Blues Mindless Snippets

[Blue burrowing critter]

He froze, completely and utterly, below him, among the now waterlogged and ruined streets of Madrid, Leviathan did as well, before the beast began to retreat with Blasters and Shakers still pouring damage onto him, barely even cosmetic damage in truth.

He watched the creature flee, and dropped his powers, the building energy in his hands dissipated and-

Oh, he was falling, he couldn't even summon the will to care really, his mind felt broken, he raised both hands to his masked face and held in a scream of undiluted sorrow.

All of it, all of this, how many people had he killed?

And all of it over my own damned pride, ego or something even more pathetic?

He grit his teeth so hard they shattered, he hadn't noticed the Brute power taking the place of the Blaster…

The pain was there, but numbed to practically nothing, by his current power or just his mind he had no idea, didn't really care either.

I hit the ground hard, landing on rain slick stone, pain for just a moment and the inability to feel the lower half of his body before feeling returned and he was back to peak condition.

I just stared at the sky, I closed my eyes and tried feel my power, drain the power from the Shards of dead Capes to restore my own power and-

Like a switch being flipped I felt that fading fourth power slot revitalize and grow back to matching the other three main slots, I felt a block in my mind vanish into nothing and…

And even after all that I could only bring myself to think of myself and my personal power, my oh so important strength.

I hated it, all of it, I sagged even deeper into myself and slowly rose to my feet.

A pair of Thinker powers, one to let me think and calm down and the other to detect people, Telekinesis and a Blaster power that didn't work on anything living.

I whirled around and stared at the city, taking to the sky in an instant, powers ramping up to full potency faster than they ever had before.

I could never call myself a Hero, but right now the world needed Eidolon, and I sure as hell wasn't going to fail like this again.

And so, I got to work on search and rescue, going from broken building to broken building saving whoever I could, once my head was clear enough I swapped out that Thinker power, and swapped out the replacement power, a Shaker Stranger power, to get a decent Healing power which I held onto.

The Telekinesis was a pretty strong one, but with how much work I was putting in with it, lifting debris half a mile away without line of sight it made sense I was straining on this building.

One of the larger ones in Madrid, lower floors completely flooded and enough damage to limit the mobility of the people inside and I had to cut my way in with the laser, careful not to hurt anyone, it couldn't kill people directly but it obviously wouldn't be pleasant.

Getting people to safety so they could be taken to the shelters nearby, healing some of the more threatening injuries.

Finding a little girl with a piece of debris impaling her chest, collapsing a lung and breaking a rib, the girl's mother crying and screaming and he just barely prevented her death, the mother thanking him with everything she had in relief and joy.

He caused this, every thank's hurt more than the last, he caused this, he didn't deserve applause or praise he deserved to be thrown into the deepest hole the world could find and left to rot.

He moved on, saving more people from the catastrophe he caused, not stopping until every survivor had been rescued and the ruined city was left with only those he'd killed in his arrogance.

He met up with Alexandria, Legend and…

Hero, dated to die in a few shirt year to William Manton, the Siberian.

It wouldn't happen, he swore it, they would beat Zion and save the world, it wouldn't make right what he'd caused, but any amends was better than giving in to despair.

He would not give up, could not give up, never.

He barely registered their concerns, his fall from the sky when Leviathan fled, him prioritizing the people instead of attacking the fleeing Endbringer and more.

This was the shortest and least devastating Endbringer attack to date, only 6% casualties and that counted both killed and injured, their would be celebration for what was seen by almost everyone else as a great victory.

He felt it, deep in his soul, a promise, to the world, it would never have Eidolon the greatest hero, but it would have a protector, and just maybe.

A savior.

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

She fluttered her eyes open as she got up, shimmying out of the pile of sleeping bodies and making her way towards her bathroom to splash some water on her face when she walked face first into a wall.

It didn't hurt at all, in fact she cracked the stone, it jolted her awake and pushed down some of her morning grogginess.

A grogginess that disappeared quickly as a jolt went through her entire being, deeper even in a way she couldn't describe, a piece that was there suddenly remembering its purpose.

Quarrel, Butcher 14, the Teeth, my Teeth, WORM.

Thank god they have alcohol.

Shuffling out of the room and heading towards the kitchen I do my best to ignore the blood and other filth splattered around, along with the mountain of stress, fear and existential dread boiling in the back of my mind.

I stop in the hallway, knowing I forgot something, I look down at myself, my naked body fully exposed…

Well I'm not going back there, frowning I trudge onward, feeling a couple of niggling feelings in the back of my mind or some approximation of it, 14 separate niggling…

Things that felt like they wanted to be used, I didn't know exactly how to but I had the uncomfortable thought that I would just have to push the tiniest bit to activate one of the…

The power's, let's not sugarcoat that one, I'm Butcher 14 and have super powers.

Honest to God super powers that came from alien space whale parasites.

I'm gonna put a pin in that one I think with a grimace as a shudder runs through me.

Ignore that for now, first, food and something to drink.

I can get clothes later, once I'm far away from these lunatics.

Finally getting to the kitchen I have hold back from wretching at the smell alone, and the fucking meat, the Teeth are fucking cannibals and it's disgusting!

I run out of the kitchen, any appetite I might have had now thouraly gone I just stand there in the hallway feeling as dirty as the room around me looks.

Memories, thoughts and feelings slowly trickling into my mind, like remembering an old friend but in this case it's nothing but gore and other assorted horrors and…

And I'm shaking now, it's too much, to. Fucking. Much!

So I stand there for a few more moments and process that, then I decide to get away from the freak show.

Why not try and take out the Teeth while there asleep? why not kill these evil pieces of shit? Why…

I'm… not a killer, I don't have the nerve for this and I'll fuck it up if I try, I might have the powers, the element of surprise and more, but there all pychos and murders and god knows what else, just better to leave and I don't know, call the PRT?

No clothes, no phone, no identity, nothing but myself and my asenine morals that are more likely to get me killed in this cluster fuck shit hole of a world…

I freeze as I here a noise, could have been a scream, could have been a TV, could have been anything really.

'…Could have been the wind too' I think as I frantically look around, looking for a way out of this nightmare.

I have a lightbulb moment as I look from my hand to the wall beside me, a wall that I hope leads outside, it's still early morning and dark outside, so running naked should be that dangerous.

I would really rather not have to steal clothes but this is earth Bet, I can bet there's a closed shop somewhere that has clothes or something.

Even I can tell that pun was bad.

Pulling back my arm I close my eyes and punch the wall as hard as I can, completely shattering it into dust and fragments.

And I definitely just woke every single one of these lunatics up, I gotta run for it!

I breath a little sigh of relief when I get outside, it's pretty dark still and looks like it's starting to rain, which should make visibility even worse.

I start running, completely naked in the early morning as it's starting to rain, what a sight I must be right now…

I here a bit of ruckus just before I get beyond eyesight of the abandoned building the Teeth were living in and the rainfall grows in intensity, a roar and a light show, Animos and Vex.

I don't stop until I'm well away from them, I don't stop until I'm completely drenched and standing outside of a store with closed sign and a fairly run down look to it, how long did I run for?

I stopped trying to keep track by the what fiftieth turn?

It doesn't matter, I'm away from those monsters, pushing on the door shows it's locked, but a small push of my matter manipulation shuts down that resistance.

Fully realizing what I'd just done doesn't really set in until I've gotten in and locked it behind me and began making my way towards the clothes aisle, my body dripping wet as my feet met dust covered floors.

I glance at the door and stare for a brief moment and really let it sink in, with the super strength I guess there was a tiny bit of deniability but that was manipulating matter with my mind to unlock a door!

I really have super powers…

I turned back towards the clothes and look through them, it felt too convenient, but I deserved a little convenience in return for being dropped into WORM of all universe's, so I'd take it.

I settled on an oversized grey jacket, a black short sleeve shirt, some nice black sweatpants and kinda matching boxers that id probably wear even if they had panties of any kind, they had a single bra that fit my new larger one's bright fucken pink, but beggars can't be choosers so after waiting a bit to dry I put the clothes on and it felt so nice to finally have clothes on again.

It was getting pretty light out so after grabbing a few other miscellaneous bits and bobs like shoes and socks and so on, I did the lock trick again to get into the back room and sat down and frowned.

I was a regenerating Noctis cape, I was going to have to get used to not sleeping and not getting tired, I felt mentally drained though it wasn't as bad as I felt it should have been.

I'd run a dozen marathons out there and I didn't even feel winded, in fact I felt more energized then ever in my entire life.

But all I could bring myself to do with that energy was to sit down and think about how nice it would be to be sleepy right now…

A/N all criticism is welcome and appreciated, would be thankful for any comments about the fic!

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

Author note, had a few funny ideas in mind, so hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 Why so glum chum?

Dalton Greyjoy…

Honestly? Could be worse, much worse.

The Red Kraken wasn't nearly as bogged down in hard point events that defined who they were like so many others, or as caught up in major events.

He was a side piece of the dance of dragons, the worst war in the history of Westeros until the war of the five Kings and the continuation of conflict directly after it.

In short, I had options!

Options that were pretty clearly outlined by my position as heir and soon to be Lord of the Iron Island's, and my ability to commit mass homicide.

Which is precisely where the problems began, I had to learn how to murder people, I had to be strong to do literally anything, if I was weak I'd just die and my little brother would become Lord, nothing against my brother, I really did like him and he was family but he was kinda stupid.

And learning how to sail and fight, to do all the evil pirate stuff and earn respect of my family and my future vassals.

There was a lot of pressure on me as the heir, and things didn't seem to want to go my way, and shit got significantly worse when I got the smartass idea to go steal the unsullied like Daenerys and fuck shit up in Essos, pretty sure I was drunk at the time, I blame the Dornish.

So no shit there I was, so and so speaking about the price of the unsullied and how much they would cost, now I was still pretty drunk at this point, so I'm pretty sure I said something along the lines of "dick less fucks can't fight for shit, like you!" So he was understandably pissed, and I'm pretty sure he would have ordered me murdered, customer or not if the other "good master" or whatever they called themselves wasn't incredibly amused by me insulting his fellow.

They promptly started arguing about it, and I was still not sober. Why would I drink before an important meeting like this, you might ask?

I plead the third, or whatever it is that justifies my right to get drunk whenever I feel like it.

I had to deal with iron born every day, sue me for needing a drink every once in a while.

My men also seemed highly amused and unconcerned by the situation, the bunch of pricks that they were, they'd grown used to my particular brand of insanity by this point, I'd have to try harder to surprise them at this rate…

Anyway, I, being the Pinnacle of masculine awesomeness and drunken fury that I am, proceeded to do the only thing that seemed reasonable to my alcohol-addled mind when a little bitch was threatening to murder me.

