Andrew woke up warm, with the gross sticky feeling of dried sweat.

Which was odd, because he’d definitely been absolutely freezing before.

He started to open his eyes, careful of the bright light he could already see as he squinted, and immediately shut them, muffling a scream. Memories that were not his own flooded his head, trying to overlap with his actual memories.

He had grown up in a small apartment in Brooklyn, but he also had vivid memories of sitting at dining tables alone in a large manor. Both were true, but both were so incredibly different. His mother’s loving face was overshadowed by another woman who only stared at him with cold, disinterested eyes. Both were his mother, but they had nothing in common with each other. The cops who had routinely acted like they didn’t see him taking selfies with their cars were being replaced by indifferent guards in shining armor, who only shushed him when he cut himself on a broken vase.

The migraine was worse than anything he’d experienced, but he shoved the covers in his mouth and forced himself to separate the memories.

Yes, he’d grown up in that small apartment. Yes, he’d also grown up alone in a Manor too big for anyone. Yes, his mother had been loving and kind. Yes, his current mother was a cold bitch.

Two separate lives, one mind.

He had no idea how long he was curled up into a ball, forcing himself to remember both lives and then shoving those memories in separate brain-boxes. It was long enough for that bright light to have settled into darkness.

The migraine was successfully pushed back, but still threatened to return full force in the back of his mind.

He had been Andrew Yale. He was currently Braech McDonnell, six whole years old, and he had to get up, because that was very bad news.

He tried to open his eyes again.

Gilded carvings partially hidden behind a very lush drawn back curtain greeted him. 

He was in a canopy bed.

Andr-Braech…his name was Braech, he had to remember that; accepting it was the first step to accepting his current circumstances.

His current circumstances were: he remembered living in a Manor. He’d been curled up on the bed in clear agony, and yet no one had bothered to check on him. There were apples in a bowl on the table next to his bed, but he could clearly see the bruises from where they had already started to rot. There was a glass full of water, but he could see the dust on the surface, the water lines where it had been just sitting there and evaporating while he’d been bedridden.

Did CPS exist in this world? Because this was bullshit, and he definitely would have called them in his old world.

Braech forced himself to stop ruminating on the clear and obvious neglect, staggering out of the bed and over to the desk vanity.

There were probably a lot of ‘Braech McDonnell’s in this world. Maybe he wasn’t that poor son of a bitch in that stupid edgelord fantasy he’d read; the one with the protagonists that were genuinely such awful people he’d only read out of hope that the bad guys would win.

But when his far-too-short legs finally managed to climb on top of the chair in front of the mirror, his hopes were destroyed.

Brown hair. Green eyes. He was still a kid, so the scars in the book’s descriptions wouldn’t match, but there was one final thing that would confirm it.

He lifted his shirt.

There it was. The tattoo that was given to all nobles in his stupid country. That shitty little crest with the dragon that looked like a turd in the middle, and the two goat-heads that represented his house.

He collapsed back into the chair.

He was the Braech McDonnell. He was destined to fall to those awful protagonists.

He was supposed to be captured, tortured, and mind-broken until he was nothing more than a human pet.

Okay. Fuck the book; why had that happened?

Because he was on the wrong side of a war, had allegedly worked with Demons, and had gotten too involved with the King of his country. He’d made himself a target for anyone who wanted to get back at that crazy asshole of a dictator.

So. 

Obviously, he just had to make sure he wasn’t involved in any war at all. Avoiding Demons would be stupid easy as well; he’d just go to the capital city. He’d be hidden by walls and guards, and living as a street rat was way better than being brainwashed into that horrid existence that would happen to him if he didn’t.

Braech nodded to himself and slid off the chair.

He had a gameplan.

Granted, it was a flimsy one, but the longer he waited the more time he wasted.

Was his newly six-year-old brain interfering with his ability to plan and make executive decisions?

Probably.

Was he going to let that stop him? Fuck no he was not.

He slapped both his cheeks and shook his head.

He had work to do.

First things first, wash down with that freezing cold water in the basin. Second, pack up. Third, leave.

He could do this.

And as an adult-minded person, he could do it in a calm and rational manner.

----------------------------------------

Not even fifteen minutes later, Braech tripped on the ripped pillow he’d thrown to the ground and landed on his face. He barely managed to prevent himself from breaking his nose, and took a second to collect himself.

