I’m standing on a dimly lit street. The sky over my head overcast. Dark clouds roiling through the sky. Raindrops are drumming down on me, soaking through my t-shirt. The streetlights lining the concrete road flicker in a steady rhythm. The air is thick with the scent of dust. Like a musty old attic that hasn't been cleaned since it’s owner passed away.

I pull my damp hair back from my face, and squint into the darkness. The smell is entirely out of place for a rainy day, and it not so subtly sets me on edge. Besides the street, there is nothing. I can make out a vague shape of grass beyond the pavement, but then it’s just void, as if the shadows have come to life and devoured everything. A glance back tells me the road similarly vanishes there. The only way is forward.

I warily shuffle along the road, the sound of my shoes splashing in puddles breaks the silence, echoing against the oppressive stillness that surrounds me. A chill crawls up my spine, a shiver that has little to do with the cold rain soaking into my skin.

As I move deeper into the suffocating darkness, a thought starts to take form. Where is everyone? Has everyone left me? Willem? Johan? Mum? Dad? I mouth the names, but hardly any sound comes past my lips. Saying them once makes remembering easier somehow, and I frantically look around, shouting their names into the gloom.

The echoes of my voice dissipate into the thick air, swallowed by the shadows. The lack of response is almost mocking somehow, as if the world laughs at my inability to reach them. Panic begins to bubble within me, turning my stumble into a run. I have to find them!

I rush forward, but suddenly something flashes out of the shadows in front of me and my legs go out from under me, blocked by something heavy and soft. I can’t throw out my hands quickly enough, and my nose smacks into the concrete. Blood pours down my face, as I work myself back upright.

What the fuck was that?

I turn back to the thing still on the road, and inhale sharply. No. No… NO!

My path leads on, as I briskly move onwards, but the streetlights all flicker in the same pattern once, and a shape resolves out of the gloom. In exactly the place it was earlier. I ignore it. It’ll go away if I leave it behind me. I step over the thing and move on.

But soon, there it is again. A deep rumbling piano chord plays through my mind. My vision melts into a point, and expands outward again, encompassing the same scene, but instead staring down at myself. Standing there, soaked in my t-shirt, looking at the body.

The clouds suddenly come boiling in, down, and onto the body in front of me. Pouring in through every orifice, until it seems as if if the body should explode from the sheer volume. Suddenly I look through my own eyes again, and stare into the malevolent eyes of the bandit I killed. His neck is a ruin in which a single shard is lodged.

The mouth turns into a rictus grin that tears all kinds of things loose by it’s movement. And gravity inverts as I fall into it, swallowed by the void. I scream, but as before, my voice doesn’t reach beyond the gloom. Only I hear myself screaming.

I drop back on the pavement. The body is gone. The clouds are gone. The road, and the flickering lights, are still there. I remember my original goal, and go to push myself up, only to find the pavement stained with blood after I do so. My hands are covered with viscous red blood, dripping down onto the pavement, no matter how much rain falls, it never seems to wash my hands clean.

I desperately rub my hands on my pants, but it doesn’t help at all. I look at them in terror, but there’s no escape. I take off again.

Suddenly, from one step to the next, the world is inverted, and I feel gravity take hold of me as I fall into the void, straight down into the rain that is now coming from below.

There, I see a line resolving out of the darkness, red tiles, and large windows growing bigger as I barrel down towards them. My house? No, my parents? As I get closer, I find myself wanting to get away from there, but the pull is relentless, dragging me down towards nr 28, as I was certain it would.

I find it hard to look away right until the moment of impact, but as soon as I hit the roof window, expecting to shatter into a thousand pieces. I swirl through it, passing throught first the top floor, drifting past my childhood bedroom, memories flickering like dying embers, then slide through the first floor and the bathroom before spiraling down the stairs into the living room, where I find myself sitting on the old sofa, staring at my brothers and parents.

I desperately shove my blood-soaked hands behind me, underneath me, anywhere they can't spot them. But as I do, I realize that my t-shirt is gone—no wet fabric or anything. My clothes have vanished, and I’m covered in all the blood and nastiness that has clung to me since I came to this godforsaken world.