I murdered him first!

I straight played fruit ninja in real life with his limbs and Nightfall t'was awesome and glorious stuff I tell you.

Grabbing the whip thing to gain control of the unsullied or something as I screamed my voice horse yelling at them to murder all the good masters, and they seemed all too happy to comply.

I then just kinda wandered off to find some more booze, accompanied by my lads and drinking buddies from home. I didn't manage to find much strong stuff but there was plenty of exotic food and drinks and such.

I eventually blacked out and woke up back on the ship in my bedroom with my new army of eunuch soldiers, I had the men gather up all the gold and slaves in the city, anyone below twenty would be left free, the rest would be taken as thralls, any of the good masters above twenty would be sent to the wall, the block, hung or drowned or crucified and other assorted punishments.

I was now the owner of a whole free city, not free more like under new management, which was pretty funny I'll be honest, but was probably bound to cause problems with the Iron throne, meh I'll just bribe him with this ludicrous amount of gold I now have.

I'd have to visit Daemon and Corlys, see if we get something out to deal with the Triarchy, cause I have a feeling they might not be pleased with me taking Astapor, Bravos and Pentos could also be possibilities as allies.

Or I could just steal everything of value that wasn't nailed down, some of the stuff that was nailed down and burn the rest.


Author note, how is it so far?

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

S9 Job Applications


"So Rachel I'm looking at your application and I couldn't help but note the amount of vulgar language, now note that's the only problem I could find in your application, and with Sibby putting in such a good word for you I think your a shoe in for this position, what do ya say?"



Rachel grunt's what might be a vulgar insult or question for clarification.



"What was that?"



"I said were the fuck are my dogs!"




Line break




"So, Alec Jean-Paul Vasil- wait, is that really your name?"



"Yep" Alec says, popping the P, just absently looking for a way out of this predicament.



"Needs work, now in all fairness I think you have some real potential here, but my main concern here is your working relationship with your previous teams and possibly friction in my organization, your relationship with Cherish in particular could cause problems-"



"That's certainly a way of putting it i suppose, she only chose me for shits and giggles you know?"



"Im aware yes, now onto my next point-




Line break




"I love what you've done with the place, real classy like, just my style Labyrinth, Elle right?"



Burnscar Is seen positively burning with excitement in the background behind Jack, even the fire not numbing her excitement over getting to possibly recruit Elle.



Faultline, injured, tries to speak but can only grunt in pain over her injuries.



Elle just stared at Jack, tears and terror written large across her face.



A/N seems like something Jack would do, if for nothing else then the lols, all criticism is welcome and appreciated.

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

There are many things one might expect to experience in their life.

'oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck!' I recite to myself as I dodge a blast from Legend, send a blast of my own to keep Alexandria away.

This was certainly not one of them, I assure you.

'Wait where's Her-' my thoughts are interrupted as I'm forced to summon up a massive shield between myself and the massive explosion, probably Hero using a bomb on me or something.

Inserted into Eidolon, or David in whatever civilian life I barely had in this world, ROB had been 'generous' and… well I won't bore you with the details, but basically I got to be the strongest…

As long as I was the villain.

Pretty terrible deal In hindsight…

'Ugh, what am I doing, get your head in the game David!' I summon up a twister to send all the smoke and debris at them, thankfully it looks like the area is pretty clear of people.

'Finally' I mutter as I prepare to shatter the entire block, a shaker power that works kinda like the all spark in the Bayvers transformers, bringing machines to life.

A sniper shot pings on my forcefields, 'behind' I whirl, quickly spotting…

Miss Militia…?

Why the hell was she here?

I charge a blast to send her way, but she's already been teleported away.

'Annoying,' I launch the blast anyway, destroying the roof and a good portion of the building.

I roll my eyes as I shoot up into the sky and settle on the tallest skyscraper nearby.

"You sorry lot need children to do your losing for you now?" My dry comment is met with a laser blast, which is dodged easily enough.

"A scathing retort I assure you." Dry, sarcastic, unimpressed.

Make it look like I'm not practically constipated with terror and guilt and other unwanted emotions right now.

Confidence is king after all, real or imagined.

Alexandria rockets through the chaos with almost certainly murder in her eyes behind that visor.

I shift her momentum and the gravity around her towards the building itself, smashing her through the window glass and solid concrete.

Lightly and casually I step off the roof fall through a portal across the city, Alexandria blast through the roof and follows me.

I flip the portal as she enters and she's unable to stop her momentum in time, well I gave her a little push anyway, but semantics aside.

Giving her a little wave as I close the portal, slow and deliberate to piss her off.

The heat from her glare intensifies, that or the Sahara desert heat is leaking through the portal.

My bets on her rage in any case.

'That should give me two minutes or so without her…' I muse silently as I turn around to face the girl standing at the center of the roof.

Pale, trembling, a cigarette falling from between her fingers followed by a lighter.

"Those things kill you know…" I say matter of factly.

"...you may now flee in terror." I watch her go, scrambling to get as far as possible from me as possible in as little time as she can manage.

Being evil sucks.

I pulled out my handy dandy evil checklist for the day…

"Number 11 - Kick A Puppy"

A breath escapes me as I rub my mask where my nose would be in irritation.

At least I can check off number 12 early.

"Number 12 - Something 'Racist'"

Unintentional, but I'll take it, sending Alexandria to Africa counted for that one, and once I was done with number 11, that would be it for today!

Now we're the hell am I going to find a puppy?

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

Iron Knight, Iron Will.

He could barely hear anything, his vision was going blurry, the pain was excruciating and he was so…

Just so tired.

He stared at his Duel Disk, he didn't bother trying to listen or think, he had to WIN.

For Yug', for Tea, Mai, Serenity, Tristan…

Even that jerk Kaiba.

He reached up and drew his next card.

Gearfried the Iron Knight, he almost dropped it as he drew it, instead he summoned it onto his field in attack position.

For some reason the holographic appearance of his monster shocked him for a moment, he'd thought he'd gotten used to it…

It didn't matter, he moved to his battle phase and attacked Marik directly.

He fell to his knees as it ended, and saw the darkness recede as unconsciousness took him…


~

Seto Kaiba watched stoically as Wheeler passed out and his friends rushed to get him to help.

When they were out of sight he walked over to Marik, dead or unconscious he wasn't sure.

He bent down and pulled out Marik's Deck and searched for the card…

A moment later he was holding The Winged Dragon Of Ra in his hand.

He stood up and turned around, shooting one last distasteful look at Marik's (unconscious, he almost hadn't bothered checking) body.

"This belongs to a real Duelist." he said before marching away.

~

When Joey Wheeler woke up, Mai was beside his bed.

And The Winged Dragon Of Ra was laying on the dresser beside him.

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

Jango Fett woke up in a weird mood, his instincts honed over a lifetime as a Mandalorian bounty hunter, killer and warrior all practically screamed at him that something was wrong.



That there was a threat close by that he would have to face, that would require all his skill and experience to best.



He pushed it aside at first, not something he typically did, he'd long learned to trust his judgement and intuition on predicting danger, but it was impossible, they would be in hyperspace for a few days yet before they reached their next battle.



But the feeling persisted, and eventually he stopped to consider possible threats.



Was there an infiltrator onboard, a saboteur ready to bomb the main hyperdrive leaving them all but stranded in the void, an assassin but who could be the target?



With no information but his gut he moved to the barracks to inspect everyone, nothing, spotless, perfect, all their equipment and gear in perfect order and condition, armor all but shining under the artificial light, everything in order, nobody snooping around or doing anything suspicious.



Something was definitely wrong, the barracks was never this clean unless somebody was hiding something…



But that wasn't proof of anything, so he moved to the hanger, then the mess, then the generator, and then anywhere else he could think to visit…



Nothing.



He was knocked from those thoughts when CT G-1143, known by his brothers as Grasp (funny story), passed him in the hall and waved "happy Father's Day, Dad."



He froze, and by the time he'd processed what he'd heard, Grasp was already turning the corner at the other end of the hallway, so he stood straight and marched forwards with a haste in his step and made his way to his room.



And there, sitting in a half chaotic half organized pile in front of his door was hundreds of letters.



He had a lot of work to do.

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

X Mark's the spot…

I looked over the edge of the skyscraper, crouched with my cape lazily drifting in the breeze, the gentle pitter patter of rain all around me as I glared at everything and nothing behind my skull mask.

'High' was my first thought in this abrupt entrance to a new life, quickly followed by 'oh shit' as I just about plummeted to my death.

"Man this sucks." Getting isekei'd was something you read about online or in books or something, not something you actually experienced firsthand.

But here I am, living some basement dwelling loser's fantasy, just my kind of luck, my head slumps and I let out a heavy breath as I step away from the ledge and start pacing around in circles on the roof.

Trying to think, to process this, to… anything to make sense of this.

Nothing, zilch, nada.

Looking through my pockets and utility belt nets me no answers and brings many more questions, gadgets, weapons and tools, with the common theme of a Red X…

Pulling off my mask just confirms it.

I sit down leaning against the ledge and stare at the mask in my hands, my mask.

My new face as far as the world is probably concerned.

'Just great, perfect even!' I clench my hands into fists and throw the mask away, it plops down maybe a few feet away.

I grit my teeth 'worst throw ever, of all time' I can't help but think, I want to punch something.

I lean back and look up at the starlit night sky, the fight going out of me as quickly as it arrived, rain running down my brow, my nose, cheeks and all the way down my chin, some hair slick to my forehead.

Closing my eyes I breath and slowly rise to my feet, my eyes settle on the mask staring smugly at me as though to say 'did you really think you could get rid of me?'.

I walk over and pick up my mask, snorting a half laugh as I put the damp fabric back on.

'Guess I'll have to get used to being Mister edgy skull mask guy' the world really is hilarious sometimes, for better and worse that's what makes life worth living at all.

So if this is the hand this second life is going to deal me?

I'm going all In, and the rest of the world will just have to deal with it.

So, what do I do, and where even am I to begin with?

…How do I get down from up here?


A few minutes or so later and I'm on top of a different building with a stolen map in hand and I now know my location.

I was in Jump City, a big surprise there.

But now I'm staring at Titan Tower, and an amazing, terrible idea was taking form in my head, and all I really had to do was wait…

Was it kinda trippy waiting for my childhood heroes to leave their home so I could break in and steal something?

Definitely, was watching real super powers In real time as cool as I thought it would be?

…Not really, but I blame myself for that.

