone I’ve never seen before like she lives in this temple. And sorceressness isn’t a word.

“I, uh, assume you aren’t very fond of Harris, the pillow merchant?” I asked.

“Fond? Fond!? He is my nemesis! A declared business rival.” she said, loud enough that I doubted anyone in the temple was able to not hear her. “He has cornered just about every single accursed market there is! And I, Avice of Viln, am left to peddle with, with… pelts!”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. A chuckle echoed throughout the temple, accompanied by the voice of Harris.

“Get with the times, miss. Ya’ shouldn’t underestimate the margins on souls. Wolfy pays ya’ good if ya’ got what he wants and he’s sure to not stay the only one.” He said.

“You, sir, are a heartless man. You would demand a man’s soul for simple mundane wares? Where is your sense of compassion at the end of the world?” said Avice.

“Compassion pays when I’m the one receiving it, miss. And my wares are all but mundane.”

I listened to their exchange for a few more minutes. I learned a lot of new insults. I wasn’t even aware you could use roosters like that. Eventually, it died down and I was left once more to silently staring at the ceiling. Though, first questions forming in my head were already keeping me from sitting still.

“Avice? Can I call you that?” I asked.

“It is my name. Humble merchant of pelts and… pelts.” she said matter-of-factly.

“Ok. Avice, why are you wearing a mask?”

I was feeling a bit blunt this day. A bit driven, maybe. Not high enough energy to do much with it but talk, and so that’s what I set out to do. Maybe even make a friend.

“Is it not obvious?” she answered.

“No?” If she was hiding anything behind it, how was I supposed to know?

“It is… well, my countenance is an ugly sight to behold.”

“How so?” I asked.

I could feel a stare boring into my face. It was kind of obvious why, at least in part.

“I came from the ground. I am a walking corpse. I once had golden skin, but now, now it is bleached and besmirched. Dirty, tarnished, with ash and soot and mud and, and…” she shrunk back under her pile of furs.

Ah. She feels embarrassed. Or sad. I know how that feels. Seeing your reflection and all that stares back is a frightened walking corpse. I should try cheering her up.

“I came from the ground too! Or, well, a stone coffin. I’m not that great looking either.” I said

She shuffled uncomfortably.

“You are… fine. A tad too purple maybe.” She finally said.

“Thanks. I’m sure you’re fine as well.” I said, trying to sound cheery.

“N-No, I…” she stammered.

“…can I see your face?”

I could feel her cringing from a few feet away. But if she needed a few friendly words of encouragement, then I’d give her that and more. I certainly could have used one or twenty myself when I first found myself staring into the basins in the basement. Also, I couldn’t help my curiosity. I wanted to see what she looked like, if only to gain a comparison to myself. She didn’t have bright light and it was then that I noticed that she had set up shop within five feet of me, my bright light throwing harsh shadows over her stone mask.

After a solid moment of thought, she leaned over and whispered.

“Alright. But do not tell anyone. And do not laugh. Please.”

“Sure! I won’t.” I would never. I was a good egg after all. I braced myself, ready to throw as much friendliness and compassion at her the moment she opened up to me.

She lifted her mask and I peered into her eyes. They were what caught me first, green and intense, somehow fitting into the rest of her emaciated face like gems in a socket. Her face was even more shrunken back than mine, a literal tapestry of skin draped closely over her skull. Her skin was pale, white like shells from the seashore or chalk, but a nasty gash cut along her righthand cheek. It went deep, through skin and muscle, right down to her teeth. The dried red was a stark contrast to her skin and hair, which was so dark I almost couldn’t see where it ended and the pelts all around her began.

She was the first to speak up. “You have precious marble eyes.”

I was somewhat taken aback by the compliment. There was something about her face that seemed to just draw me in, though if in fascination or horror I did not know. Still, this was a good first step.

“Um. Thanks? I like your green.” I answered.

My gaze wandered to her lips, and they were red, too. A bit too much to be entirely natural.

“You’ve, uh, got something there.” I said.

She wiped her lips, and her finger came back bloody.