I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate. Not them! Not… I shut my eyes, stare at the floor, look anywhere but at them. But my eyes are open, not shut, and there’s my mother, my father. They’re speechless. Willem looks repulsed. Johan’s frowning. My head feels like it’s stuck in place as their faces shift from fear to disgust to sheer horror.

My mom begins to rise, her hands stretching out for me, but Dad yanks her back, his grip firm and unyielding. Willem and Johan surge forward, their bodies forming a barrier between us, as if I’m some sort of beast that threatens her safety. Can’t they grasp that I’m still the same person? “It’s me! It’s Emma!” I scream, desperation clawing at my throat. I search their eyes for recognition, for understanding—only to find nothing but dread staring back.

I jump up, rush out of the house, the back door is right there. Locked, but unlocking this door is second nature. As I swing it open, I suddenly hear a gasp and rattle behind me, and I spin, almost tearing my body apart in my haste to look back, terror clawing at my insides, an awful foreboding filling my mind.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Willem, Johan, mom, dad. Mom’s head is gone, a crossbow bolt through her face, Dad is pinned to the sofa by another. Willem lies torn apart on the floor, and Johan gasps out his last breath with a spear lodged in his gut, looking at me in shock, blood pooling around him on the floor.

I rush towards them, but they all turn to dust before I can take a single step. Then the house is gone, and the rain crashes down around me. It engulfs me as I scream into the sky in fury.

I stagger backward, my heart pounding in my chest, the echoes of their faces haunting the edges of my vision as I get swallowed by the darkness.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

“Em!” Willem’s voice.

“It’ll be ok Em. Don’t cry.” Johan.

“You’ll always be my little girl!" Mom.

A snort. Dad.

My eyes open, and for a moment I’m disoriented by the wooden roof above my head. The first rays of dawn sneak through the gaps all around. The air is thick with the scent of fresh hay and the earthy musk of animals. I was just home wasn’t I? The memory of the dream —or was it a nightmare?— fades quickly. As they fade, reality comes crashing back.

God I hope it was a good dream. That snort at the end, that was dad. Like every time I hurt myself and everyone was fussing over me. He’d snort like that. Like he found the whole thing endlessly amusing because he knew how quickly I’d be back on my feet. Off to the next tree to climb, the next story to dive into, the next adventure waiting for me.

But if it was a nice dream, why are my eyes all teary, and why do I still feel like I’m about to break down in tears? I sob, the sound escaping before I can catch myself. Oh god, I miss them.

As if that admission gives me breaks me out of my reverie, suddenly I truly notice my surroundings. If this isn’t home, then where the hell am I?

Yes, yes, different world, that part I remember. There was… stumbling through the dark. That’s right, I’d just… killed a man, found absolutely no clues on where the caravan was headed. Finally buried those guys, and then… I ended up here somehow. I know I was exhausted, but this is worse than I expected. I can’t for the life of me remember anything since stumbling out of that forsaken clearing.

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I give up on thinking about it for a while, closing my eyes, and instead savoring the lingering memories of my family’s words.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

Eventually I have to force myself back to reality though, and I slowly push myself up. Crap, I went to sleep complely covered in filth. At least my clothes, which are awkwardly stuffed in my pack, are still relatively clean. I’ll only have to wash myself this time.

There’s a foul taste in my mouth, and I realize that in all my time here, I’ve never once thought about brushing my teeth. I guess it doesn’t get too bad if you’re not eating so much unhealthy shit? It’s certainly bad now though. Guess related to the dream? Though I’d have a hard time saying why exactly your mouth tastes like shit, it’s something I’ve experienced before even before coming here.

I’m lying on a little hayloft, right on the lip. It’s pretty empty, containing only a sparse assortment of bundles of hay tied together. The rest of the surface speaks to a large volume having been here before though, with scattered hay everywhere. You could fit four people here easily now, if they weren’t too bothered by lying directly on the rough planks that make up the floor. It’s clear nobody took much care how the planks were put down, as long as they covered most of the surface. Though I’m kind of surprised there’s something like this in the first place. Someone went out of their way to add this extra floor to a barn.

