Despite the smell of dust that pervaded the room, the sheets so thin a stray wind would be able to blow them a good distance away, the mattress so hard that calling it a block of wood would be an apt comparison to make, and the pillow so lumpy it was akin to a patch of flesh on which every square inch was covered with great, big, pus-filled boils, I would still describe the sleep I had gotten as divine.

I couldn't even remember the last time I had slept in a proper bed. Comfort wasn't a high priority for my masters when I was still a slave labor, or for the higher ups in the Baron’s army.

I woke up to pitch black darkness.

At first assuming I had died and went to the afterlife, I attempted to stretch my arms into the air, only to immediately wince in pain. Nowhere in the Old Codex did it say that pain still existed after death, with the book even explicitly stating the opposite. As such, I immediately ruled out my having died, confirming that the earlier in the day’s events of the cook washing my body in the kitchen and being taken to the servants’ sleeping quarters weren't just the hallucinations of a boy dying alone on the battlefield.

Suddenly remembering how I acted in my last moments before unconsciousness, I could feel my cheeks begin to burn up.

As the events of the previous day becoming clearer, both the good and the bad, my body began to sweat.

I forcibly calmed my breathing, but even still, yesterday's events played endlessly in my mind. From how the great star fell onto a different regiment, to Captain June being skewered by a dozen bone spears, to how I had stabbed that tribesmen in the neck.

Suddenly, in the corner of the room, I noticed it.

It's teeth glinted in the little light that was in the room, and as I noticed it's presence, it turned it's head to meet my gaze, before it's mouth distorted, morphing into a malevolent grin. Instinctually, I knew, the shadow was there to kill me.

I broke out into a cold sweat, and closed my eyes, attempting to deny the reality before me.

Eventually, mustering enough courage to confront the creature, I forced myself, and snuck a glance at the corner of the room, but nothing was there.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I hopped off of the bed, finding a pair of worn leather shoes someone, likely the cook, had left.

Smiling in quiet appreciation, I opened the wooden door of the sleeping quarters, before turning back one final time to confirm that it was actually gone.

I started to limp down the castle’s hallways to give my thanks to the cook, but as I did so, I noticed just how empty the castle had become.

Not only was the castle supposed to be warm this time of day from the central heating system, I also used to always spot workers pacing the hallways. But even having walked for over a minute, I saw no men, heard no voices, and detected no trace of human life.

I felt a shiver run down my spine, one part from the cold, nine parts unrelated.

No, I feared the prospect of running into a ghost.

Remembering the blood-curdling tales father told me of intrepid wanderers seeking shelter in old abandoned castles, only for them to run afoul of whatever spirit wandered their halls, and as a result, end up nailed to a dining table, spread eagle, bits of their skin peeled off, their ribs broken off, and their entrails wrapped around and choking their neck.

I shuddered at the thought, and began to move faster, almost reaching a sprint by the time I finally found the cook.

Bundled up and sitting on a wooden chair, she looked out into the courtyard illuminated by the midday sun, listening to the guardsmen arguing. Noticing me, she waved, gesturing for me to come near.

“Hey,” she warmly greeted, “Sleep well?”

But, I was already engrossed in the guards’ yelling, and didn’t respond.

“-elling you, I’m leaving either way,” the previously unwashed, now washed young soldier yelled.

“Let me reiterate, what you are threatening to commit is treason,” the head guard calmly replied, “You are a soldier under Baron Elef’s empl-”

Waving her hand back and forth in front of me, the cook repeated, “Sleep well?”

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Finally registering her words, I quietly nodded, my long locks moving with my head, flapping up and down, and subtly wafting the scent of soap into the air.

Redirecting my attention back to the guards, I sat beside her on the bench.

“What are you talking about?” The washed man angrily questioned, “The war’s over. The captain, the lieutenant, the regiment, all dead. Fuck,” he roared, waving his hand in the cook’s direction, “Even most of the help has left, so why can’t I leave?”

“Because,” the head guard stated, his tone now slightly foreboding, “Not only did you sign the contract given to all soldiers of the Baron that explicitly stated you are unable to leave before the completion of your service, you have also already prematurely spent your next three years of salary.”

Silently fuming, face starting to take on a slight reddish tinge, though mostly around his cheeks and nose, the unwashed man suddenly pointed accusingly at me,

“What about that little bastard?” He desperately asked, “You’ve not said a word about the little slave whelp.”