And so it was that after the Teen Titans left, I broke into the Tower, I triple checked to see if I had set off some kind of alarm, took the long way around the base, avoided cameras and stayed as quiet and hidden as possible as I made my way through.

And then I just… sat there, on their couch in their living room, it felt pretty creepy and I didn't know how to feel about that.

…How did I know the password was Waffles? Or all the other stuff about sneaking around and breaking into secure buildings?

We'll probably better not look a gift horse in the mouth on this one, but I do wonder…

Anyway, what do I do now?

…

I was checking what continuity I was in, booting up one of the numerous normal computers scattered around the Tower and looking up heroes and villains.

Justice League, duh.

Avengers… well just fuck me am I right or am I right?

That was pretty much all I needed to know I was fucked six ways to Sunday, and I'd only been in this world for…

Seven hours and forty odd minutes.

I just knew, deep in my soul that looking any deeper would only make it worse, so I dropped that search and moved to something, anything else.

That proved an even worse mistake, I have seen horrible things that I can now never unsee.

And then I took a peek in each of their rooms, pretty much what I expected from them, though I guess I didn't expect Robin's room to have anything in the way of normal decorations like posters and such, neet.

Now, I better stop messing around and steal something.

…Or I could just leave and not steal from superpowered teenagers with way too much angst to be healthy.

But where's the fun in that? I've already come this far, I'm not giving up now!

Was it perhaps unwise? Maybe but when have I ever been wise?

Stealing a hard drive from Cyborg's room I move to the Titans mainframe and download information, it's not much since obviously one hard drive can't hold all the information on the super computer.

And I wait, tapping on the desk, shifting from foot to foot, playing with a pen-

Seriously how long is it going t-

[Transfer complete]

Fucking finally.

Grabbing it and heading out I give the room a final glance before leaving the Tower.



AN: A bit Gary stue, but I hope you enjoyed reading anyway, all criticism is welcome and appreciated.

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

My eyes snapped open, my vision blurry and disoriented, my breathing loud like I'd just run a marathon, and as I lean forward in my- no not my bed were am I-

Trying to move past sitting up does nothing. My arms and legs do nothing. I'm paralyzed, sleep paralysis? I don't know, but I can see a window directly in front of me. It's dark and raining outside, maybe a storm?

And God, this clicking noise is driving me mad!

A pair of shelves to my left, and a desk to my right with a bunch of… weird paintings in between, everything is dark and slanted.

Everything feels wrong in a way I can't really describe with words.

This isn't my room, I know that for a fact, but… it is, isn't it?

It doesn't make any sense.

The door to my left is open and a small pure black silhouette stands there, looking into the room, the thing- girl whatever looks back behind it, giving me a final glance before leaving.

Something was familiar about the silhouette, and I felt a dread I couldn't quite explain in this entire strange situation…

Then a thought or perhaps a memory struck me.

Beth…? Who wa-

My thoughts are brought to a full stop as something starts screeching like nails on a chalk board, and the fucking clicking from before gets louder!

I can't cover my ears because I'm still paralyzed, I don't understand this, I could lean forward, tilt my head, look around but my arms and legs just won't respond, blinking furiously but pause as I realize I'm not wearing my glasses but I can see perfectly well excluding the weird tilt-

Are those fucking claws!?

A hand, at least I think it's a hand, pokes through the bottom of the window, the skin is grey and the fingers are sharp and pointed.

I have to be in some kind of twisted nightmare, there's no damn way this is real!

The grey thing, because it's definitely not a person, pushes up the window and pulls itself inside, twisting in unnatural ways to get in.

It falls on the ground, wearing a plain shirt, orange hair, empty soulless eyes, and missing parts of its face, holes in its cheeks and around its mouth.

It stands up, twitching and spasming like a glitching ragdoll and stretches upwards like some kind of satanic, ginger Elastagirl!

It grabs the foot of the bed in its sharp, finger nailless hands and leans down, to eye level with me.

It's angry, glaring at me with empty eye sockets, it shifts to the right as it reaches for me-

I don't blink, I glare right back, gritting my teeth at whatever the hell this thing is, but it's… gone?

From one moment to the next it just vanishes…

An illusion?! A nightmare?! A hallucination?!

Looking around I spotted nothing of the creature, a clock on the dresser to my left, a metal baseball bat leaning against the larger desk to my right, if only I could get up and grab it!

The monster, if it isn't attacking me then…!

Beth!

I wake up gasping, I throw off my covers and grab the bat to my right, and the phone off the desk I hadn't even noticed before, no charger so it's probably dead…

The phone is pocketed without delay as I turn around and run!

"Beth!" I'm halfway out the door when I scream my little sister's name, taking the stairs three at a time and jumping over the railing on the last few.

Beth is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the lights on giving me a clear look at her purple pyjamas and bright orange hair

"Lily, I was so scared! Th- the- other Lily it- oof" I don't let her finish, she's in my arms in less than a second as I grab her and run right back up the stairs, thankfully she doesn't struggle or I might have dropped-

Crash!

A window shatters, probably the kitchen window, I don't stop to look.

I slam the door behind me, locking it at the same time, I drop Beth gently on my bed, "Lily what-?" She's shaking like a leaf, tears building in her eyes as she looks up at me.

Crouching down I wipe the tears away and kiss her on the forehead "shh, none of that, Beth, I need you to be brave, go to the bathroom and don't come out for anything, do you understand?"

I curse under my breath as lightning followed by another crash comes from down stairs, another window, it's coming.

Beth flinches at the lightning, and grips my hand tighter before giving me a tiny nod and does as I said, "...I love you sis." She says as she closes the door behind her, and I just barely hear her lock it.

"I love you more." I whisper as I turn towards the window into my bedroom, closed and locked, glancing down at my bed, just about the only thing in my room big enough to block the window.

My bathroom doesn't have a window, thank whatever God abhors that creature for small mercy's, hefting the bed up isn't easy, but I manage.

Tap, tap, tap.

Three knocks, It's not at the door, sounds like it came from downstairs, is it trying to lure me out?

'Fat chance of that.' I think almost hysterically as I arrange my bookshelf, desks and dressers to block the door, turning on all the lights in my room and putting my back to the bathroom door.

I breathe in, and out, then repeat.

Tap tap tap!

…I check my phone, it glitches with weird distorted images, I grimace.

"First it's sleep paralysis, then the monster, and now my phone is possessed…" I mutter under my breath, just gonna lay that in the corner of the room.

Man, that monster is taking it's sweet ass time-

I tense to full alertness as frighteningly fast bangs rattle the door, shaking the pile I have blocking it, bat held tight in my hands.

'If I survive this, I'm slapping myself for tempting Murphy…' is the last thing I think as I focus on the door.

With another bang the door and my barricade was pushed to side and toppled over, scattering it across the floor to the side as the monster, clearly very pissed off, came rushing in full tilt.

Directly into my swing, the crack of metal on bone rattled up my arms as the creature stuttered and staggered from the hit, head bent at an unnatural angle, not raising its arms to block and instead just standing there as I swung again and again and it must have been screaming and flailing now.

Color's, reds, oranges and purples filled my vision and noise tried to blight out my thoughts as a migraine burst through my head and I just kept swinging as my eyes and knows started to bleed and my knees buckled and my lungs burned and my heart stop-

The bat hit the floor and I just stared at the ground hunched over for a second aa phantom sensation rocked through me, the floor and the bat had blood on them and I followed the trail with my eyes and Beth was there, bloody and broken and how could I have done that to her!?

How could I…?

I straightened out and raised the bat and brought it down again and the creature snarled and tried to crawl further away down the hall of the left of my room towards Beth's open door bedroom.

"No." I kicked it twice as it flailed before it was sent tumbling down the stairs in a brutal and broken heap of grey skin and blood from an exposed bone poking out from its mangled left arm.

I grabbed the hand rail as I slowly made my way towards the monster, shaking and gripping the bat so hard my knuckles were white, though it was hard to tell with all the blood.

My blood…

I was bleeding, well that explained a lot of the pain I was in right now, everything ached, from my head to my toes, it all hurt.

I can worry about that when this thing is dead.

The creature was still twitching, still thrashing around on the ground, and twisting back into place with screams of pain.

When I reached the creature I raised the bat and brought it down over and over again as the creature thrashed and screamed and writhed under my storm of blows.

It just wouldn't fucking die.

I knocked out one of its eyes, a sickly yellow thing laying a few feet away in a small pool of blood, its teeth all scattered around on the living room floor.

It's grey skin bruised and bloody well beyond recognition, I glared down at the monster as lightning struck outside, shining light upon the bloody mess of the room.

I flipped the light switch on with the bat in my left hand while glancing towards the kitchen.

I stopped and stared at a picture, a little portrait in the corner of the living room.

A portraited picture of me, I tore my eyes from it and grabbed the monster by the hair and dragged it into the kitchen.

Stepping over the broken glass, I looked through the drawers and grabbed out the largest knife I could find.

The creature redoubled its struggles and hissing as I brought out the knife, it must have been afraid…

Too little, too late.

…when I was done, when the creature finally choked on its last breath and finally fucking died, I was covered in blood, the kitchen looked like a slaughter house and-

I sat down in the white chair at the kitchen table and held my face in my hands, not having the strength to care about smearing more blood on my face.

Shuffling slightly on the chair I sat up a bit as I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.

3:34 AM, of course something like this could only happen at three in the morning, bright and early for your trauma kids…

What do I do now? Oh, yeah now I remember.

I don't give myself time to hesitate on it and slap myself across the face with my right hand. The slap stings but it brings an awkward kind of clarity, and I bit my cheek too, so that's fun I guess.

…I can't let Beth see me like this…

I needed to call the police or somebody at the very least, my phone was possessed or some other demon crap, so I'd probably have to go and ask the neighbors to call the police for me.

Another flash of lightning reminded me of the storm outside, as though daring me to challenge it, pretentious dick.

Compared to the demon, Other Lily? That's what Beth called it, and I definitely did not like the comparison and the implications of them.

Though I can't say I see the resemblance personally, rotting corps isn't really my style, but to each their own.

I poke at my right side, just below the ribs and just above the thigh, my hand comes back somehow even redder than it already is.

Wow, I've lost a lot more blood than I thought.

I stood up and retrieved the knife from the demon's heart, cut it into twenty four pieces and ignored the urge to wash my hands.

The urge to eat the heart, the drool in my mouth as I stare at it is only kept at bay by one fact.

Dead bitch, ew.

"Gross…" I can't help but mutter as I make my way towards the door, putting my nightmarish intrusive thoughts aside, glancing to the window on the far right in the living room, it's shattered to, like the backdoor window.

"Lily…?"

