Finally reaching the far end of the dormitory hall, I take a deep breath, savoring my final moments of freedom, before swinging the large slab of oak open, revealing the chaos that is bunk room number five.

Socks, underwear, knives, and mud coat the cold cement floor, the mess of objects only growing worse with each day. The room is large, but not large enough to distribute the constant smell of sweaty men and bloody infected wounds. Not large enough to fit all of us, either.

The room is simple, bland even. Composed wholly of rows of bunk beds, roughly 40 bunks in total. Some of the bunks are broken at the top, leaving only jagged metal bars and snapped wooden support beams in their place. But all of them start out bare, leaving us to fend for ourselves when it comes to comfortability. Though any type of bed is better than the kids forced to sleep under the rickety, questionably secure, bunks, the only remaining room with how cramped the dormitories have become in the last few years.

The sleeping arrangements here are a strict first come first serve basis, nobody is guaranteed a bed for the night. At least, not until you earn it. Once you make a name for yourself, once you prove that you ought not to be messed with, securing a bed is much easier. Gods help the newbies and the weak

Finally finding my way through the maze of scattered belongings, I hoist myself up onto the bed I’ve slept in for about seven years now. It took me a while, and a lot of broken bones, but after two gruesome years of being stepped on and provoked, I secured myself a top bunk. It was rather good timing, too. For that was about the age I got boobs. Things got…interesting around then. But hey, the past is the past, and besides, I’m the one who came out with the bed. Those dipshits just ended up in the mass tomb beneath the prison we call home. A wins a win.

Drenched and battered boys begin to stream into the room, their obnoxious chatter and boisterous laughter filling the air and my head like smoke, giving me a headache and pissing me off simultaneously. Unfortunately for me and my sanity, it seems that today’s blood spilling is done. At least for now. Only the Mother knows what will happen under the Moon’s cover.

Many of the ogres file into the communal bathroom, the rusted and broken showers streaming water as cold as glacier runoff so loudly that I can hear it from the other side of the room. And even though those showers could give you numerous incurable diseases by simply looking at them, I envy the fact that the boys can do it without having to worry.

Releasing a self pitying sigh, I at last reach down to loosen the laces of my worn out boots. I’d kill for a new pair of shoes, but it’s a bit hard to come by a woman's eight when everyone here wears at least three sizes bigger than me. Though I can admit, it’s a better fate than the boys who’ve had to cut holes at the ends of their shoes after long past outgrowing them.

What I don’t loosen are my blades. You couldn’t pay me to go anywhere here without them. Daggers and knives are fun and easy, but I do relish a sword. Preferably a smallsword. One that is both agile and quick, but has enough of a bite to cut someone in two. I can use any type of sword with ease, but the heavier ones aren’t quite as fun, and admittedly, far more tiring.

Shoving my hand into the burlap sack that rests atop my mattress of hay, my eyes catch on the deep black markings that spiral up my arm. The odd swirls and spots have always been a curiosity of mine. I was the only one in the family who had them.

Oddly, they look exactly like stars, the Sun, and the Moon, a light shadow trail connecting each and every speck of the peculiar markings. The Sun sits on the back of my left shoulder, the Moon just below the crease of my elbow, and the stars lay everywhere in between.

Starting at the very tips of my fingers, the marks wind their way up my body in brushes of shadows and stars. When they get to my shoulder, they split across both my chest and back, swooping down my body like a wave of night. The marks only stop at the ends of my toes, the swirls of elegant black stars swishing and glimmering in near real life accuracy, having curled from my back to wind their way down my left leg.

I have never learned why they are the way they are. Or why they look so much like the solar system above. They just…are. But the mysterious pattern is not the only reason I’m so intrigued by them. The markings at times will radiate emotion. And not ones that come from myself. There have been many times where I’ll be sleeping and suddenly awoken by a sharp sting of frustration, of pain. The feelings are always different from my own, it’s hard to describe how, but I know that whatever they are, they are from some place far from here.