Then he immediately decided a second was too long, and staggered back to the pillowcase he’d been filling with necessities.

Once he’d actually pulled the pillowcase off of the pillow and started preparing to leave, the full weight of what was going to happen to him had slammed into his brain with the force of a thrown brick, leaving him scrambling.

He was going to be caught, tortured, and turned into a mindless human pet to a group of people literally so vile he’d been rooting for the bad guys. Him. It wasn’t going to happen to an interesting character or person he’d heard about, it was going to happen to him.

Well, once he hit like, twenty-ish. But time always passed by quicker than people realized, so it was better to leave literally as soon as he could. The sooner he was gone, the more distance he could put between himself and a life of literal torture. He had to leave, and it was the only thought that was crowding his brain. 

Could he have waited until he was, like, ten? Yes.

Was he going to? Fuck no he was not.

He’d thrown four pairs of pants in the pillowcase, some-odd amount of socks, like two shirts, random shiny shit to sell, and whatever had been in the fruit platter on his bedside.

No shoes; he hadn’t been able to find any. He’d have to go barefoot until he got his hands on some.

It would have to do.

He just had to hoist that over his shoulder, open the door…

…Open. The. Door.

Braech tugged the door handle again. Nothing. Braech may have started frantically rattling it and pulling at it with all his strength, before letting out a loud sob and feeling involuntary tears of frustration start streaming down his face.

He took a step back and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

He concentrated on the plush feeling of the carpet under his feet, and used that to ground himself. 

Okay. He’d just find another way out.

But who the fuck locked a six-year-old in a room? Especially because there had definitely been no one in it for quite some time, and he’d woken up from a very obvious fever.

Wasn’t he a noble? Weren’t there supposed to be, like, servants and shit?

Like what the fuck, he was only six? 

The McDonnell family really did not give a single solid fuck, huh?

Braech slapped his cheeks, then scrubbed furiously at the tears until his face was dry.

Allotted time to freak out was over, it was time to move. He had no idea how many precious minutes were wasted just then!

He scurried over to the balcony doors and tentatively reached out.

He paused.

The moonlight spilled through the panels and framed his shaking hand.

What if they were locked too?

But the handle gently turned under his hand, and the doors soundlessly swung open.

Braech forced himself not to cheer and cautiously stuck his head outside. The balcony was its own space, and did not connect to any outdoor path. It was completely isolated, and the trees and over-the-top garden hid him from anyone who was not directly under him.

Which, like, that was a horrible security risk. Again, he was a noble; at least some precautions should have been taken to prevent death or kidnapping.

But, again; the McDonnell’s were some cold motherfuckers, apparently.

Or stupid.

Either way, he was beginning to see why the future version of him had been so fucked up.

The bag of goods slung over his shoulder, Braech tiptoed to the edge of the balcony and peered at the garden that it overlooked. A maze of paths, perfectly trimmed hedges, random areas where it looked like the groundskeeping team was ignoring their duties, lots of flowers, lots of trees. 

It really was very pretty, but Braech didn’t have time to admire it. He needed to see if there were any guards doing their rotations around him, and the stupidly high hedges and trees were making that very hard. Frustrated, he pulled himself up on the banister and looked down. 

There, right below him was a guard picking her nose. There were also five empty bottles around her.

He frowned. 

At least…there had been a guard stationed? He guessed?

He looked again at how she slouched on the ground, not a care in the world as she started slurring through what he thought was supposed to be a song.

Yeah, no, she had just secreted herself away to the one area that was sure to be isolated so she could get away with drinking on the job. That was great. His faith in the McDonnell family was definitely restored.

Not.

He had to get the fuck out of the death trap he’d been reborn in. It was like his current parents actively wanted him to bite it, with how many hazards were about for a noble child.

Braech tugged out the shiniest, prettiest brooch he’d stuffed in the pillowcase. 

He turned to see if there was a lattice he could-oh wow. Look at that. Right there, next to his balcony.

Apparently the people in charge of designing the garden layout didn’t give a fuck either. 

Whatever; their oversight was his gain.

The little six-year-old fumbled his way to the lattice and down it, not even bothering to be quiet. If the alcoholic below him could sing, then he could afford to be a little loud.

Her singing stopped though, when she finally noticed him as he was two feet off the ground.

“Hey, yer not ‘llowed-“

“I’m not here and you didn’t see shit,” Braech interrupted her, jumping the remaining foot to the ground and shoving the brooch in her hand.