I freeze in place, 'shit' I can't help but think, glancing up behind me I see Beth standing at the top of the stairs.

"...Who else?" Ok, yeah I definitely lost way more blood than I thought if I'm making jokes like that after all tha-

A pint sized red and purple ball tackles me in a full body hug, I have to toss the knife aside to hold and avoid stabbing her while she cries into my chest.

'ow, ouch, oof' I hold her as gently as I can as I nearly stumble back, I can't even be mad at her for coming out, but now she's all dirty and her pyjamas are definitely ruined.

I pat her head as I pull her tight against my chest, 'let it all out Beth' and turn around and leave out the-

Grabbing an umbrella, more for her than me…

Door and glance around at the semi star lit night, the moon is shining, it's a nice night…

 

[Blue burrowing critter]

A/N futa, slight nsfw mention not explicit.

Chapter One: The Weight of Eyes

The morning I woke to find a dead crow nailed to my door, I knew my time in Thornhaven was running out.

I stood there in the pre-dawn darkness, my heterochromic eyes—one the green of spring leaves, the other red as fresh blood—studying the crude work. Someone had driven an iron nail through the bird's chest, pinning it to the weathered wood. Its wings were spread in a mockery of flight, and its beak hung open in a silent scream. Beneath it, scratched into the wood with what looked like a rusty blade, were the words: ABOMINATION FLIES AWAY OR DIES.

The spelling was atrocious. Probably Garrett's work—the blacksmith's son had all his father's brutality and none of his intelligence.

I reached up and pulled the nail free with my bare hand, feeling the rough iron bite into my palm. The crow came away easily, still warm. It had been killed recently, perhaps only an hour ago. I could smell the fear-sweat of whoever had crept up to my door in the darkness, could almost taste their hatred on the air.

My magical awareness hadn't warned me. It never did for threats that weren't immediate, weren't violent in the moment of their making. A nail through a door wasn't a blade at my throat. Not yet.
I held the crow in my hands, feeling its small weight, its delicate bones. In my previous life—the one I barely remembered now, the one that felt like a half-forgotten dream—I would have been horrified. I would have called the police, filed a report, demanded justice.

Here, in this world of casual cruelty and superstitious hatred, I simply felt tired.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the bird, and I meant it. The crow hadn't asked to be part of someone's message of hate. It had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, like me.

I walked around the side of my small cottage—calling it a cottage was generous; it was barely more than a shed with a chimney—and buried the crow in the small garden where I grew what vegetables I could coax from the rocky soil. The earth was cold and hard, but my hands were strong. Stronger than they should be. Stronger than any fifteen-year-old girl's hands had a right to be.
But then, I wasn't just a girl, was I? That was the problem.

By the time I'd finished, the sun was beginning to rise over the eastern hills, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. It would have been beautiful if I'd had the heart to appreciate it. Instead, I washed my hands in the rain barrel and went inside to prepare for another day of being Thornhaven's favorite monster.

The cottage had been Dreamor's once. My caretaker, my guardian, the only person in this gods-forsaken village who'd ever looked at me with something other than fear or disgust. He'd been a strange old man, even by Thornhaven's standards—a wanderer who'd settled here thirty years ago, who'd kept to himself and asked no questions and expected the same courtesy in return.

When he'd found me as an infant, abandoned at the edge of the Thornwood Forest, he'd taken me in without hesitation. Or so he'd told me, in those last fevered days before the wasting sickness took him. I'd been three years old then, old enough to remember his kindness but too young to understand why it mattered.

By the time I was twelve and he was dying, I understood perfectly.

"They'll turn on you when I'm gone, little Dreamor," he'd whispered, his voice like dry leaves scraping across stone. His hand in mine had been nothing but bones and papery skin. "You're too different. Too strange. They fear what they don't understand, and they hate what they fear."

"Then I'll make them understand," I'd said with all the naive confidence of a child who still believed the world could be fair.

He'd laughed at that, a sound like breaking glass. "No, child. You'll survive. That's all any of us can do. Survive, and maybe—if we're lucky—find a place where we can be more than just survivors."
Three days later, he was dead. The village had burned his body on a pyre outside the walls, as was the custom for those who died of sickness. They hadn't let me attend. "Unseemly," the village elder had said, not quite meeting my eyes. "A young girl shouldn't see such things."

Even then, they'd known what I was. Even then, they'd been afraid.

I'd been twelve years old, alone in the world, and already taller than most of the adult women in the village. My body had been changing in ways that terrified me, ways that I couldn't hide no matter how loose I wore my clothes or how carefully I bound myself. The other children had started to notice, started to whisper.

And the whispers had grown louder with each passing year.

Now, at fifteen, I stood nearly six and a half feet tall. My body was a contradiction that offended every sensibility this world held dear—curves and muscles, breasts and cock, feminine and masculine all at once. My hair, that strange blade-sharp golden hair that could cut if I wasn't careful, hung down to my waist in a straight, heavy curtain. My skin was tanned from hours working in the sun, my muscles toned from the hard labor of survival.

I was, by any objective measure, attractive. I'd seen the way some of the village boys looked at me when they thought I wasn't watching, seen the confusion and desire and shame war across their faces. I'd seen the way some of the girls looked too, with that same mixture of fascination and horror.

But attraction meant nothing in the face of fear. And I was very, very frightening to the good people of Thornhaven.

I dressed carefully that morning, as I did every morning. Loose trousers that I'd sewn myself from rough homespun cloth, reinforced at the crotch to contain and conceal what I couldn't change. A long tunic that hung to mid-thigh, belted at the waist. A vest over that, with deep pockets for the small things I might need throughout the day. Boots that Dreamor had made for me years ago, now worn and patched but still serviceable.
And finally, the scarf. A long strip of faded blue cloth that I wrapped around my hair, taming it, hiding it. The scarf had been Dreamor's, one of the few things of his I'd kept. It smelled like him still, faintly—pipe smoke and herbs and the particular mustiness of old books.
I looked at myself in the small, cracked mirror that hung by the door. A tall, strange figure looked back at me. Not quite woman, not quite man. Not quite human, if the villagers were to be believed.
Just Robin. Robin Dell'amor, though most people shortened it to Dell or Amor. The cruel ones called me Dull'a-moron, thinking themselves terribly clever. I'd learned to ignore it, mostly. Words were just sounds, after all. They only had the power I gave them.
But the dead crow on my door—that was more than words. That was a promise.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped out into the morning to face whatever fresh hell Thornhaven had prepared for me.

The village of Thornhaven sat in a valley between two ranges of low, rocky hills, surrounded on three sides by the Thornwood Forest. It was a small place, perhaps three hundred souls all told, making its living from logging, hunting, and the small farms that dotted the valley floor. The buildings were mostly wood and stone, built low and sturdy against the harsh winters. The streets were unpaved dirt that turned to mud when it rained and froze into treacherous ruts when the temperature dropped.
It was, in short, exactly the sort of backwater shithole that I would have avoided like the plague in my previous life.
But this wasn't my previous life. This was the life I'd been reborn into, for reasons I still didn't understand. Sometimes I wondered if I was being punished for something I'd done before, some sin I couldn't remember. Other times I thought maybe it was just random chance, the universe's idea of a cosmic joke.
Either way, I was stuck with it.
My cottage sat on the eastern edge of the village, as far from the center as possible while still technically being within the bounds of Thornhaven. It was a position that suited both me and the villagers—I didn't have to deal with them any more than necessary, and they could pretend I didn't exist most of the time.
But I couldn't hide forever. I needed food, and the only way to get food was to work. And the only work available to someone like me was the kind no one else wanted to do.
I made my way down the rutted path toward the village center, my boots squelching in the mud from last night's rain. The sun was fully up now, and I could see smoke rising from chimneys, hear the sounds of the village waking up. A dog barked somewhere. A baby cried. Normal sounds, normal life.
I passed old Greta's house, and the curtains twitched. I didn't look. I never looked. But I could feel her eyes on me, could sense the mixture of fear and fascination that radiated from her like heat from a fire. My magical awareness wasn't precise enough to read thoughts, but it gave me a general sense of the emotions around me, the potential for violence.
Greta was afraid, but not dangerous. Not yet.
The same couldn't be said for the group of young men lounging outside the tavern.
There were five of them, all in their late teens or early twenties. I knew them all by name, had grown up alongside them in the way that children in small villages do. Garrett, the blacksmith's son, broad-shouldered and mean. Finn and Fenn, the twin sons of the tanner, identical in their cruelty. Marcus, the miller's boy, who'd once been kind to me before peer pressure had taught him better. And Jory, the butcher's apprentice, who had dead eyes and a smile that never reached them.
They saw me coming and straightened up, their conversation dying. I could feel the shift in the air, the way the morning suddenly felt heavier, more dangerous. My awareness prickled at the base of my skull, a warning that wasn't quite urgent enough to be called alarm.
Not yet.
I kept walking, kept my eyes forward, my pace steady. Don't show fear. Don't show weakness. Predators could smell both, and these boys were nothing if not predators.
"Well, well," Garrett said as I drew close. "Look what crawled out of its hole. Morning, Dull'a-moron."
I didn't respond. Engaging would only make it worse.
"Oi, I'm talking to you, freak." He stepped into my path, forcing me to stop or walk around him. He was big, nearly as tall as me and considerably broader. In a fair fight, he might have even stood a chance.
But I'd learned long ago that there was no such thing as a fair fight.
"Excuse me," I said quietly, moving to step around him.
His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. "I said I'm talking to you."
The touch sent a jolt through me—not of fear, but of anger. Hot, bright anger that I'd learned to keep locked down deep inside where it couldn't get me killed. I looked down at his hand on my arm, then up at his face.
"Let go," I said, my voice still quiet but with an edge to it now.
"Or what?" He grinned, showing teeth. "You gonna cry about it? Gonna run home to your—oh wait, you don't have anyone, do you? Just you and your freakish self."
The other boys laughed. It was a sound I'd heard a thousand times before, would probably hear a thousand times more before this was over. Cruel laughter, the kind that came from people who needed someone to be beneath them so they could feel tall.
I could have broken his arm. It would have been easy—my strength was far beyond human normal, and his grip, while tight, wasn't prepared for real resistance. I could have shattered the bones in his hand, could have driven my knee into his groin, could have used my blade-sharp hair as a weapon.
But that would have been the end. The villagers would have called it proof of my monstrous nature, would have come for me with torches and pitchforks and righteous fury. I would have had to run, and I wasn't ready to run. Not yet.
So instead, I did what I always did. I endured.
"Please let go," I said again, keeping my voice level. "I have work to do."
"Work?" Finn—or was it Fenn?—laughed. "What work? Who'd hire a thing like you?"
"Old Marta needs her wood chopped," I said. "And the Widow Chen needs help with her roof."
"The widow's roof?" Garrett's grip tightened. "That's men's work, freak. You trying to take jobs from honest folk?"
"I'm just trying to survive," I said, and I hated how small my voice sounded, how defeated.
But it worked. Garrett's expression shifted from cruel amusement to something like disgust. He released my arm and stepped back, wiping his hand on his trousers as if I'd contaminated him.
"Get out of here," he said. "And stay away from decent people."
I didn't need to be told twice. I walked past them, feeling their eyes on my back, feeling the weight of their hatred like a physical thing. My awareness prickled and buzzed, but the danger was receding. They'd had their fun. For now.
Behind me, I heard Jory say, "We should do something about it. Before it gets worse."
And Garrett's response: "Soon. My father's talking to the elder. Soon."
I kept walking, but my heart was pounding now, my hands clenched into fists. Soon. They were planning something. The dead crow hadn't been just a warning—it had been a promise.
My time in Thornhaven was running out faster than I'd thought.