I glance over the edge and find myself surrounded by a variety of animals. There’s a cow, a bunch of what I assume are pigs —though they’re incredibly ugly— and chickens. Most of them still peacefully sleeping. The light that pierces through the holes between beams apparently not enough to wake them. I wonder what time it is. One of the pigs is wandering around. It’s a smaller specimen, maybe slightly bigger than a house cat, sticking its snout in the hay that’s lying on the floor and desperately shaking it back and forth. Like it lost something important and is trying to find it.

Maybe I better get out of here before anyone wakes up and comes to check the animals, or to milk that cow.

I have a moment of indecision where I wonder if I should put on the clothes or not. All the nasty is dried up, and it’s clear that wearing something will make me look a lot less suspicious. In the end I decide that getting my clothes a bit dirty again is worth it. I grimace at that thought. When did smearing my clothes with blood become only a ‘bit’ dirty. I hurriedly change, fastening my belt and letting my sword hang where it usually does.

Having done that, I realize that I haven’t actually checked any of the things that hang from the belt beyond the sword. They never seemed important compared to that. There’s three other pouches on the belt, one of which I stuff the stone tip of my broken spear in. Another has a bunch of odds and ends that I can’t really identify, little strips of leather and metal, presumably things that come in handy to a bandit. The last pouch is empty, and I wonder what had been in it. The last thing that hangs from the belt is what I imagine is a waterskin, but it’s empty. I should really try to wash and refill that.

I throw my bag over my shoulder and make my way down the ladder leaning against the loft. I keep being baffled by the construction of things in this era. I It’s not that they’re complicated; it’s just impressive how much they accomplish with so little. They carve some flat edges out of branches, stick them together, and then tie them up with rope. There’s probably a fancy term for that kind of joint, but I’ve got no clue what it is. It does make for a surprisingly sturdy ladder though.

When I reach the bottom, the pig-like creature comes charging toward me, letting out adorable little oinks all the while, though it crashes into me with some force. Maybe it’s hungry? “Sorry little fella, I don’t have…,” then it hits me that I actually do have food. I've gotten so used to having nothing that I didn’t even think about sharing. Not with a pig, anyway. “… no food to offer you."

I gently nudge it aside and head back to the barn door. As I open it slowly, and look out to see what is there, I’m greeted with the sight of a little girl skipping toward the barn. She looks about five years old, dressed in a plain linen dress similar to mine, with straw-blonde hair that frames her round, cherubic face. I can't help but notice how vibrant and healthy everyone appears. The Middle Ages were supposed to be a time of hunger and hardship, but all these folks, even in Ronain's village, seem perfectly normal—healthy, even.

Her face shifts to one of astonishment, her mouth making a perfect O shape as she looks up at me. The bucket she was carrying plonks on the ground with a soft thud.

My shoulders tighten. How do I fix this mess? I put my finger to my lips and wink at her like we're in on a secret. I'm really glad I decided to wear my dress first; it covers up almost all the blood, and what little's left can easily be passed off as just some reddish dirt. Nice work, me.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite work as I had imagined, and the girl’s eyes narrow. "Cò thu?"

“Emma”, I say, as I fully open the door, and very slowly shuffle out of the barn. She’s only a few meters away, and I do not want to spook her prematurely, but I absolutely can’t stay inside the barn. I mean, I can push a little girl out of the way, but what if her father shows up? He’ll be a man, which is already basically a guarantee they’re stronger, but he’ll also spend his days working the fields, which drops the chances of me being able to beat them in a contest of strength to infinitesimal levels.

“Emma”? The little girl looks puzzled, even if she gets my name correct the first time around. She’s taking in my whole appearance, her eyes widening slightly when they see the sheathed sword.

I’m really going to have to consider whether I should keep that there or not. It just seems to scare people.

I try to placate here. “Caraid”, a friend. Well, really I just say the word “Friend” in the hope that she doesn’t notice the surrounding sentence is missing. That shouldn’t be all that uncommon for a five year old. I’ve now completely left the doorway, and let it close. I step out of her way, motioning for her to go right ahead with whatever she wanted with the barn.