Shaking my thoughts from the markings, I dig through the bottom of my sack. The great thing about this truly terrible blanket is that it doubles as storage space. To be clear, I don’t have much to store. Just my only remaining box of cigs, a book from my Mother, and some extra knives I’ve taken from the boys over the years. But my lack of possessions is fine by me. You don’t want a lot. Not when it’ll put a target on your back.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Wiggling into the burlap sack, I grasp the edge of my weathered, leather bound book. Which, arguably, is my most important possession. This book is the only thing I have from my life before this cesspit. The only reminder I have that not all of my life has been lost. Or perhaps it’s a reminder that so much has been lost. Regardless, I suppose I’m lucky that these brutes had no interest in books the first day they shook me down of all my belongings.

Running my finger over the worn out letters painted in gold on the cover, I look at the familiar title of my most favorite book from childhood.

Legends and Tales of Hythalla

A Collected History by Durvania Lethriesha

I’ve always been fascinated with myths and tales. The gallant heroes and treacherous villains, the wild adventures, their triumph, defeat, the power, corruption. But most importantly, the beings. The creatures. Good, evil, both or neither, they have always been my favorite. I used to spend hours looking through the detailed chapters of this book. I would bring the worn out tales with me everywhere, memorizing every little detail of each being. I know each and every one by heart.

My Mom nurtured this, always finding ways to keep my curiosities growing. When I had memorized the entire book and begged for more, she would tell me stories herself far past my bedtime. I would sit with her at our dining table as she cooked dinners, enthusiastically asking her questions about each creature I didn’t quite understand. She even made me handmade dolls and a gorgeous mural of my most favorite beings.

I never knew where she got the book from, nobody else has even heard of it. I used to wonder if she made it all up for me, fueling my passion with handwritten tales and beautifully done artwork that only I would truly appreciate. But something deeper in my soul told me they were more than that. That they were history. Be it from this world or another.

It turns out I was right. And while I spent my entire life dreaming that these creatures would become real, I never would have guessed that my dreams would soon turn to nightmares, ones that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Shaking off the chill that runs through my body at the memory, I open the cover and flip to the first chapter, one of my favorites. Or, it was one of my favorites…it’s hard to decide how I feel about the memories this book brings.

So, as I do nearly every night, my only hope in blocking out the world and boys beyond, I again read the timeless tale.

⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Mother Earthila

Long before our world came to be, the Sun and the Moon were in an eternal dance of love. Though meeting the other in the flesh was forbidden for both of our ancient Gods, their affection strung true for many millennia.

From the moment the two lovers first saw each other, they fell into a waltz, forever orbiting around one another, forever desperate to one day meet. Their love grew and grew with each passing day, despite the obstacles between them. And after an unimaginable number of years, they at long last made a plan to sneak away to meet one another.

For just one day, they decided to break free of their lands, to leave their people. For just one day, they would allow themselves what they had been forbidden to do for millenia.

Their first embrace sent a wave of power so strong that it was felt in even the furthest corners of the universe. And from that love, when their time began to dwindle, they were blessed with a child. A daughter they named Earthila, in honor of the life they created from their love.

The small, astral girl resembled both the Sun and Moon, as she had hair as white as her Fathers, and skin dark as her Mothers, her eyes the perfect blend between the amber and onyx of her adoring parents. But Earthila was not only a child of the Sun and Moon, she was also gifted with a great and many powers that would bring life and joy to all those around her. But the joy could not last forever, for soon, the Sun and Moon became desperate. What would happen to their daughter, where would their child call home?

With just a few precious minutes remaining, they created a new world for their beloved child. One made of rock, a blank canvas for her to mold into precisely what she wished it to be. With the final minutes before they had to return to their duties, they brought the young Solar Princess to her new home. Her new world. And when they placed her on the ground, life began to pour out around her, coating her entire planet, her entire being, in her wondrous gifts and wishes.

The barren rock became coated in a lush green, with tall trees and forever flowering bushes. The dry ground was woven with rivers, lakes, and never ending oceans. The flat plains were piled high with mountains and hills, turning the distance into a beautiful playground all for Earthila. The Sun and Moon became overjoyed, their only child would have an oasis to grow up in. She would be as safe as can be.

And when it was at last time to return to their cosmic bodies, the Moon altered her dance, pairing herself with her daughter. The Sun was unable to stay close to his beloved child, forever just out of reach, but he too found ways to look over her as she grew. It is said that they would speak each day, despite their physical distance, they always found a way. And so, the family continued their dance of love, forever watching over one another, forever awaiting the day they may meet again.