She turned it over, looking surprisingly focused for someone who’d had so much to drink, before sitting back against the wall and giving him a sloppy salute.

“Yer th’ best McDonnlellel.” She told him, happy to watch him walk out of her sight.

Braech knew he couldn’t just rely on her greed, though.

He’d had a timer going off in his head before, sure.

Now though.

Now he really had to move.

----------------------------------------

Braech hid behind the pillar, holding his breath. He really didn’t need to, as the guards walking past him wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the sounds of his esteemed Father cheating on his Mother with one of the scullery maids.

Braech himself opted for covering his ears and forgoing stealth in the name of blocking out the donkey noises emanating from the gazebo. Luckily, most guards appeared to be doing the same thing.

Then, there were no guards at all.

It was just Braech, hands over his ears as he stumbled over the paved path and into the bushes that lined the wall. The moonlight illuminated the tall hedges around him, but there was no reflection off of any armor.

Word had spread quickly then. No one wanted to be around to hear the infidelity in action.

Braech pushed his way through the branches, desperate to find a storm drain to crawl through. He didn’t think he could make it out the main entrance, not without bribing more guards. Besides; he was a tiny little six year old, there had to be a place where he could slip through the bars.

The first was a no go; the grate was firmly in place and bolted in the stone, no missing bars or any gaps he could slip through.

He crept to the edge of the adultery zone, keeping to the bushes and staying low.

A few guards finally showed up and walked past him, one even tilted their head in his direction. But no-one said anything. No-one investigated the rustling bushes, or even paused to think about it.

The further away from his Father he got, the more guards appeared.

None of the guards thought to go check for intruders.

Wow.

Who hired the guards? They were really bad at their jobs.

Unfortunately, the next storm drain was secured as well. No gaps, either.

Shit, what if they were all like that? How was he supposed to escape?

Braech flopped back, branches digging into his back as he leaned against some weird bush that smelled like a dead chicken, and staved off the panic. He needed to force himself to think logically.

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From his room's view of the gardens, he had a vague understanding of the paths that wound through them. They were twisting and doubled back on themselves, and the flowers and shrubs were strangely tall, rendering the entire place a maze.

Which meant that guards as shitty as the ones his parents had hired were wont to take shortcuts in their rotations. There was probably a path that they despised and would try to avoid, and as a result, so would any groundskeeper, because there would be no one to call them out on dodging their work.

So if he was looking for the path that was neglected by the guards and maintenance…it had to be the one that trailed off to the right from his bedroom window. That path, the closer it got to the wall, appeared to get a little more overgrown and unruly. He distinctly remembered looking at it, before the memory dump, and wondering if that was what a forest looked like.

So all he had to do was keep to the wall and head towards that section, then.

If there was going to be a grate that was loose or busted, it was probably going to be over there, in a section that no one cared to tend to, so no one would notice if something like a grate was damaged from a storm or wild animal.

Braech went back into a crouched position, waited for the guards to go past, and slowly peeked out of the bushes. The Manor was there, and his room was…Okay. So if his room was there, then his only bid for freedom was…somewhere in that part of the wall’s general vicinity. The really dark, really intimidating part that was shadowed by trees and overgrown grass and hedges.

He’d just have to sneak past what looked like the barracks. 

That was…a weird place for a barracks though. Out of the way of the manor, but to the point that it wouldn’t be a good place to rush to arms.

Braech would consider it a more proper place for a shed, if he was being honest. The only reason he knew it wasn’t one was the stone walls and bits of steel he could see reflecting in the moonlight.

Whatever.

He already knew whoever had designed this hellhole was an idiot.

Braech brushed it off and started to sneak his way to the section of wall that could lead to his freedom.

Not that freedom was such an exciting prospect, given that he could see a lot of begging for scraps and sleeping on streets in his future as a consequence of pursuing it, but it was better than the alternative.

However, the closer he got to the barracks, the more he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

These…were no barracks.

It was a fancy prison.

There were metal bars on the windows, the door was reinforced so well that Braech could see that from a distance, the smell of sweat and piss and fear hung low in the air, and…and there were people. 

There was a line of people waiting to be taken in, chained and kneeling, bleeding from their shackles, fear in the eyes they kept pointed to the ground.

Braech paused.

