Chapter 1 - Wake

My head hurt; it felt as though my skull was being pounded from the inside.

I reached up to my forehead. The cold of my hand soothed the heat of my head. But the stickiness—wait stickiness?

In a squint, my eyelids crept up and were seared by blinding daylight. All I could see was bright blinding whiteness. My eyes watered, and it was getting harder and harder to keep them open. I had to let my eyes adjust to the light level, and closing them wouldn't help.

I gave in. I blinked, once, twice, again and again. With each blink, the blinding whiteness gave way to a gore-smeared blur.

The musky air stank of a copper smell—it was blood, a lot of it. My hand was covered in it—is it my own blood? I rubbed my fingers together, feeling the viscosity of the blood—it hadn't dried yet; it must have just gotten there…

My eyes focused on the scene beyond my hand. Blood covered the walls of the—is this an alley? Blood covered the alley I was in. The upper half of some man's body was embedded inside a wooden wall; the man's intestines hung loosely out of the bottom of the torso. He held a perfectly circular black metal rod in his hand—the circle seems big enough to fit on a head. I looked further down the alley and saw the intestines were connected to the lower half of a body a dozen feet away—that must be the other half of the man's body.

I looked over to the opposite side of the alley and saw—why are there so many body parts scattered around me? I glanced at the head next to me… that was ripped off. The base of the head was a tangled mess of muscle and flesh. The eyes seemed to have gone missing recently as blood leaked from the loose sockets.

Well, this is just a mess.

I winced as I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my head. It was a reminder of the mallet my brain was hitting my skull with. I felt around my head. No lumps or bruises; that's good. I rolled over and leaned against the nearby wall. I looked over the rest of my body; it seemed fine—covered in blood, but healthy nonetheless. If anything, maybe slightly concussed.

So the blood isn't mine, that's good! Well… not good for the dead guys, but better them than me.

I sat there for a while.

"Who am I?" I whispered to no one in particular. Something felt wrong; I couldn't explain it. Something was missing, some crucial connections that I couldn't connect in my brain. I felt that I had everything I needed to figure out who I was, but I just couldn't remember any pieces to the puzzle. I searched my mind, I pushed to remember something, anything, but there was just nothing there. I felt no recognition of the body I was in. Its hands—my hands—felt utterly foreign. I felt my teeth with my tongue; I wiggled my toes and made fists with my fingers. These arms, limbs, everything felt alien—I didn't even know if this body belonged to me. Did I have a parent? A brother or sister? Family? Was there anyone who loved me? Was there anyone who cared about me? Deep down though, despite my desperation to know something about myself, some history I could ground myself to, I felt... disgusted that I would be so desperate, so needy. But I still sat there, searching, growing more distant from the need.

"My name is Crystal!" I shouted. It was a complete euphoric shock. My mind raced with exuberance, a mix of relief that I managed to claw onto something about myself, and a ravenous rage that scorned this trivial gain. Nothing could placate my ferocious yearning for more. I thought harder, my mind prowling for more clues. I looked back at the man's lower half, at his FEET! I thought in feet! That's another clue, only a few intelligent species use feet as a measurement.

I looked back to my hand; red blood, and my skin is a whitish olive color. I'm human, I concluded, sure of myself. Then I touched my round ears and look back to the dismembered bodies. Yep, definitely human.

Ok, my name is Crystal; I'm a human covered in blood in an alley—I'm not bothered by the blood! Yes, another clue! I must be used to gore.

So I must be some fighter or healer?

As I looked around, I noticed more details about my surroundings. The ground beneath me was a patchwork of cobblestone and mud, well-trodden and uneven. Tiny, forgotten shards of pottery lay scattered around.

The buildings themselves were a medley of timber and thatch. They leaned towards each other across the narrow alley, their frames warped and weathered, huddling together as if for warmth. Their roofs were heavy with thatch, straw golden turned gray with age and spotted with tufts of green where moss found a home. Each building seemed to have been constructed independently, their varied sizes and shapes defying any notion of uniform planning.

At a distance, there was the silhouette of a towering castle tinted blue by the atmosphere. Its formidable stone walls seemed to pierce the sky, and a sense of antiquity and resilience radiated from it. Muffled noises filtered through the alleyway—the steady clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the boisterous shouting of market traders, the distant clop-clop of a horse-drawn cart. It all created an organic symphony of life, a vibrancy that was characteristic of a bustling settlement of this era.

Beyon the smell of the nearby gore, I could smell the rich aroma of baking bread and the sharp tang of tanned leather. Then there were less pleasant odors of an era untouched by advancements in sanitation—the unmistakable whiff of rotting waste, the smoky tang of wood fires burning with scant regard for ventilation, the odd sharp scent of decay. The air had a distinct taste, too, a gritty texture tinged with the flavor of woodsmoke, perhaps from a nearby hearth.

Everywhere I looked, there were indications of a world steeped in tradition and struggle, a world that had yet to be reshaped by the hands of future innovation. Humans, I realized, would call this the medieval era.