Old Marta lived in a small house on the western edge of the village, near the forest. She was human, ancient and bent with age, her face a map of wrinkles and her hands twisted with arthritis. But her mind was sharp, and unlike most of the villagers, she'd never treated me with outright cruelty.
Indifference, yes. Wariness, certainly. But not cruelty. In Thornhaven, that counted as kindness.
I found her sitting on her porch, wrapped in a thick shawl despite the relative warmth of the morning. She watched me approach with rheumy eyes, her expression unreadable.
"You're late," she said by way of greeting.
"I'm sorry. There was... a delay."
She snorted. "Those boys giving you trouble again?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
"Fools," she muttered. "The lot of them. Too much time and not enough sense." She gestured toward the side of her house. "Wood's around back. Needs splitting. You know what to do."
I did. I'd been doing this same job for three years now, ever since Dreamor died and I'd needed to find ways to earn my keep. Marta paid me in food—bread, cheese, sometimes a bit of dried meat if she was feeling generous. It wasn't much, but it was enough to supplement what I could grow in my garden and forage from the forest.
The woodpile was substantial, a winter's worth of logs that needed to be split into manageable pieces. I picked up the axe—a heavy thing that most men would have needed both hands to wield effectively—and got to work.
The physical labor was soothing in its way. There was a rhythm to it, a simplicity. Lift the axe, bring it down, feel the satisfying crack as the wood split. Lift, swing, crack. Over and over, until my muscles burned and sweat soaked through my tunic.
I was stronger than I should be, faster than I should be. The work that would have taken a normal person all day took me perhaps three hours. But I paced myself, made it look harder than it was. Drawing attention to my abilities would only make things worse.
As I worked, I became aware of a presence watching me from the forest edge. Not human—my awareness would have been screaming if it were one of the villagers. This was something else, something wild.
I glanced up and saw a fox sitting at the tree line, its russet fur bright against the dark green of the pines. It was watching me with intelligent amber eyes, its head tilted slightly to one side.
I set down the axe and wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Hello," I said quietly.
The fox's ears perked up. Hello, tall one, it said, its voice a mixture of yips and growls that my mind translated into words. You work hard.
"I have to," I replied. "It's how I survive."
The two-legs in the wooden dens don't like you, the fox observed. They smell of fear and anger when they think of you.
"I know."
Why do you stay?
It was a good question. Why did I stay? Pride, maybe. Stubbornness. The naive hope that things might get better, that I might find a way to make them understand I wasn't a threat.
Or maybe just fear of the unknown. The world beyond Thornhaven was vast and dangerous, full of things far worse than superstitious villagers. At least here, I knew what I was dealing with.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I think I'll have to leave soon."
The forest welcomes all, the fox said. Even strange ones like you. The trees don't judge.
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.
The fox stood, shook itself, and trotted back into the forest. I watched it go, feeling a pang of something like longing. The animals didn't care what I was. They saw me as just another creature trying to survive, no different from them.
If only humans could be so wise.
I returned to my work, and by the time the sun was high overhead, I'd finished. Marta inspected my work with a critical eye, then nodded grudgingly.
"Good enough," she said. "Wait here."
She disappeared into her house and returned a few minutes later with a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "Bread and cheese," she said, handing it to me. "And a bit of sausage. Don't say I never did nothing for you."
"Thank you," I said, taking the bundle. The weight of it was substantial—more than she usually gave me. "This is generous."
She waved a gnarled hand dismissively. "Winter's coming. You'll need your strength." She paused, then added in a lower voice, "And you might want to think about moving on, girl. There's talk in the village. Bad talk."

My stomach clenched. "What kind of talk?"
"The kind that ends with fire and blood," she said bluntly. "The elder's calling a meeting tomorrow night. They're going to discuss 'the problem.'" She didn't need to specify what problem she meant.

"I see," I said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Marta said, and she actually sounded like she meant it. "You're a strange one, no denying that. But you've never done me wrong, and you work hard. That should count for something."

"But it doesn't," I said.

"No," she agreed. "It doesn't. Not here. Not with these people."

I thanked her again and left, my mind racing. A meeting tomorrow night. That meant I had perhaps two days, maybe three at most, before they came for me. I needed to prepare, needed to gather supplies, needed to figure out where I was going to go.

The forest, probably. It was dangerous, full of monsters and bandits and worse things, but at least it wouldn't judge me for what I was.

I made my way to the Widow Chen's house next, my thoughts dark and churning. The widow was a kobold, one of the few non-humans in Thornhaven. She was small and scaled, with clever hands and a sharp tongue. Her husband had died in a logging accident five years ago, and she'd been struggling to maintain her home ever since.

She answered my knock with a suspicious glare.
"What do you want?"

"I heard you needed help with your roof," I said. "I can fix it."

She looked me up and down, her reptilian eyes unreadable. "Can you now? And what's it going to cost me?"

"Whatever you think is fair," I said. "I'm not picky."
She snorted. "That's because you can't afford to be picky, girl. Fine. Roof's leaking in three places. You fix it, I'll give you... let's see... a copper penny and some eggs. Take it or leave it."
It was highway robbery, and we both knew it. But I was in no position to negotiate.

"I'll take it," I said.

She stepped aside to let me in, and I spent the next several hours on her roof, patching holes and replacing broken shingles. It was delicate work, requiring more finesse than strength, but I managed. The widow watched me from below, occasionally shouting up instructions or criticisms.

When I was done, she inspected my work with the same critical eye that Marta had used, then nodded. "Not bad. You might actually be good for something after all."

She paid me my copper penny and gave me a small basket with four eggs in it. "Don't break them on the way home," she warned. "And don't come back unless I call for you. I don't need the neighbors thinking I'm consorting with your kind."

"My kind," I repeated flatly.

"You know what I mean," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. "Nothing personal. Just business."
Everything was personal. Everything was always personal. But I didn't say that. I just took my eggs and my penny and left.

By the time I made it back to my cottage, the sun was beginning to set. I was exhausted, my muscles aching despite my enhanced healing, my mind heavy with the weight of what I'd learned.

Two days. Maybe three. Then they'd come for me.
I should have been terrified. Part of me was. But another part—a part that had been growing stronger over the past three years—was almost relieved. At least it would be over. At least I'd know, one way or another.

I made myself a simple dinner from Marta's bread and cheese and one of the widow's eggs, eating mechanically while I tried to plan. I'd need supplies for the road. Food, water, a bedroll, a weapon. I had a little money saved up—a few copper pennies and one precious silver coin that I'd been hoarding for emergencies.

This qualified as an emergency.

I'd need to leave before the meeting, before they could organize. Tomorrow night, maybe, or the night after. Slip away in the darkness, head into the forest, and just... keep going. Find a city, maybe, somewhere big enough that one more freak wouldn't be noticed. Or find a place in the wilderness where I could live alone, away from people and their hatred.

The thought made my chest ache. I didn't want to be alone. I'd been alone for three years, ever since Dreamor died, and it was slowly killing me. Humans—even humans like me—weren't meant for isolation. We needed connection, community, love.

But maybe that wasn't in the cards for someone like me. Maybe I was destined to be alone.
I was still brooding on this when I heard the sound of footsteps outside. Multiple footsteps, moving with purpose.

My awareness flared to life, screaming danger. I was on my feet in an instant, my heart pounding, adrenaline flooding my system.

They were here. They'd come early.

I moved to the window and peered out through a crack in the shutters. In the gathering darkness, I could see torches—at least a dozen of them, maybe more. And carrying those torches were the men of Thornhaven. I recognized Garrett's broad shoulders, saw the elder's distinctive staff, spotted the butcher's bulk.

They'd come for me.

"Robin Dell'amor!" The elder's voice rang out, amplified by some trick of magic or acoustics. "Come out! We would speak with you!"
My mind raced. I could run—slip out the back, head for the forest, use my speed and strength to outdistance them. But they'd expect that. They'd have people watching the back, cutting off my escape.

I could fight. I was stronger than any of them, faster, more durable. But there were too many, and they had weapons. And if I hurt them, if I killed them, I'd be proving everything they believed about me.
Or I could go out there and face them. Try to talk, try to reason, try to make them understand.

It was a fool's hope. But I'd always been a fool.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door.

The crowd fell silent as I stepped out into the torchlight. There were more of them than I'd thought—not just men, but women too, and even some of the older children. The entire village, or near enough. All of them staring at me with expressions ranging from fear to hatred to grim determination.

The elder stepped forward. He was an old human, his beard long and white, his face lined with age and authority. He'd been the leader of Thornhaven for as long as I could remember, and he'd never been overtly cruel to me. But he'd never been kind either.

"Robin Dell'amor," he said formally. "You stand accused of being an abomination against nature, a creature of darkness and perversion. How do you answer these charges?"

I almost laughed. Charges. As if this were a trial, as if I had any chance of defending myself.
"I'm not an abomination," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I'm just different. I've never hurt anyone. I've worked hard, kept to myself, tried to be a good neighbor. What more do you want from me?"
"We want you gone," Garrett said, stepping forward. His face was flushed with anger and something else—excitement, maybe. The thrill of the hunt. "You're not natural. You're not right. And we won't have you in our village anymore."

"Where am I supposed to go?" I asked. "This is my home. This is where I grew up."

"Your home?" A woman's voice, sharp and bitter. I recognized her—Mistress Hale, the baker's wife. "This was never your home, creature. You were dumped here like refuse, and old Dreamor was fool enough to take you in. But he's dead now, and we don't have to pretend anymore."