Enraged, I stood up.

Apathetic to the man’s outburst, the head guard calmly replied, “Sol has not show any intent to desert, and if he does, I will treat him with the same attitude as I do you.”

At his words, I was reminded that I was owned by the Baron, and that although I was experienced, I was still a slave at the end of the day. Devastated, I slumped back down, becoming noticeably disconcerted as I restlessly bounced my right knee up and down.

“That’s bullshit,” the unwashed man screamed, turning back to me, before the cook blocked him from view with her body.

“Come, I need to talk with you,” she warmly informed me with a smile.

I absentmindedly followed her into the castle, still overwhelmed, and struggling to process the prospect of returning to battle in the near future.

Eventually, I found myself in the kitchen once again, but different from all previous visits, the once always roaring fires that illuminated and caused the room to be swelteringly hot during the day were now snuffed out, and it was now as dark and cold as the rest of the castle.

Setting the candle tray she was holding down onto a counter, the cook turned back, smiling sadly.

I shivered, but I didn't do anything to warm myself up, too preoccupied with my own thoughts to care. Distressed, I gnawed on my thumb, my shivering growing more and more intense.

Suddenly feeling myself being wrapped up, I looked up in surprise at the cook, wearing one less layer, as she forced my hand away from my mouth.

“What do you plan to do after this?” she asked.

My mouth hung open, as if I had formulated a response, but changed my mind midway through.

“You heard the man,” I bitterly smiled, before becoming more serious, “I'll be fine. Just a couple more years-”

“Come stay with me,” the cook interrupted.

Staring at her, as if trying to uncover any falsehood in her words from her face, “What do you mean?” I asked.

“What do you think I mean?” the cook teasingly rebutted, “I have a little house in Frosthelm that you can stay.”

“But I’m a slave.”

“Then we’ll sneak out at night. I’m not a soldier, so I can one-sidedly end my contract. After I get my pay for the past year I’ve worked, we’ll leave immediately,” she explained, “They’ll have bigger problems to worry about than one runaway slave anyways.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, choking up.

The cook nodded in confirmation, and opened her mouth to continue to speak, when I suddenly rushed at and embraced her, stopping whatever words she was about to say from leaving her mouth.

Smiling, she gently ran her fingers through my hair.

As I hugged the cook, I could feel just how thin, and borderline emaciated her body was.

I remembered the nameless lieutenant, who in the last moments of her life, died alone, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“What’s your name?” I point blankly asked, my words muffled from my speaking into her waist.

Sighing in mock exasperation, the cook separated from me, kneeled down, and smiled,

“Aurelia, my name is Aurelia.”

***

“Wait here, I’ll go get the money, then we’ll leave, ok?” Aurelia asked.

Seeing me nod in response, Aurelia left to go meet the highest ranking officer still alive in the company, the head guard.

I quietly breathed in the crisp winter air, my throat slightly going numb in the process.

Eventually, growing bored with just standing still doing nothing, I began to wander around the castle’s outside.

Each and every square inch of this castle was stained by my memories, some of them pleasant, most of them horrible, but none I would ever willingly revisit. Even the few moments I enjoyed, I enjoyed with the lieutenant, and they had been tinged by melancholy.

A blunt pain started to radiate from my chest the moment I remembered her.

No matter what I tried, whether it be stopping to rest, or thinking of my future life in Aurelia's care, the pain only seemed to grow, until I could hardly even breathe, and in desperation to make it stop, I started to run as fast as I could, ignoring the pains that radiated from my entire body.

To where, I did not know, but if I were to slow, I felt as if I would die from the pain.

Coming to a stop from exhaustion, though pain slightly lessening, the faint scent of horse shit entered my nose.

Following the smell, I came upon the empty stables, housing a lone white horse, the horse I had ridden to escape from the enemy.

I could see it's eyes were wet, as if it had been crying. It's feeding trough was still full, despite it's stomach being visibly sunken in.

I walked up to the horse, and touched it's body, it's muscles tense to the touch.

Slowly, I stroked the horse's nose, but it remained unresponsive.

Turning away, I began to walk back.

I no longer felt the joy that seemed to be never ending when Aurelia said she would take me in.

All that remained was a pit in my stomach, and a hole in my heart.