At night, I dreamed of howling dogs. I ran barefoot through the empty, moonlight streets of the Lower District, the hounds on my heels. They were close, too close for me to look back. In between my pained breathing, the soft slap of their footfalls spiked my growing terror. I cut into a familiar alleyway, stopping at the tall, brick wall that loomed over me—a dead end.

Wait, this wasn't right. Things were different now. I’d changed.

The low growls of dogs made me turn to the lip of the alley. Hidden by the shadow of the buildings, only their glowing, red eyes were visible in the gloom. They approached at a gradual pace, one human hand followed by another. Kirk crept forward on all fours, stripped naked except for the leather collar around his neck. My other friends followed, blood-crazed eyes gleaming and saliva dribbling on the cobblestone.

"I-I did what I had to do. Y-You couldn't keep up. None of you could!"

As if to prove me wrong, they leapt forward with blinding speed, tearing into my flesh and painting the alley red.

I woke up on the floor screaming, the back of my head slamming against the hardwood as I rocked back in shock.

My chest heaved as I caught my breath and surveyed my surroundings. The morning sun cast a bloody light through my red curtains. My unused bed lay beside me, inviting me to dive into its sheets like a fresh snow field. The bed cover, wrapped around me like a cocoon, was all I needed.

After months of living in the mansion, I still found the softness of the bed's mattress disturbing. It felt too much like sinking, and at night, I feared that my soul would fall into the earth like my friends. It was the fate that awaited all people of this world. The fate I almost experienced firsthand on that night.

I forced myself to stand. My feet were healed, but my hands were sore. Gren had taken a liking to me, and Mrs. Dulldrey put me to work helping him in the kitchen. I didn't mind. The man knew how to entertain me with his crude humour and old war stories. The work was also better than the orphanage, where they lent us out as cleaners for the small, cramped spaces adults couldn’t reach. I dressed in one of Mr. Reeves’ old shirts tailored by Mrs. Dulldrey and loped to the kitchen. I walked by Cindra on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.

"What was it this time?"

Cindra looked up at me, a blank expression on her face before returning to her work.

I liked Cindra—or, to be accurate, I liked the puzzle of her. How could someone who looked exactly like Cynthia have such a different personality? It was a mystery that kept me talking to her despite Cynthia's growing irritation.

"I stole an apple from Gren," she said in her casual, bored tone.

"I don't get it. If you just asked him, I'm sure he would give it to you."

She frowned.

"Where we're from, asking doesn't get you very far."

She had a point. Sin asked me to live in this mansion, and the same thing had happened to her and Cynthia with Mr. Reeves. Although, she was wrong about one thing.

"Well, I asked Lady Sin to teach me how to..."

I cut myself off. My training was supposed to be a secret.

Cindra gave me a blank stare.

"Teach you what?"

"Um... How to be a noble."

Cindra scoffed.

"I guess you're lucky... or special."

"Maybe I am special-"

She rolled her eyes. I crouched down on the balls of my feet, leaning close to her ear.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"But if I am, so are you."

She stopped scrubbing the floor to look at me, the edges of her mouth bent upwards at the slightest angle. I blinked in surprise.

Was Cindra smiling?!

I grinned back at her.

"I'll save you a bowl at breakfast."

I walked to the kitchen to find Mrs. Dulldrey, Mr. Reeves, and Cynthia seated at the table. Gren stood over the cauldron at the fireplace. Cynthia waved at me.

"Jacob over here!"

Gren looked at me over his shoulder and gave him a wink. I understood his meaning. I sat beside Cynthia as Gren doled out vegetable stew into our wooden bowls. This time he added eggs.

Mrs. Dulldrey looked at me over her steaming bowl.

"Jacob. I hear you're learning common faster than expected."

"Yes, Mrs. Dulldrey! I'm finding reading easier than writing, though."

Mr. Reeves smiled.

"I'm proud of you, my boy. I think you're ready..."

He reached underneath the table and slid a weathered, brown book across its surface—the book Sin had given me many months ago.

"You let me hold on to this. Now, I give it back to you. You should read the page."