But he knew he could do nothing for them. He knew he had to keep moving. 

He didn’t have a choice.

He moved on.

Braech managed to skirt around the prisoners, kneeling to blend in at one point when the guards’ heads snapped towards him.

Apparently, they cared more about the prisoners than they did the Noble family’s safety.

The man he’d kneeled behind kept quiet, as did those around him.

None of them said a word, nor did they acknowledge him in any way.

The only indication that they knew he was there was how the adults shifted so he was more covered by their bodies, shielding him from the guards’ eyes.

Braech didn’t know what these people had done to earn his family’s ire, but there wasn't much he could do to help them, and he had to keep reminding himself of that.

Still, though.

It had probably been something really, really stupid. Like looking at the Noble Carriage wrong or something.

Braech hesitated. 

Just for a second.

The woman he’d hidden behind, the last stop before he could make it to the bushes at the edge of the prison, nudged him with her foot.

A whispered, barely audible instruction was given to him.

“Run.”

Braech gave her foot a squeeze, and silently obeyed her.

He ran, as quickly and quietly as he was able to.

He was in a haze, though, spooked by the sight of the prisoners, and almost got caught by a few of the guards.

But, apparently, once clear of the prisoners the guards went straight back to not caring.

He darted between the bushes, hid behind the trees, and tested every storm drain as he went by.

It was as he was belly crawling to get away from a particularly keen guard, however, that he actually found the storm drain he was looking for. His ticket out of there.

He found it by falling in it.

----------------------------------------

Forget some bars being loosely connected, or the grate not being bolted down, no; the grate just wasn’t fucking there at all. On top of that, there was a gross overabundance of weeds and detritus that hid it completely from view.

Wow.

That was a lesson to not piss off the servants or groundskeepers, then. That was, yet again, a huge security breach. Also; very dangerous to have something like that around a curious six year old, case and point.

How on earth had he survived in the story to adulthood? He was genuinely curious.

The fall had only been about two, maybe three feet, but Braech was so shocked by how obvious it was that he laid there for a minute or so to gain his bearings.

Then he rolled over, sucked it up, and crawled through the muck to the other side of the wall.

He wasn’t concerned about guards monitoring it on the outside; if the security was this bad on the inside, there was no way anyone was patrolling the outside of what was clearly a welcome sign to any assassin, child, or disgruntled citizen. A rabid fox, even.

He still peeked around though.

No one.

He was in the clear.

He darted across the road and into the shadows of the servants' walkways, staying out of view as he made his way deeper into the actual city and away from the Manor that had, rather recently, been his prison.

The city of Irijwa was…a city. The people in it were quiet and withdrawn, with guarded faces and distrust etched into their eyes. There was no graffiti, no matter where Braech went; and he made sure to go to the slums. The city was pristine in a way that was painfully unnatural, every single wall was whitewashed, none of the windows were open, and the people who lived on the streets were far too afraid to leave even a speck of dirt visible to any passerby. The stone street beneath his feet was clear of any pebbles, cold and even to the touch.

There was even one lady, dressed in rags, who had rigged a bundle of straw to sweep the street behind her, cleaning it as she walked.

Braech hated it.

He’d always hated dystopian shit, and this weird ‘be clean or be unseen’ vibe was freaking him out even worse than he’d already been.

Regardless.

He managed to find a washing house and snuck in through the back, leaving his mud coated expensive-looking pajamas on the floor and taking off with an oversized shirt and pants.

It was fine, he would grow into them.

Next, he had to find a reliable way out of the city.

Which meant he had to find the marketplace, if this stupid city even warranted one.

He wasted hours wandering the streets, hugging his pillowcase to himself, as he tried to make sense of the Irijwa’s layout.

He found out that Irijwa didn’t really have any layout. If anything, he’d swear the city was actively trying to hide its commerce from outsiders.

The stores were separated by streets, and had no obvious signs out front. There were no peddlers, no stands in the many squares he passed through.

Just those stupid blindingly white walls.

By the time he managed to find the marketplace, the sun was starting to rise and the distrusting glances of the nightlife were turning into the absolutely spiteful glares of the average daytime workers.

Damn, his hometown really was super unwelcoming.

But he found it.

A sad scattering of stands that had five city guards surrounding each one, full of merchants that clearly weren’t from the city.

Bad for the citizens, but good for Braech!