Unfortunately, that damnable pig thing that was behind me has its own ideas, and it bursts out of the door right before it slams shut, blaring its weird oinks all over the farm. The girl and me both swivel towards the animal. For a moment, the pig thing can’t seem to decide where it wants to go, its head swinging between me and the girl, beady little eyes blinking.

It really is out for the food isn’t it?

It seems to make a decision, and rushes the girl. Or rather, the bucket the girl let drop. She lets out a most adorable squeak when she realizes what is happening, and immediately picks up the bucket. Which the pig thing jumps after. The girl keeps pulling it away, but even if she’s a lot bigger than the pig thing, it’s still big enough that she can’t quite get the bucket completely out of its reach, and it’s doesn’t show any signs of tiring of that game.

In a spare moment, she looks my way and shoots me a glare that I can only guess she perfected on her parents or someone. It's a huffy look that only a kid can pull off, as if all the unfairness in the world has just been dumped on her by—naturally—an adult.

I can’t help myself, and I burst out laughing. This is just too absurd. I went from being the suspicious stranger to ’that idiot that let the pig out’, and I guess that’s what I’ll be to her until that pig settles down. I’m almost tempted to help her, but this is a prime opportunity to get away.

I smile at her and take a step back slowly. The shocked look of betrayal on her face is just too precious.

Of course, karma is a bitch, and the door to the farm slams open. In it stands a hulk of a man, wearing what I assume are his underclothes. His chest is more hairy than I expected, but then, I don’t really have a broad range of comparison. And I know nothing about this world at all, maybe they’re all gorillas?

His voice is irritated, as he yells at her "Blair, dè tha a' dol air adhart anns a' diabhal?"

The girl turns to him, while still keeping the bucket out of reach of the pig. Her voice is indignant, as she points to me "Cha do rinn mi dad, leig an duine seo a-mach Gwennie!"

His gaze follows her finger, and when he sees me, his face morphs very rapidly from suspicion, to shock, to determination. There’s zero hesitation as he bursts out of the farmhouse, not towards me, but towards the girl.

That doesn’t stop me from scrambling back. The man looks like a freight train on a collision course. I might be dead before I even had a chance to pull the sword out if he barreled into me like that.

"Na gabh dragh, Blair, bheir do athair dìon dhut.” he shouts at his daughter as he’s running. The girl just looks... confused.

Right before he reaches her, he slows down just enough he doesn’t blast the girl away, and in one fell swoop, grabs both the pig and the girl, whose name I guess is Blair. She was clearly not prepared for all this, because the bucket she so carefully kept out of the pigs reach goes flying, spraying scraps of food everywhere. She almost looks like she’s going to cry, and I feel bad for her.

Only for a moment, because the man whirls on me. His gaze roams over my appearance, and the unbridled rage in his eyes sends a shiver of fear through me. The man thought I was going to hurt his daughter?! I’m halfway between frustrated and afraid. I want to run away, but something in me doesn’t want to let this stand.

Apparently he thinks better of whatever he was going to do and instead turns to run back to the farmhouse as quickly as he came. The pig and the girl under his arm.

Helpless, I stand there. Right before he enters the house I shout "Duine math, Blair.” hoping the girl at least will hear me. I must’ve really ruined her morning, and if nothing else, I can apologize.

The man pauses half a second, but catches himself, and rushes through the doorway before closing it with a slam. Not before I see the girl look back at me with something approaching, well, it’s not fear I suppose, so I’m going to believe it’s forgiveness. She definitely didn’t look at me like she couldn’t believe I said that after all I did.

But she did, didn’t she? I don’t think about it more though, and instead race away from this farm, whose resident I add to my mental list of people that think me dangerous on sight. Seriously, what is up with these people.

I couldn’t look less dangerous if I tried. I’m a bedraggled woman in a simple dress. I don’t even wear shoes! I feel some mild annoyance at the realization that I’m wearing a sword. But logic wins out, and I realize that given the rest of me that just isn’t enough. No matter how you see it, I do not look like a warrior, at least to myself. Maybe the impression I give off is completely different?

It’s not long before I reach what I consider a safe distance from the farm, considering nobody is chasing me. I pause on the road, and wonder where I should go.