"Pretend what?" I demanded, feeling my anger rising despite my best efforts to contain it. "Pretend that I'm a person? Pretend that I have feelings? Pretend that I deserve basic human decency?"

"You're not human!" someone shouted from the back of the crowd. "You're a monster!"

The crowd murmured agreement, a low, ugly sound.
The elder raised his hand for silence. "Enough. Robin Dell'amor, the council has decided. You have until dawn tomorrow to gather your belongings and leave Thornhaven. If you are still here when the sun rises, we will drive you out by force. Do you understand?"

I understood perfectly. They were giving me a chance to leave peacefully, to avoid violence. It was more mercy than I'd expected, honestly.
But it still felt like a knife in my gut.

"I understand," I said quietly.

"Good." The elder turned to address the crowd. "It is done. Let no one trouble her tonight. She will be gone by morning, and we can return to our lives in peace."

The crowd began to disperse, the tension bleeding out of the air. But not everyone left. Garrett and his friends remained, standing in a loose semicircle around my cottage. Watching. Waiting.

Making sure I didn't change my mind.

I went back inside and closed the door, my hands shaking. Dawn tomorrow. That gave me perhaps ten hours to prepare, to gather what I could carry, to say goodbye to the only home I'd ever known.

It wasn't enough time. It would never be enough time.

But it was all I had.

I worked through the night, moving with quiet efficiency born of necessity. I had one pack—a sturdy leather thing that Dreamor had used in his traveling days—and I filled it with everything I thought I might need. Clothes, my bedroll, a fire-starting kit, a small pot for cooking. The food Marta had given me, carefully wrapped. A waterskin. A knife—not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.

I counted my money. Three copper pennies and one silver coin. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
I looked around the cottage, at the small space that had been my entire world for the past three years. It wasn't much—a single room with a fireplace, a bed, a table and chair. But it had been mine. Safe. Home.
And now I was leaving it behind.

I found myself standing in front of the small shelf where I kept Dreamor's few possessions. His pipe, long cold. A few books, their pages yellowed and brittle. A small wooden carving of a bird that he'd made for me when I was young.

I picked up the carving, running my fingers over its smooth surface. It was a robin, of course. He'd always said I was named for the bird—small and common, but with a beautiful song.

I'd never had the heart to tell him that in my previous life, Robin had been a boy's name as often as a girl's. It hadn't seemed important.

I tucked the carving into my pack, along with one of his books—a collection of folk tales and legends. Something to remember him by.

As I worked, I became aware of a presence outside. Not the hostile mob from earlier, but something else. Something watching.

I went to the window and looked out. In the darkness beyond the torchlight of Garrett's vigil, I could see eyes. Dozens of them, reflecting the firelight. Animals, drawn by my distress or perhaps just curious.

I opened the door and stepped out. Garrett and his friends tensed, hands going to weapons, but I ignored them. I walked past them, toward the forest edge, and the animals emerged from the shadows.
There were foxes and rabbits, a deer with magnificent antlers, a badger, even a small bear. They gathered around me, not threatening, just... present. Offering what comfort they could.
You're leaving, the fox from earlier said. We can smell it on you. Sadness and fear.
"I have to," I said softly. "They don't want me here anymore."
Their loss, the badger growled. You are pack. You are kin. They are fools not to see it.
"Thank you," I whispered, feeling tears prick at my eyes. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give Garrett and his friends the satisfaction. But it was a near thing.
The animals stayed with me for a while, a silent vigil of their own. Then, one by one, they melted back into the forest. The fox was the last to go.
The forest will keep you safe, it said. Follow the stream north. Three days' walk, you'll find a place where the old roads cross. From there, you can go anywhere. Be anything.
"Thank you," I said again.
Good hunting, tall one. May your path be clear and your enemies blind.
Then it was gone, and I was alone again.
I went back inside and finished my preparations. By the time the first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, I was ready. Pack on my back, Dreamor's scarf wrapped around my hair, his book tucked safely away.
I took one last look around the cottage, committing every detail to memory. Then I stepped outside, closed the door behind me, and began walking.
Garrett and his friends watched me go, their expressions a mixture of satisfaction and wariness. I didn't look at them. I kept my eyes forward, my pace steady, my head high.
I was Robin Dell'amor. I was strange and different and frightening. But I was also strong and smart and determined to survive.
And if Thornhaven didn't want me, then fuck Thornhaven. I'd find somewhere that did.
Or I'd make my own place, somewhere out in the wild where no one could judge me for what I was.
The sun rose as I reached the forest edge, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. I paused there, on the threshold between the known and the unknown, and took a deep breath.
Then I stepped forward, into the trees, into the darkness, into whatever future awaited me.
Behind me, Thornhaven began to wake. Smoke rose from chimneys. Dogs barked. Children laughed.
Life went on, as it always did.
But I was no longer part of it.
I was free.
Chapter Two: Into the Thornwood
The forest swallowed me whole.
One moment I was standing at the edge of civilization, such as it was, and the next I was surrounded by trees so thick and ancient that the morning sunlight barely penetrated their canopy. The air changed immediately—cooler, damper, filled with the scent of moss and rotting leaves and growing things. The sounds of the village faded behind me, replaced by the rustle of wind through branches and the distant calls of birds.
I'd been in the Thornwood before, of course. Dreamor had taught me to forage here, to identify edible plants and avoid poisonous ones, to read the signs of animal passage and weather changes. But I'd never gone deep, never ventured beyond the relatively safe outer ring where the villagers hunted and gathered.
Now I was heading into the heart of it, into the places where monsters dwelled and the old magic still held sway.
I should have been terrified. Part of me was. But another part—a larger part—felt something like exhilaration. For the first time in three years, I was free. No one was watching me with suspicious eyes, no one was whispering behind my back, no one was leaving dead animals on my door.
I was alone, yes. But alone was better than hated.
I followed the stream, as the fox had advised. It was a small thing, barely more than a trickle, but it ran clear and cold over smooth stones. The sound of it was soothing, a constant burble that helped quiet my racing thoughts.
I walked for hours, my long legs eating up the distance. My body, for all its strangeness, was built for this—for movement, for endurance. I didn't tire the way a normal person would. My muscles burned, yes, but it was a good burn, the kind that spoke of strength being used rather than exhausted.
Around midday, I stopped to rest and eat. I found a fallen log near the stream and sat, pulling out some of Marta's bread and cheese. It was good bread, dense and filling, and I ate slowly, savoring it. Who knew when I'd have bread this good again?
As I ate, I became aware that I was being watched. Not by anything threatening—my awareness would have warned me—but by something curious. I looked up and saw a small creature perched on a branch above me.
It was a sprite, I realized with a start. I'd heard of them but never seen one. It was perhaps six inches tall, with gossamer wings that shimmered in the dappled sunlight and skin that seemed to shift between green and brown depending on the angle. Its face was sharp and angular, almost insectoid, but its eyes were large and expressive.
"Hello," I said cautiously.
The sprite tilted its head, studying me with those huge eyes. When it spoke, its voice was like wind chimes. "You are the strange one. The one the mud-dwellers cast out."
"News travels fast," I said dryly.
"The forest knows all that happens at its edges." The sprite fluttered down to perch on the log beside me, keeping a careful distance. "You are going north. Following the water-path."
"Yes. I was told there's a crossroads three days from here."
"There is. The old roads, from before the mud-dwellers came. They lead many places." The sprite paused, then added, "Some of those places are dangerous."
"Everywhere is dangerous," I said. "At least out here, the danger is honest. It doesn't pretend to be something it's not."
The sprite made a sound that might have been laughter. "Wise words, strange one. The forest respects honesty." It cocked its head again. "You have the gift. The speaking-with-beasts. That is rare among mud-dwellers."
"I'm not exactly a typical mud-dweller," I said.
"No. You are something else. Something... in-between." The sprite's wings buzzed thoughtfully. "The forest likes in-between things. We are all in-between here—not quite one thing or another. You will fit well, I think."
"I hope so," I said quietly.
The sprite studied me a moment longer, then said, "A warning, strange one. The Thornwood is old and deep, and not all who dwell here are friendly. There are wolves, yes, and bears, and the great cats. But there are also darker things. Things that hunger. Things that hate."
"What kind of things?"
"Goblins, but not the small mud-dweller kind. Wild goblins, from the deep places. They eat flesh and care nothing for talk or trade. There are trolls in the rocky places, and wyverns in the high peaks. And there are the Twisted—creatures that were once natural but have been changed by dark magic. They are mad and dangerous."
I absorbed this information, my mind already working on strategies. "How do I avoid them?"
"Stay near the water. The Twisted fear running water—it disrupts their magic. The goblins prefer the dark places, the caves and hollows. If you travel by day and camp near the stream, you should be safe enough." The sprite paused. "Mostly."
"Mostly," I repeated. "That's reassuring."
"The forest offers no guarantees, strange one. Only possibilities." The sprite spread its wings. "I must go. But I will tell the others about you. The friendly ones. They will watch for you, help where they can."
"Thank you," I said, genuinely touched. "What's your name?"
"Names have power, strange one. But you may call me Shimmer, if you need to call me anything." With that, the sprite launched itself into the air and disappeared into the canopy, leaving only a faint trail of glittering dust in its wake.
I finished my meal and continued on, feeling slightly better about my prospects. If the forest spirits were willing to help me, I might actually survive this.

The first day passed without incident. I walked until the sun began to set, then made camp near the stream as Shimmer had advised. I gathered deadwood for a fire, using the flint and steel from my kit to coax a flame to life. The fire was small and carefully contained—I didn't want to attract unwanted attention—but it was enough to warm me and cook a simple meal.
I'd brought a small pot, and I used it to boil water from the stream, adding some dried herbs I'd gathered from my garden. The result was a thin, bitter tea, but it was hot and it was mine.
As I sat by the fire, I pulled out Dreamor's book and opened it to a random page. The text was faded and hard to read in the flickering firelight, but I managed.
It was a story about a hero—a great warrior who'd slain a dragon and saved a kingdom. The usual sort of tale, full of noble deeds and righteous violence. In my previous life, I might have found it inspiring. Now, it just seemed naive.
Heroes didn't exist in this world. There were only survivors and victims, predators and prey. And I was determined to be a survivor, no matter what it took.
I read until my eyes grew heavy, then carefully put the book away and banked the fire. I wrapped myself in my bedroll and lay down, my back against a tree, my awareness spread out around me like a net.
Sleep came slowly. Every sound made me tense, every rustle in the undergrowth set my heart racing. But nothing came. The forest was quiet, almost peaceful.
I dreamed of my previous life, as I sometimes did. Vague, fragmentary images—tall buildings and bright lights, the hum of machinery, the press of crowds. A life of comfort and safety and soul-crushing boredom.
I'd died there, somehow. I didn't remember how. One moment I'd been alive, and the next I'd been... here. Reborn as an infant in a world of magic and monsters, with a body that didn't match either of my previous genders.
Sometimes I wondered if it was a punishment. Other times I thought it might be a gift, a second chance to live a life that mattered.
Tonight, exhausted and alone in the wilderness, it just felt like a curse.

