Morning was always the same. Wake up, stretch, try to ignore how stiff my back was from sleeping on a straw mattress that had long since lost its fluff. The chill of dawn clung to my skin as I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The tiny room I called home was barely big enough to stand in without feeling like the walls were pressing in. A rickety wooden chair, a small table with a chipped plate on it, and a battered trunk in the corner were the only things that made up my 'living space.' Cozy, right?

I ran a hand through my messy, tangled hair, sighing at the state of it. Not that it mattered. The villagers didn’t expect much from me, anyway. I threw on my usual outfit—worn-out tunic, patched trousers, and boots that had seen better days—before heading outside.

The moment I stepped into the village square, the trouble started. A group of kids—same ones as always—were waiting. They weren’t much younger than me, but their clothes were cleaner, their faces free of the dirt that always seemed to cling to mine no matter how much I washed.

"Hey, rat girl!" one of them called out. A boy, with a smirk too wide for his face.

I sighed. "Not today."

"What’s the matter? Gonna run off and eat garbage again?" another one sneered, nudging his friend.

"Like you even have anything better to eat," I shot back, though I immediately regretted it. Talking back only made them more interested.

Before they could say anything else, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Oi! Stop picking on her and get back to work!" It was the butcher's wife, arms crossed, scowling at the kids. They groaned and scattered, leaving me alone. I shot her a grateful look before hurrying off.

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I had an errand to run. Old Man Harrod had asked me to fetch something from the herbalist’s hut on the edge of the village. It wasn’t much of a task, but it got me out of town for a bit, which was always a relief.

The forest path was peaceful, lined with thick trees and bushes, the kind of place where you could almost pretend the village didn’t exist. Birds chirped, and a slight breeze rustled the leaves, making everything feel... calm. If I could, I’d stay out here all day.

But as I neared the herbalist’s hut, something felt... off. A strange smell, like burning wood, tickled my nose. Then, distant shouting. My stomach twisted.

I turned back towards the village, and my breath caught in my throat. Smoke. Thick, black plumes rising into the sky.

Panic kicked in. I ran, feet pounding against the dirt path, heart hammering in my chest. By the time I reached the edge of the village, I could hear it—screams, clashing metal, the unmistakable sounds of battle.

The village was under attack.

Ogres and humans, fighting side by side. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Ogres hated humans. They barely tolerated each other, let alone worked together. But there they were, tearing through the village like a storm. Homes burned, people ran, and the air was thick with smoke and terror.

Then I saw him—one of the villagers, trapped beneath the broken beams of his home. I knew him. He’d never been kind to me. If anything, he was one of the many who spat at my feet and called me a nuisance.

But I couldn’t just let him die.

I grabbed a stick—barely more than a fallen branch—and ran at the ogre looming over him. I don’t know what I was thinking. That I could actually do something? That bravery was enough?

The ogre turned, and in one swift motion, sent me flying. I slammed into the side of a house, pain exploding through my ribs. My vision blurred, but I forced myself to move. The villager was scrambling away, leaving me behind.

Coward.

The ogre loomed over me now, its massive club raised. I barely had time to roll to the side before it came crashing down, the ground shaking from the impact. My whole body ached, but I scrambled to my feet, gasping.

The last thing I saw was the ogre’s fist swinging toward me before everything went black.