Because one of those merchants was currently yelling at the guards as a final fuck you while his team got their carts ready for travel. The guy must have had enough of the obvious creepy shit and decided to leave ahead of schedule, because the cart was still full of goods.

Sneaking past the guards and the merchant would be easy; in a city as tightly controlled as Irijwa appeared to be, someone committing a crime in front of the guards in broad daylight was unthinkable.

Clambering into the cart and remaining unnoticed, however, would be hard.

Braech, frowned, sticking to the shadows as he categorized what was in front of him.

Lots of crates of food, not even nailed or secured shut, scattered on the ground as two exhausted workers loaded up the cart.

Obviously, Braech just had to hide in one of the crates.

He moved forward, going from the shadows of the wall to the shadows of the cart.

Luckily, the merchant was throwing up such a stink that the guards couldn’t be arsed to actually watch the cart be loaded. Instead, they appeared to be debating on whether or not to murder the man in front of them.

“We’ve been sleepin’ on the streets for two whole nights! Is this how you treat necessary commerce? Your city sure as shit ain’t gonna find these goods inside the walls!”

Braech warily watched one of the guards partially draw his sword, and quietly lifted the lid to a box of carrots as the guard’s compatriot placed her own hand on the pommel and forced it back into the scabbard, shaking her head at her coworker as Braech gently closed the lid over himself.

The sound of the argument muted, and Braech tried to make himself as comfortable as possible.

Just as he was marveling at how only half of the carrots were starting to rot, the box jolted as it was hauled up, and then roughly shoved into place on the cart.

“All done, boss,” one of the workers said, voice as hoarse as it was pissed.

“Good fucking riddance to you, this dying city, and every stupid bastard that didn’t take this chance to buy from me!” The merchant bellowed, and Braech could almost hear the man flipping everyone the bird as the horses were nudged into motion.

Finally.

He just had to stay on long enough to get to the next city, and he had an abundance of carrots to eat in the meantime.

Basically, it would be smooth sailing.

Braech smiled to himself as he ate a carrot; he was so fucking smart.

----------------------------------------

Braech was woken up, rather rudely, by the lid of the crate being ripped off.

He stared up at the startled face staring down at him.

That face frowned.

“Huh,” the woman said, slowly putting down the lid, “Guess I wasn’t hallucinating earlier.”

“Why were you hallucinati-that is a whole child. Where did we pick up one of those?” The merchant from earlier appeared, eyeing Braech suspiciously before turning towards the woman. “Donna, why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?”

The woman, with platinum blond hair and silvery blue eyes, very clearly not related to Braech at all, opted to give her boss a flat stare in lieu of actually dignifying that with a reply.

The merchant shifted uncomfortably, turning to address Braech instead of acknowledging that his joke had fallen flat. The neutrally curious look slowly fell into something between a grimace and a scowl as the merchant realized what Braech had been eating.

“How many carrots have you eaten, kiddo?” He asked in a falsely sweet voice, obviously calculating how much revenue was lost.

Braech knew very well that he wasn’t getting out of this. 

So; fuck it.

“Not enough, I’m still hungry.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry your highness, but the roasted pheasant is going to be a bit late because of an unforeseen thief that now owes me money.”

“Make me a tab.”

“Are kids these days getting bolder or dumber? I can’t tell.”

“Hard to be dumber than you, so bolder,” the woman, Donna, interrupted, still glaring at the merchant.

The man’s shoulders sagged as he leaned on the crate for support, one hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Donna, don’t…don’t side with him. Not right now. He stole our goods-”

“Carrot’s were half-rotted anyways, fuck it. If the kids into eating slop like a pig, it’s no skin off our nose.” Donna paused, forehead wrinkling as she looked back down at Braech. “You’re not gonna barf, are you?”

Braech shook his head.

Donna shrugged and grabbed another crate instead, opting to work instead of addressing the hitchhiker.

The merchant was not so indifferent.

“Alright, luckily for you this little shitstain of a village probably needs a farmhand or two, because I sure as shit am not taking you further than this,” the man grumbled, reaching down and hoisting Braech out of the crate, practically dropping him on the ground.

Braech stumbled, almost losing his footing before catching himself. The remaining jewels in the pillowcase jingled against each other, and the hand that had just been pushing him away was suddenly gripping the collar of his shirt.