I woke before dawn, my body's internal clock more reliable than any alarm. The fire had died to embers, and the forest was still dark, though I could see perfectly well with my night vision. One of the few advantages of my strange nature—I could see in the dark as clearly as most people saw in daylight.
I rekindled the fire, boiled more water for tea, and ate a small breakfast of bread and dried fruit. Then I packed up my camp, scattered the ashes of my fire, and continued north.
The second day was harder than the first. The terrain grew rougher, the stream cutting through rocky gorges and steep hillsides. I had to climb more, scramble over boulders and fallen trees. My strength made it manageable, but it was still exhausting.
Around midday, I encountered my first real danger.
I was picking my way along a narrow path beside the stream when my awareness suddenly screamed a warning. I froze, every muscle tensing, my hand going to the knife at my belt.
Something was watching me. Something big and hungry.
I scanned the forest, my enhanced vision picking out details in the shadows. There—a shape, low to the ground, moving with predatory grace. And there—another one. And another.
Wolves. A pack of them, at least six that I could see. They were huge, easily twice the size of the wolves from my previous world, with shaggy gray fur and eyes that gleamed with intelligence.
The alpha stepped out onto the path ahead of me, blocking my way. It was massive, its shoulders level with my waist, its teeth like daggers. It growled, a low rumble that I felt in my bones.
I didn't run. Running would trigger their chase instinct, and I couldn't outrun a wolf pack, enhanced speed or not. Instead, I stood my ground and met the alpha's gaze.
"I don't want trouble," I said, using the same gift that let me speak with smaller animals. "I'm just passing through."
The alpha's ears pricked forward. You speak the old tongue, it said, its voice a deep growl in my mind. That is... unexpected.
"I have many unexpected qualities," I said. "But I'm not a threat to you or your pack. I'm just trying to survive, same as you."
The alpha studied me, its nose twitching as it scented the air. You smell strange. Not quite prey, not quite predator. What are you?
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I'm strong, and I'm fast, and I can fight if I have to. I'd rather not, though. There's no reason for us to be enemies."
The other wolves had emerged from the forest now, forming a loose circle around me. I could feel their hunger, their curiosity, their wariness. They were trying to decide if I was worth the risk.
The alpha took a step closer, and I forced myself not to flinch. You are brave, strange one. Or foolish. Perhaps both. It paused, then said, We will let you pass. But do not return to this territory. Next time, we may not be so generous.
"Understood," I said. "Thank you."
The alpha huffed, a sound that might have been amusement, then turned and loped back into the forest. The other wolves followed, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they'd appeared.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My hands were shaking, adrenaline still flooding my system. That had been close. Too close.
But I'd survived. I'd talked my way out of a fight with a wolf pack. That had to count for something.
I continued on, more cautious now, my awareness stretched to its limits. The forest was beautiful, yes, but it was also deadly. I couldn't afford to forget that.

That night, I made camp in a small clearing near the stream. I was exhausted, my muscles aching despite my enhanced healing. I'd covered a lot of ground today, and the encounter with the wolves had taken more out of me than I'd realized.
I built my fire, ate my meager dinner, and was just settling in for the night when I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.
Singing.
It was faint, distant, but unmistakable. A woman's voice, high and sweet, singing a melody that tugged at something deep in my chest. It was beautiful and haunting and wrong.
I knew what it was. Dreamor had told me stories about the Sirens of the Thornwood—creatures that lured travelers to their deaths with enchanted songs. They were rare, he'd said, and usually stayed near deep water. But sometimes they wandered, hunting for prey.
The song grew louder, closer. I could feel its pull, the way it tried to worm into my mind, to make me want to follow it. But my awareness was screaming danger, and I'd learned to trust that instinct.
I grabbed my pack and moved away from the fire, deeper into the shadows. The song was coming from downstream, which meant I needed to go upstream, away from it.
I moved as quietly as I could, using my night vision to navigate the darkness. Behind me, I could hear the singing growing louder, could hear something moving through the underbrush.
Then I heard a voice—not singing now, but speaking. "Where are you, little morsel? I can smell you. Sweet and strange and so very alone."
I kept moving, my heart pounding. The voice was closer now, too close. I could hear branches snapping, could hear the wet sound of something dragging itself along the ground.
I risked a glance back and immediately wished I hadn't.
The Siren was nothing like the beautiful women from the stories of my previous world. This was a thing of nightmare—a woman's torso grafted onto the body of a massive serpent, her skin pale and covered in scales, her hair a writhing mass of what looked like eels. Her face might have been beautiful once, but now it was twisted into something hungry and cruel.
She saw me looking and smiled, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. "There you are," she crooned. "Don't run, little morsel. It will only make the chase more fun."
I ran.
My enhanced speed kicked in, and I tore through the forest like a deer fleeing a predator. Branches whipped at my face, roots tried to trip me, but I kept going. Behind me, I could hear the Siren giving chase, could hear her laughter echoing through the trees.
"You're fast," she called. "But I'm faster!"
She was right. Despite my speed, she was gaining on me. I could hear her getting closer, could feel the displacement of air as she lunged.
I dodged to the side at the last second, and her jaws snapped shut on empty air. She hissed in frustration and coiled for another strike.
I needed a weapon. My knife was too small, too weak. I needed something with reach, something that could keep her at bay.
My eyes fell on a fallen branch, thick as my arm and about six feet long. I grabbed it and spun to face the Siren, holding the branch like a staff.
She laughed. "A stick? You think a stick will save you?"
"It's better than nothing," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
She lunged again, and I swung the branch with all my strength. It connected with her head with a satisfying crack, and she recoiled, hissing in pain and anger.
"You dare!" she shrieked. "You dare strike me!"
"You tried to eat me," I pointed out. "I think that gives me the right."
She lunged again, and again I hit her, this time catching her in the throat. She gagged and fell back, her serpentine body coiling and uncoiling in agitation.
I didn't wait for her to recover. I turned and ran again, this time heading for the stream. Running water, Shimmer had said. The Twisted feared running water.
I could hear the Siren behind me, could hear her screaming curses and promises of what she'd do when she caught me. But I was close now, so close. I could hear the stream, could see the glint of moonlight on water.
I burst out of the trees and leaped, clearing the stream in a single bound. I landed on the far side and spun, raising my makeshift staff.
The Siren reached the water's edge and stopped. She hissed and spat, her eel-hair writhing in agitation, but she didn't cross. She couldn't cross.
"Clever little morsel," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "But you can't stay there forever. Eventually, you'll have to sleep. And when you do, I'll be waiting."
"Then I guess I won't sleep," I said, though my exhaustion was a physical weight.
She smiled, showing all those terrible teeth. "We'll see."
She slithered back into the forest, disappearing into the shadows. But I could still feel her presence, could sense her watching, waiting.
I stayed by the stream for the rest of the night, my staff in hand, my awareness stretched to its limits. I didn't dare sleep, didn't dare let my guard down.
By the time dawn broke, I was shaking with exhaustion, my eyes gritty and burning. But I was alive. I'd survived another night in the Thornwood.
And I was learning. Learning that this world was far more dangerous than I'd imagined. Learning that my strength and speed weren't enough—I needed to be smarter, more careful.
Learning that survival was going to be harder than I'd thought.

The third day was a blur of exhaustion and paranoia. I followed the stream north, as I'd been told, but I was constantly looking over my shoulder, constantly expecting the Siren to reappear.
She didn't. Either she'd given up, or she was biding her time. I didn't know which was worse.
Around midday, I finally allowed myself to stop and rest. I found a spot where the stream widened into a small pool, the water clear and inviting. I was filthy, covered in dirt and sweat and dried blood from where branches had scratched me.
I looked around carefully, checking for threats. My awareness was quiet, sensing nothing dangerous nearby. The water was shallow enough that I could see the bottom, and there were no signs of anything lurking beneath the surface.
I decided to risk it.
I stripped off my clothes, wincing at the state of them. My tunic was torn in several places, my trousers were muddy and stained. I'd need to wash them, but that could wait.
I waded into the pool, gasping at the cold. The water was mountain-fed, icy and clear, and it felt like heaven against my overheated skin. I dunked my head under, scrubbing at my hair, careful of its blade-sharp edges.
When I surfaced, I felt almost human again. Almost normal.
I floated on my back, staring up at the sky through the canopy of trees. For a moment—just a moment—I let myself relax. Let myself forget about the Siren and the wolves and the villagers who'd cast me out.
For a moment, I was just Robin. Just a girl—or whatever I was—enjoying a swim on a beautiful day.
Then my awareness screamed, and I was moving before I'd even processed the threat.
I lunged for the shore, my hand reaching for my knife. But I'd left it with my clothes, and my clothes were ten feet away. Too far.
A figure emerged from the trees. Not the Siren—this was something else. Someone else.
It was a goblin, but not like the small, relatively civilized goblins from Thornhaven. This one was wild, feral. It was perhaps four feet tall, with greenish-gray skin and yellow eyes that gleamed with malice. It was naked except for a loincloth, its body covered in scars and ritual markings. In its hand, it carried a crude spear.
It saw me and grinned, showing sharp, broken teeth. It said something in a language I didn't understand, but the meaning was clear enough.
It thought I was prey.
I stood in the shallows, naked and weaponless, facing a creature that wanted to kill me. My mind raced, calculating odds, looking for advantages.
I was bigger, stronger, faster. But it had a weapon, and I didn't. And where there was one wild goblin, there were usually more.
As if on cue, two more emerged from the trees. Then three more. Then five.
Ten wild goblins, all armed, all looking at me like I was their next meal.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
The first goblin said something to the others, and they laughed—a harsh, cackling sound that made my skin crawl. Then it raised its spear and charged.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I grabbed a rock from the streambed—a smooth, heavy stone about the size of my fist—and threw it with all my strength. It caught the goblin in the face with a sickening crunch, and it went down hard, its spear flying from its hand.
The other goblins hesitated, surprised. They hadn't expected me to fight back.
I used that moment to lunge for my clothes, for my knife. My fingers closed around the hilt just as the second goblin reached me.
It swung a crude club at my head, and I ducked, feeling the wind of its passage. I came up inside its guard and drove my knife into its throat. Hot blood sprayed across my face, and the goblin made a horrible gurgling sound as it fell.
Two down. Eight to go.
The others were more cautious now, circling me like the wolves had. But unlike the wolves, these creatures couldn't be reasoned with. They were going to attack, and I was going to have to kill them or be killed.
I didn't want to kill them. Despite everything, despite the danger, I didn't want to take lives. But I also didn't want to die.
Survival won.
The next few minutes were a blur of violence. The goblins attacked in pairs, trying to overwhelm me with numbers. But I was faster, stronger, and I had the advantage of reach. My knife flashed in the sunlight, and goblins fell.
But there were so many of them, and they were relentless. One of them got past my guard and raked its claws across my ribs, leaving deep gouges that burned like fire. Another caught me in the thigh with a spear, and I felt the blade grate against bone.
I screamed—in pain, in rage, in fear—and something inside me snapped.
My hair came alive.
I'd always known it was sharp, had always been careful not to let it cut me or others. But I'd never used it as a weapon. Now, driven by desperation and adrenaline, I did.
My hair whipped out like a thousand golden blades, slashing at the goblins. They shrieked and fell back, blood spraying from dozens of cuts. One of them lost an eye. Another lost three fingers.
I pressed my advantage, my knife in one hand, my hair a whirling storm of death around me. The goblins broke and ran, their courage failing in the face of something they couldn't understand.
I let them go. I was hurt, bleeding from multiple wounds, and I didn't have the strength to pursue.
I stood there in the shallows, naked and covered in blood—mine and theirs—breathing hard. My hair settled around me, dripping red. My wounds throbbed, but I could already feel them beginning to heal. Slowly, painfully, but healing.
I looked at the bodies scattered around me. Ten goblins. I'd killed ten living creatures.
I should have felt something—guilt, horror, remorse. But all I felt was tired.
So tired.
I washed the blood off as best I could, then dressed in my ruined clothes. I gathered my pack, checked my supplies. The goblins hadn't taken anything, hadn't had time.
I needed to move. Where there were ten wild goblins, there might be more. And I was in no condition to fight again.
I continued north, following the stream, leaving the bodies behind. The forest would take care of them. It always did.