As the alley began to lighten, the oppressive shadows receding, I found myself looking upwards. Instead of the comforting blue of a typical sky, a stunning celestial spectacle dominated the heavens.

Where one might expect the gentle white disc of a moon or the blazing face of a star, there was an indomitable circle of darkness—a black hole. It wasn't merely a monstrous void, but rather a celestial paradox. Its dark heart was surrounded by a radiant corona. Swirling hues of yellow, orange, and red danced and mingled at its edges, a fiery ring of accretion in a cosmic tug-of-war with the black hole's insatiable hunger. This dazzling spectacle seemed to warp space around itself, bending the nearby starlight into brilliant arcs that danced in a hypnotic ballet.

Beyond this immediate spectacle, the sky deepened into an expansive canvas of cobalt blue, generously studded with twinkling stars. The stars looked like scattered diamond dust strewn across the velvety blackness, their light undeterred by the massive anomaly at the center. I found myself staring at a galaxy, a sea of suns and planets, all revolving around this black sun at its heart.

Despite the majestic terror of the black hole, it didn't feel unwelcoming. Instead, it stirred a note of strange familiarity within me, as though it were an old friend or a remembered landmark. A part of me wanted to dig deeper into this feeling, and explore the origins of this recognition, but a different instinct pushed back, urging me to focus on the present, leaving my cosmic puzzle for another time.

As I marveled at the cosmic spectacle above, a single thought crystallized, so profound that I had to speak it aloud, "It's beautiful…"

My musings were abruptly cut short by an unkind hand on my shoulder, jolting me back to the harsh reality of my earthly surroundings. "Woman, are you a deaf?" a man gruffly barked.

At the man's rude interruption, an instinctual flare of aggression sparked within me, my fingers flexing as if unsheathing claws long forgotten. Yet, I kept the beast within in check, smiling mildly in reply. "No, I am not deaf," I stated, my eyes studying the pair. They were encased in worn leather armor, hands perched on the pommels of their sheathed swords. Guards, no doubt. My heart thumped a bit harder at the realization of my predicament. Crime scene indeed.

"Get up and extend your hands," came the curt command.

As I eased off the wall, the glimmer of handcuffs in one man's hand and the readiness of the other's grip on his sword sent a shiver of apprehension through me. I studied them closely, looking beyond their surface bravado. I could feel their assumptions about me, the projections of their own biases imprinted in their eyes. The dichotomy between their expectations and my own reality was amusingly stark.

I could sense them, the winding paths of their souls. The narratives they—

"Follow my orders, woman!"

The man's command snapped me out of my introspective dive. I played my part, shakily pulling myself up, knees wobbling, hands quivering theatrically. I played the part of the scared, helpless victim. "Yes, sir. Just please don't hurt me. I'm scared," I whispered with a tremor, glancing nervously at the blood-soaked surroundings. As I huddled against myself, I noted their softened expressions, a hint of reassurance coloring their guarded stances. I held out my hands, seemingly defenseless. The dance of deception was nearing its end, and it was time for a different kind of dance.

Everything seemed to happen in a heartbeat. The first guard moved towards me, his hand reaching out to capture my arm. Instincts sparked to life within me like a wild blaze. In one smooth, swift motion, I intercepted his grasp and seized his sword, the cold metal solid and real in my hand. Almost immediately, I launched a kick that sent him sprawling backward. As he tumbled, his partner lunged at me, sword gleaming dangerously. But he was a beat too late, and I was already moving, already prepared.

I dipped beneath his clumsy swing and retaliated, a swift slash severing his sword arm. He howled in pain, his eyes wide in shock and terror. An odd sensation stirred within me, a mix of guilt and a primal satisfaction. I quashed it.

Pivoting around, I faced the first guard who was now scrambling back onto his feet. His fists clenched, a final desperate charge. My dance continued, a pirouette around his assault, and my borrowed blade found its mark. A swift, lethal thrust into the gap of his leather armor and he collapsed, gasping, his life ending on the grimy cobblestones

His life was snuffed out, a candle extinguished by the wind. And in the echo of that sudden silence, a pang of regret, a sense of horror at my own capacity for violence, tugged at my subconscious. But there was no time to dwell.

Reeling away from the lifeless guard, I left the sword jutting from his body, a grotesque testament to my desperate violence. I stumbled into the disarmed guard still groaning in agony, and the sudden contact sent us both sprawling. As he collapsed, a wave of nausea washed over me. The raw reality of the carnage around me was hard to stomach.

Panic surged within me as I found myself sprawled on the gritty cobblestones. The alleyway felt like a trap, the enclosing walls pressing down on me. The nausea was potent now, gnawing at my stomach, but survival won over disgust. I needed to escape.

Scrambling on all fours, I clawed at the uneven stones beneath me, each forward lunge feeling achingly slow. The world seemed to move in slow motion as I fought to gather my senses, my mind screaming for speed.

Finally, with a herculean effort, I lurched onto my feet and found my momentum. My sprint carried me out of the shadowed alley and onto the bustling street, the chilling memory of violence replaced by the cacophony of everyday life. I was a horrific spectacle, painted in blood and grime, running amid the crowd.

I kept running.