“F–Frick.” Avice said in that old accent of hers. Some words didn’t lose their meaning even over the ages.

She stuck two fingers in her mouth, and I heard an uncomfortable sounding crack. The fingers came back with a tooth pinched between. It was one of those flatter ones along the side of her face. I didn’t know whether to stare at the tooth or at the three hands that were respectively holding the tooth, rubbing her cheek and gripping her furs closer to her body.

“Double frick.” I said, a slight rise betraying my surprise as she stared at the piece of bone in her hands.

I looked at the point where two of the arms disappeared under her clothing, on one side of her body, then at her delicate hands again as she accidentally dropped the tooth. As she went to pick it up again, I saw that whey were shaking. I recognized the look on her face, the one without any movement but a lot of tension behind a shaky mask of control. That was the face of someone holding back tears.

I looked up at her from where I was lying under my blanket. “Do you need a hug?”

She looked at me like I’d just asked her for her hand. Maybe I broke some sort of cultural taboo, maybe not. But it felt right to ask.

Hugs help.

She slowly put her mask back on and shuffled back under her pile of pelts. We didn’t say anything. And just like that, we both lay there on the dirty temple floor. There was no rain. It stopped long before I had woken up. But it wasn’t quiet either, a gentle backdrop of people moving about and talking gibberish sounding throughout.

“Cloths.” Said one.

“Riches.” Another.

“Hand of my daughter.” That was purple.

Those were the monarchs, the people I had saved. The proof that my sacrifice was worth at least something. They were well, as well as I had found them at least. Better fed maybe. But looking at the downcast mask of the new woman in front of me only reinforced that they weren’t the only ones out there in need of some good in their lives. My journey had only just begun. That first dreadful leap into the unknown had been worth it all.

I closed my eyes, taking in the ambient sounds. After some time, Avice spoke up again.

“I must apologize. For my language and my… scarring. I showed you something unsightly.”

“Oh, nonono, don’t worry about it. I’m not squeamish. And I swear a lot too, I don’t mind. Shit! Fuck! Damn!”

It didn’t look like I was helping.

“…you’ll get better. Worse things have happened to me and I’m healing alright. See?”

I slowly raised my right arm, finding it splinted and wrapped completely in old cloth bands. I winced as it still hurt to move even that little bit, but Avice got what I was talking about.

“You are weird.” I barely heard her mutter under her breath.

Debatable. Time to change the topic then.

“So, why do you have three arms?” I asked.

Maybe not the best choice of subjects.

“Why do you have two?” she answered, as if having three arms was the most normal thing in the world.

Well, ok, maybe that was a stupid question. People didn’t just wake up with more arms than before one day. They lost them, rather than gained them, through war and accidents.

I guess she was just born this way. Which is weird, but not in a bad way. It’s easier to accept than sharp teeth and animal ears. Those are just… plain weird. Nothing against Pim, he’s a treasure, just… I need some getting used to that.

We both returned to silence again. It grew awkward soon enough, at least on my end.

“If you need someone to talk to or just listen, I’m here.”

Her stone-cold mask shifted slightly as she looked me in the face.

“What would I need to talk about?” she asked.

“Oh, um, no nothing. We can just be quiet together as well. If you’d prefer that.”

She stared for a few more moments before nodding slowly. We were quiet again and content with it as well.

Especially me, because I think I made a new friend this day. Hooray!

Time passed like that and I slept, I woke, I ate (there was always food ready, though all we got were raw monster corpses) and every now and again, I’d have a chat with Avice, with Pim when he came on by (he was getting good at walking and taking care of George) and on occasion Harris as well, who despite his friendly attitude still made his disappointment quite clear when I told him how I hadn’t found any pillows on my journey past the shallow swamp. Or that I wasn’t paying with my soul.

The wolf I only ever saw glimpse of, slinking out of darkness, throwing a beast’s carcass on the floor and then retreating from the low hubbub of people again. I wasn’t quite well enough to start getting up and while I wanted to ask him what he was up to, who the pretty lady was that I saw once after waking up and a myriad of other questions, I couldn’t help but get the impression that he was avoiding me on purpose.