Tristan

If someone had asked Tristan which window in the house was his favorite, he’d have to say it was the one by his bed, the one that overlooked the fire at the center of Frostwood so far away down the hill.

He used to watch the birds as they flew over the village and stared at the flap of their wings as he wondered how it was they worked. He’d asked Marcella about it once and she gave him one of her books about all the animals native to the continent. Tristan studied the diagrams of the anatomies of various birds until his head throbbed with the mechanics behind it. It was one of the very few times he envied Mari, but she was more than happy to explain the physics to him in a surprisingly understandable manner.

So now he just watched the birds and wondered if he could spontaneously grow a pair of wings like them and fly away. He hadn’t bothered asking Mari that one.

His room had originally been a spare used for storage, but once Tristan became old enough to venture round the house looking for something of interest, he was dismayed to find that his parents small cottage was anything but- with the exception of the small, dusty window in the corner of the storage room.

Tristan began to spend his days staring out into the distance, and it wasn’t long before his old room became used for storage instead. He had to squint to really see the people that passed by, bread and children his age in hand.

How many days had he spent begging his mother to let him into the village for even just a few hours? Of course, he was in the village as she would tell him, but the empty grass between his house and that campfire seemed enormously vast to a small boy.

He may had grown, but the distance remained endless.

All he could do was sit on his bed and stare out the window, or sit beside the chickens they kept behind the house with a small plot of potatoes. That’s all Tristan’s world was: feeding chickens and picking potatoes. And even that was somewhat of a rare occurrence, his mother would usually cast a nervous glance outside if too many people were passing by on the way to the markets and say it was too dangerous.

And if it was after dusk? Forget about it. At least his mother wasn’t the only one who followed the asinine law. Every time he’d look out that window at night, only the occasional soldier could be seen.

Dangerous. If Tristan had a shilling for every time he heard the word, he’d be rich enough to buy a castle in Rhovandy and spend the rest of his days on glorious adventures. He’d be the first to sail to the very edge of the sea, the first to explore the shadowlands and return to tell it.

He’d had lots of time to think it through, being stuck inside and all, and he’d always imagined precisely what his life would be like- will be like, once he signed up for the army on his sixteenth birthday.

Tonight.

He had it all planned: he wouldn’t tell his mother until he’d signed up, which he would do by sneaking out after dusk and running to the recruitment stand right next to the fire, the fire he’d waited his entire life to reach, and begging the soldier stationed there to let him join. He would’t leave until he got a yes.

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The plan was risky. The soldier always stayed five minutes after dusk- he had two minutes to get there or else he’d have to wait a whole week during the holidays, the one period of time the recruitment stand was empty. If his mother caught him, she’d never let him out of her sight.

The stakes were high, and the sun was setting.

As if on cue, the door opened. “Hey,” his mother said softly, peeking her head in. She was working the fields again and he’d barely seen her. Just like every day. “I can’t believe you turn sixteen in just a few minutes, are you sure you don’t want your birthday dinner before I go?”

“Yeah, I’m not hungry. You can go on.” Besides, his birthday celebrations consisted of the three of them sitting at the same table eating the same potatoes as they did day in and out, the only difference being that he would blow out a candle and make a wish. Since he was making the same wish he’d made every year finally come true, he wasn’t missing much.

She smiled. “If you say so. Have you taken your medication yet? I left it downstairs for you in the morning.”

“Sure did,” Tristan lied, making a mental note to grab it on his way out.

“Alright, then. Goodnight, honey.”

She closed his door and Tristan listened to her footsteps fade away as she descended the stairs and left, the creak of the front door echoing in his ears. She was out to sell her hand-woven baskets in a more affluent village nearby and wouldn’t be back until just before sunset tomorrow. The coast was clear.

Nobody in Lysia, except for soldiers, was allowed outside after sunset. After shoving that rule into his head over and over again his entire life, his mother was breaking it today.

This winter is rumored to be the worst one in years and the eggs haven’t been selling well, she’d said. I have no choice.

Neither did he.

He slowly reopened his door and stepped out into the small hall, shutting it behind him. Creeping down the wooden stairs and cringing every time the floor squeaked, Tristan let out a sigh of relief once he’d finally made it downstairs. Now all he had to do was get outside and-

“What are you doing?”

Of course.

“Uh, just wanted to grab an evening snack,” Tristan said casually.

Marcella raised a brow over the book she was apparently reading at the kitchen table, glancing from him to the front door. It shocked Tristan just how much they looked alike, with identical golden blonde hair and amber eyes. Even their features- from the way their eyes slinked downwards like a puppy’s to how their lips puffed out to glimmer with the same rosy pink that tinged their deathly pale cheeks and nose. Only it made Mari look too beautiful to be human and him too innocent to be a soldier. His mother was also beautiful, though they resembled her very little. He didn’t remember what his father looked like, but Tristan often wondered if they took after him. “Mom said you weren’t hungry. What’s going on?”

“Just keep reading your book, Mari, I’ll be out for a second.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? You can’t go out at night, you’ll get sick!”

“Keep it down!” Tristan hushed, looking out the parlor window to make sure his mother was gone. “And it technically isn’t night yet, I’ll be back before then.”

“Where are you even going?”

“Why can’t you mind your own business?”

“If you’re killed by vampires, mom’s sadness will be my business.”

Tristan groaned. “Not you too.” There were many whispers of what lied beyond the human kingdom, especially in regards to what sort of monsters wandered the shadowlands just over the wall.

It was all made up to Tristan, just a story told to children so they would behave.

But part of him wished they were real, that way he could travel around the world and hunt them down- bringing their heads to the royal family so he could be crowned a noble and have too much land to know what to do with. Girls probably liked that sort of thing.

He could even be the first to go to the shadowlands themselves, ending the rumors of what creatures roamed the wilderness out there once and for all.

Regardless, Marcella pointed to the title of her book: Ancient creatures of Lysia. “They’re real, why else is everyone so adamant about not going out at night? Even mom-“

“Don’t tell me you take anything mom says seriously,” Tristan said, shuffling from one leg to another as if he had to pee. “I don’t have time for this.”

Without pausing to hear Marcella’s reply, he opened the door and ran into the darkness.