Mr. Reeves's sombre tone caught me off guard, and it wasn't only him. The atmosphere of the entire room had changed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Mr. Reeves said. He smiled again, this time flashing his teeth.

My hands trembled as I reached out and flipped through the book, settling on the dog-eared page.

The poem was short: six sentences, each a stanza. I read it out loud.

"The elves came from another plane,

To kill, defile and cut in twain.”

I stopped.

Kill? Defile?

I turned to Mr. Reeves. He sat with his eyes closed, his head leaning forward on steepled fingers. I continued.

“From the west, their forces spread,

Leaving many beastkin dead.

Through rivers of blood, they made their claim,

Giving our land its name.

They spread their seed to give us life,

Unleashing an age of strife.

Now, our spirits linger when we die,

In the earth, forever, they lie.

To them- “

I stopped. My mouth was dry.

“Finish the poem, Jacob,” Mrs. Dulldrey said.

There was a hardness to her tone that did not allow debate.

“To them, no mercy or quarter we give,

Suffer… not one elf to live."

Silence fell over the room as I forced out the last sentence. Grim faces surrounded the table as I surveyed the room.

I laughed at the tension in the air and the dread bubbling in my gut.

"What is this?!"

"The truth," Mrs. Dulldrey said, her face unblinking, carved from stone. Mr. Reeves opened his eyes to look at me across the table.

"It's an old poem from an old time, older than Luskaine."

The truth? The truth was no one knew about the old history at my orphanage. I only knew what the other boys did: elves were evil. It was a simple statement that I had carved into my heart.

"Is this why people hate me?!"

"Well... yes," Mr. Reeves said, wincing at his words.

The faces in the room blurred as tears ran down my face.

"The bullying, the pranks, the dirty looks from people on the street. I always thought there was something wrong with me, that I was broken, but they're mad at me for something dead elves did in the past?!"

My voice cracked as I pushed down the emotion bubbling below the surface.

Cynthia wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

"Well, I don't think you're broken."

Mrs. Dulldrey and Mr. Reeves' smudged faces turned to each other.

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Jacob."

I wiped my tears into my sleeves.

"How?"

Mr. Reeves squirmed in his seat.

"T-This is a sensitive subject."

Mrs. Dulldrey frowned.

"If you're not going to tell him, I will. When the Old Elvish Empire fell, the freed humans killed most elves. The poem was a call to war."

"That’s an oversimplification, Mrs. Dulldrey. The Old Elvish Empire suffered many rebellions before its' collapse," Mr. Reeves said.

"Enough! All this talk of death and destruction spoils the food," Gren said.

"We agreed that it was best to discuss the subject when all of us were here," Mr. Reeves said.

"Then discuss the subject instead of hiding the dirt under the rug!" Mrs. Dulldrey said.

I drowned out their bickering; their voices sounded muffled as I sank deeper into myself.

The poem was impressive. It summarized thousands of years of history in five short sentences and told me about myself.

I wasn’t evil. Then what was I, and what did this have to do with utility?

"Why did Sin tell me to read this poem?"

The adults at the table stopped talking and looked at me.

Did I say that out loud?

"She wanted to toughen you up. Childhood is no better time to learn hard truths," Mrs.Dulldrey said.

Cynthia squeezed me closer to her.

"I think it was a trick to make you learn something new."

"Clearly, the mistress wanted to motivate you and help you understand your place in the world," Mr. Reeves said.

"Who cares? The stew is getting cold!" Gren said.

A deep belly laugh wracked my body, making Cynthia give me an odd look.

So that's what utility meant.

She shook me.

"I was wrong. Maybe you are broken."

After breakfast, I cleaned everyone's plates and took slow steps to the Red Room. I hesitated in front of the black door. Sin told me I could take the challenge as many times as needed, but was that true? What if my answers were so bad that she kicked me out of the mansion and back onto the street? I took a long, deep breath, steadying my raised hand and pressing the poetry book tighter to my chest.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Yes?" Sin asked, her voice muffled.

"It's Jacob. I'm ready for the first challenge."

There was a moment of silence that made me hold my breath.

"Already? Fine, come in."