“I only mean that, of course, if you can’t afford the ride to Juhan,” the merchant corrected himself, all smiles yet again, “I would be happy to escort an aspiring young gentleman such as yourself if properly compensated!”

The six year old squirmed away, hop skipping until there was a good four feet between him and the merchant.

“I don’t even know your name,” Braech snarked over his shoulder, acting like he very much hadn’t been planning on paying them.

If he could get a deal out of this, he’d go for it. Anything to save money.

“Easily fixed! I’m Callum O’Haire, Merchant Extraordinaire!”

Braech turned to stare at him, then at the box of half-rotted carrots.

Callum’s ears grew as red as his hair.

“I’m just getting my foot in the door, so to speak, is all. But!” The man interrupted himself from making anymore damning excuses, “A generous payment for something as simple as a small escort to Juhan would go a long way!”

“How generous is generous?”

“Only a few hundred-“

“-Hey Donna, I think we need to pack up and leave. This place is giving me the creeps.” Callum looked like he was actively fighting off an aneurysm as the male worker who Braech had seen in Irijwa walked up, voice quiet and creaking.

“We literally just got here Alastair,” Callum breathed, eyes never leaving Braech’s face. 

The worker, Alastair, just subtly shook his head.

“Something isn’t right, boss. I don’t think we should stay here-look, just. Just look at it. It’s not right.”

“There’s nothing ‘right’ about this stupid country,” Braech muttered, looking towards the ramshackle village for the first time.

Typical fair; poor looking buildings, some farm animals that could be heard in the distance, a well, isolated on the outskirts of a forest. Normal.

Braech frowned and looked harder.

The buildings were thrown together, but surprisingly…clean. They were clean.

God fucking damn it, not again.

In a town that had dirt roads, roads that were currently a little muddy, there wasn’t a single speck of dirt on the buildings. 

A hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

“Well well well, new faces!” An old man who looked like a zombie extra crowed, looking around at the four of them.

“Yes, yes! We were walking by and noticed the path diverted to your quaint, wonderful little village!” Callum crowed back, just as loudly and abrasively.

Braech felt hands on his shoulders jerk him away from the old man.

“I see you’ve met my young apprentice! Why, it was his idea to stop by and see if, perhaps, any of you kind and generous folk had need of our wares!” Callum kept Braech close to him, and Braech felt the tenseness in the older man’s hands.

He should have listened to Alastair sooner.

Something wasn’t right.

“I see, I see! In that case, I must invite you to the Town Hall for a welcoming feast!”

The hands on Braech’s shoulders twitched.

“A…A welcoming feast, you say? How marvelous!”

“Indeed, and the finest rooms at our inn!”

Fuck.

Callum was sold, Braech could tell.

“Well…I suppose since we can only really afford to stay here for one night, we had better make the best of it!”

Braech was far too busy swearing in his mind to notice the hands on his shoulders practically frog marching him towards the largest building in the village.

His only solace was that for every swear that was in his head, Donna and Alastair were saying much worse things outloud.

----------------------------------------

Braech would begrudgingly admit that the feast was actually pretty good.

The village leader’s home was actually quite spacious, and the wood beams that held the ceiling had some sort of story carved into them. Rows of tables had been set up, the hearth was roaring, people were laughing, and there was enough food for everyone to eat as much as they wanted.

It seemed to freak out Callum though, shaking the man from his temporary reverie. He’d barely allowed Braech to eat his fill before he was making a million excuses and herding all of his actual and self-proclaimed workers to the ‘inn’.

A very lovely cottage just on the outskirts of the village.

It even had little hearts carved into the window shutters.

That would have been cute if the hearts weren’t anatomically correct.

“Do we really have to stay the night?” Braech asked, sounding every bit the whiny kid he felt like he was at that moment.

Alastair nodded, casting one final glance over his shoulder before closing the door behind them.

Donna was already looking for heavy objects to put in front of the door.

Callum just wordlessly shoved Braech towards the bed that was the furthest inside the cottage.

“We’ll deal with your ‘tab’ and travel arrangements tomorrow, after we’re far away from here,” the merchant hissed, turning to help move one of the other beds in front of the door, “We’re in the middle of a drought, there’s no way a village this small is doing this well!”

But the bed didn’t move.

Braech heard Donna slide to the floor with a muffled curse as he himself slid sideways onto the bed.

The beds were nailed down. There would be no blocking the door.

The door which, upon further examination with eyes that kept closing against his will, had no lock.

