Upon arriving at the woods, I noticed more than a dozen men and women working. Why is the thrill of being a wanted person so much sweeter than the “safety” of being trapped while trying to survive a crisis? Through the tree leaves the stars shone bright that night. Alas, they were unable to help me sleep for more than a few minutes before waking up sweaty from another nightmare. Why am I overtaken with delight by the memory of his blood spilled everywhere?

The following days were filled with the smell of hospitality pouring out from every corner of the settlement. The smell of warm drinks and hot food overwhelmed the woods, as Mother oversaw every station, her eyes providing comfort and warmth that could destroy the despair of being alive in our era. Every beautiful, calm morning gave its place to terrifying nights filled with nightmares. Getting whipped to death by Morgum officials, being haunted by the ghost of the bastard I killed before setting myself free.

I was drowning in a pool of blood pouring out of his throat and his twisted laugh made me wake up screaming. Drowned in guilt, wondering if this man had a wife and children. How would his family survive? Did any of the maggots that were serving him cry for his loss? None could escape the misery of our times. Even those who sided with the empire lived their own drama, carried their personal weights, and had their own nightmares. No one was happy.

The first two weeks at the settlement flew past me as I took upon the role of the cook. I managed to keep a big group of people well fed, using the few things at my disposal. My father taught me that it doesn’t matter what you eat, but who cooked it. I made sure even the soups I made were tasty. Seeing people relax after a hard day’s work and enjoying my food offered me the calmness I was looking for. I had found my new family, the caravans. I hadn’t heard my name for a long time. Everyone called me “The Cook” and that made me happy.

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I left my past behind me and looked ahead. For years I was the stupid one of the team. Every single night back at the Morgum inn the soldiers made sure they reminded me I was inferior to them. These maggots spent their time harassing children, raping women, and burning down homes. I was definitely in a better place, but I couldn’t imagine there was more.

Never it had crossed my mind up until then that I was about to meet someone who would not only erase my guilt but would teach me how to channel my hatred for those who killed my parents. My mother took her own life a few months after the empire declared its control over our land. She took her wedding sheets and hanged herself in the cellar of our house, leaving behind a medallion for me. Her only child. The night she set herself free my father’s soul was shattered.

A few weeks later I found him dead in his room. A wise man told me he lost his mind, couldn’t bare the sadness of losing the love of his life. I found him lying on his bed, his eyes stretched, and his mouth crooked. All these haunting memories would become a distant past thanks to the bravest warrior I’ve met in my life. He would help me escape the swamp of my thoughts, showing me how to destroy as many empire scum as I could before I died. I should have expected that war was the only solution to my problems.

Mother once told me that my eyes and my heart cannot be contained inside a kitchen. I didn’t believe her at first. I thought she was telling me what I wanted to hear, like every mother does for her children. Luckily for me, she was right. She could probe in my mind deeper than I could ever do in 60 years. As expected, the needs of the caravan people didn’t allow me to meet Ogre from the first day. But even that could have been how fate had it in its books for me.