By the time the sun began to set on the third day, I could see it—the crossroads the fox had told me about.
It was exactly as described: a place where two ancient roads intersected, their stones worn smooth by centuries of use. The roads were overgrown now, barely visible beneath the moss and fallen leaves, but they were still there. Still leading somewhere.
I stood at the intersection, looking at my options. North, south, east, west. Four directions, four possibilities.
North led deeper into the mountains, toward the high peaks where wyverns nested. South led back toward Thornhaven, toward everything I'd left behind. East led toward the coast, toward cities and civilization. West led into the deep forest, into the unknown.
I was exhausted, hurt, and alone. I had no money, no friends, no plan beyond "survive."
But I was also free. Free to choose my own path, to make my own decisions.
I thought about what I wanted. Not what I should want, not what was practical or safe. What I actually wanted.
I wanted adventure. I wanted to see things I'd never seen, do things I'd never done. I wanted to find out who I was, what I was capable of. I wanted to prove that I was more than just a freak, more than just an abomination.
I wanted to matter.
East, then. Toward the cities, toward people and opportunity and danger. Toward a future I couldn't predict.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my pack, and started walking.
Behind me, the sun set over the Thornwood, painting the sky in shades of fire and blood.
Ahead of me, the road stretched into darkness.
And I walked on, into the unknown, into whatever came next.
Because I was Robin Dell'amor, and I was a survivor.
And my story was just beginning.
Chapter Three: The Road East
The ancient road was easier to travel than the forest paths had been, even overgrown as it was. Someone—some long-dead civilization—had built it to last, and despite centuries of neglect, it still served its purpose. The stones were smooth and level, and though grass and moss had claimed much of the surface, the road's bones remained strong.
I walked through the night, using my night vision to navigate. I was too keyed up to sleep, too aware of how close I'd come to dying. The wounds from the goblin attack were healing, but slowly. My ribs ached with every breath, and my thigh throbbed where the spear had pierced it.
But I was alive. That was what mattered.
As dawn broke, I finally allowed myself to stop. I found a spot off the road, hidden by a thick stand of bushes, and made a cold camp. I didn't dare light a fire—I didn't know what else might be out here, what might be drawn by the smoke.
I ate the last of Marta's bread and some dried fruit, washing it down with water from my skin. My supplies were running low. I'd need to find food soon, and preferably some way to earn money.
But first, I needed to rest.
I wrapped myself in my bedroll and closed my eyes, my awareness spread out around me like a net. Sleep came quickly, dragging me down into darkness.
I dreamed of the goblin attack, of blood and violence and the terrible feeling of my hair coming alive. In the dream, I couldn't stop it. My hair kept growing, kept lashing out, cutting everything around me until I was standing alone in a field of corpses.
I woke with a gasp, my heart pounding. The sun was high overhead—I'd slept for hours. My wounds had healed significantly, reduced to pink scars that would probably fade completely in another day or two.
I checked my supplies again, taking inventory. I had perhaps two days' worth of food left, if I was careful. My waterskin was half full. I had my knife, my fire-starting kit, my bedroll, and Dreamor's book. Not much to show for fifteen years of life.
But it was enough. It had to be enough.
I continued east, following the road as it wound through the forest. The trees here were different from the Thornwood—less dense, more varied. I saw oaks and maples alongside the pines, and the undergrowth was thick with ferns and flowering plants.
It was beautiful, in its way. If I hadn't been so focused on survival, I might have appreciated it more.
Around midday, I encountered my first sign of civilization since leaving Thornhaven. The road widened, and I could see evidence of recent travel—wheel ruts in the soft earth, horse droppings, the remains of a campfire.
People had been here. Recently.
I approached cautiously, my awareness stretched to its limits. But there was no one around now, no sense of danger. Just the lingering traces of human passage.
I examined the campfire. It was perhaps a day old, the ashes cold and scattered. Whoever had made it had been careful to put it out properly. That suggested travelers, not bandits. Bandits wouldn't care about forest fires.
I continued on, feeling slightly more hopeful. If there were travelers on this road, that meant there was somewhere to travel to. A town, maybe, or a city. Somewhere I could buy supplies, maybe find work.
Somewhere I could start over.

I saw the smoke first—a thin column rising above the trees in the distance. Then I heard voices, the sound of laughter and conversation.
I approached carefully, staying off the road, using the trees for cover. My experiences in Thornhaven had taught me to be cautious around groups of people. They might be friendly, but they might not be.
As I drew closer, I could see a small caravan camped beside the road. There were three wagons, brightly painted and covered with canvas. Horses grazed nearby, hobbled but content. And around a central fire, a group of people sat talking and eating.
They were a mixed group—humans, mostly, but I could see at least one dwarf and what looked like a half-elf. They were dressed in colorful, well-worn clothes, and their wagons were loaded with goods. Merchants, probably, or traders.
I watched them for a while, trying to decide what to do. I needed supplies, and they clearly had them. But I also needed to be careful. If they reacted to me the way the people of Thornhaven had...
While I was debating, one of the horses raised its head and looked directly at me. It whinnied, and several of the people around the fire looked up.
"Someone's there," a woman's voice called out. "In the trees."
I froze, my hand going to my knife. But my awareness wasn't screaming danger. These people were wary, but not hostile. Not yet.
"Come out," the woman called. "We mean you no harm. But we'd rather see who we're talking to."
I hesitated a moment longer, then stepped out of the trees. Better to face them openly than to be caught skulking.
The group around the fire stood as I approached, their hands going to weapons. But they didn't draw, didn't attack. They just watched me with cautious curiosity.
I stopped at the edge of their camp, keeping my hands visible and away from my knife. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just passing through."
The woman who'd called out stepped forward. She was human, perhaps in her forties, with dark skin and graying hair pulled back in a practical braid. She wore leather armor and had a sword at her hip, but her expression was more curious than threatening.
"Passing through," she repeated, looking me up and down. "On foot, alone, and looking like you've been through a war. That's an interesting way to travel."
I glanced down at myself. My clothes were torn and stained with blood, my hair was a tangled mess, and I probably looked half-starved. Not exactly the image of a harmless traveler.
"I've had a rough few days," I admitted.
"I can see that." The woman studied me a moment longer, then seemed to come to a decision. "My name is Kara. I'm the leader of this caravan. We're merchants, heading east to Millhaven. And you are?"
"Robin," I said. "Robin Dell'amor."
"Well, Robin Dell'amor, you look like you could use a meal and maybe some medical attention. We're not in the habit of turning away travelers in need." She paused, then added, "But I'll be honest—you're making my people nervous. You're very tall, and you're armed, and you look like you know how to use that knife. So before I invite you to sit by our fire, I need to know: are you going to cause trouble?"
"No," I said immediately. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just trying to survive."
Kara nodded slowly. "Fair enough. Come on, then. Sit. Eat. Tell us your story, and we'll decide what to do with you."
It wasn't the warmest welcome I'd ever received, but it was better than being chased out with torches. I followed Kara to the fire and sat where she indicated, keeping my movements slow and non-threatening.
The other members of the caravan watched me warily, but no one drew weapons. That was something.
Kara handed me a bowl of stew—thick and rich, with chunks of meat and vegetables—and a hunk of bread. I ate slowly, trying not to wolf it down despite my hunger. I needed to make a good impression, needed to show them I wasn't a savage.
"So," Kara said, settling down across the fire from me. "Robin Dell'amor. That's an unusual name. Where are you from?"
"A village called Thornhaven," I said. "About three days west of here."
"Never heard of it. Must be small."
"Very small. And very... traditional."
Kara's eyes narrowed. "Traditional. That's a polite way of saying something, isn't it?"
I hesitated, then decided honesty was probably the best policy. "They didn't like me. I'm... different. They asked me to leave."
"Different how?"
I set down my bowl and met her gaze. "I'm a hermaphrodite. I have characteristics of both sexes. In Thornhaven, that made me an abomination. They were going to kill me if I didn't leave."
The camp went very quiet. I could feel everyone staring at me, could sense their shock and discomfort. Here it comes, I thought. Here's where they tell me to leave, where they decide I'm too strange, too wrong.
But Kara just nodded slowly. "I see. And the blood on your clothes? The wounds that are clearly healing faster than they should?"
"I was attacked by wild goblins yesterday. I defended myself."
"How many?"
"Ten."
Kara's eyebrows rose. "Ten wild goblins, and you survived. Alone. That's... impressive."
"I'm stronger than I look," I said. "And faster. And I heal quickly. It's part of what I am."
"And what are you, exactly?"