He opened his mouth to warn someone, but his eyes fell before a single sound could make it past his lips.

He heard the door open.

People walked in.

He was picked up.

People were talking to each other. Some of them sounded uncertain, others snapped at the uncertain ones.

Braech couldn’t make out what they were saying.

When he finally managed to force his eyes open, he was being laid on top of something far, far harder than a mattress. His wrists and ankles were cold, he could hear people around him, and there was a river nearby.

He turned his head to get a better look at where the people were, only for it to flop to the side with little to no motor control.

Fucking drugs.

“Oh, poor thing,” a woman’s voice crooned, and Braech felt his hair being brushed out of his fluttering eyes, “That mean old merchant should have let you eat to your heart’s content. Now you’ll be awake and scared.”

Well he hadn’t been scared or awake before, but fuck if that little condolence hadn’t yanked him to that state of being.

He immediately tried to pull his arms and legs in to make himself a smaller target, but the only thing that accomplished was a metallic rattling noise as the chains holding them pulled taut.  

Shit.

Shit shit shit a million times shit fuck.

He looked around wildly, head still as his eyes searched for anything that could help him.

They were on the edge of the town. He could see the backs of some of the buildings. The stone he was on was just a large rock. He couldn’t see Callum, Alastair, or Donna. None of the villagers he could see were looking at him with any kind of sympathy.

They were looking at him with hunger.

Braech started to hyperventilate.

“No, no; none of that now,” the old man who had hosted him reprimanded, even going so far as to flick Braech on the nose, “We need you still, little one. It wouldn’t do to show anything less than your best self to Her, after all.”

“What…will…?” Words weren’t working, apparently.

Neither were thoughts.

“We need you to play with our local Deity,” the woman from before said kindly, trying to tidy Braech’s hair into something presentable, “It’s an honor! You just take a quick dip, our crops have more than enough water, and you get to have fun forever!”

Dip? Deity?

“Who…?”

“Nyxla, dear, you’re going to meet Nyxla.”

Ah. Of course. Of course these freaks worshipped the Child Goddess of the Drowned.

And Braech was chained to a large stone table.

Next to a river.

His struggles increased.

His head was finally responding, and the drug had nothing on the pure desperation to stay alive.

The old man sighed, as if Braech was being completely unreasonable, and motioned the woman away.

“Oh great and magnificent Nyxla, You who preside over waters both turbulent and still, and graciously welcome all who have died in them into Your halls,” he said instead of addressing Braech’s increasingly desperate attempts to escape, “We offer another playmate, so that You may increase the water to our crops in return!”

Braech managed to get one hand free just as there was a thudding sound, and the stone he was attached to slid into the river.

Fuck him it had been on a ramp.

The water felt like thousands of needle pricks, and he didn’t have the time or even thought to draw in a breath to hold. One second the world was loud with the sounds of the forest and the villagers, and the next it was muffled and silent.

Braech thrashed, iron manacles cutting into his flesh as he tried again and again for freedom.

He ran out of what little air he had before he managed to get free.

He clapped his one freed hand over his nose and mouth, trying to see through water fogged with blood and silt, looking for anything he could use to break himself out.

But he could see nothing.

Nothing, except for the bubbles leaving his mouth.

Then, his world exploded in pain.

A tearing sensation in his lungs, the awful burn of water pouring in, chilling him from the inside out. Instinctively, he tried to swallow.

It only made things so much worse.

His nose hurt, his throat felt like it was being shredded, his head was pounding, and his body was starting to convulse against his wishes. His lungs kept expanding and retracting, trying to get rid of the water only to take in even more.

Then, a strange sense of peace.

It wasn’t sudden, but a creeping feeling.

Oxygen deprivation, he noted distantly, staring listlessly into the water.

A little girl's face stared back, smiling.

At first Braech thought that she was another victim, but then she actually reached for him.

Once she was close enough to cradle his face, Braech finally noticed it.

She had no eyes.

It was Her.

Nyxla.

At least She looked excited to meet him, if he was going to take anything good away from dying.

The water churned, violently, and She frowned, tightening Her grip on his face.

Not that it mattered, considering his eyesight was starting to fade. He was already well on his way out.

Then the little Goddess screamed, and a hand as large as the cart he’d rode in on plunged into the water above him.

‘What an odd hallucination,’ he thought as he lost consciousness.