Minecraft Movie Trailer Was Just A Bad Dream.

Chapter 4!! Although I've gone through more than once for some brief editing/re-reading of what I've already got written, I didn't realize how much of a set-up there was. This chapter is the final chapter of "set-up": after this, a bit more action comes into play.

Also, please keep in mind that although this has already been edited, it's nowhere near how I'd like the end product to appear. I've got lots of ideas for additions and changes and would greatly appreciate any and all feedback!!

tw: mentions of death and war

Ch. 4

“War?”

May sighed, standing and brushed herself clean of the bit of dirt. “It’s hard to explain,” she started, holding out to hand to prompt Oryn to do the same.

He took it, standing and joining her. They started their walk back towards the cabin—towards the witches and a warm lunch, a soft rug, and a place to forget all these things for a little while.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, not wanting to meet their eyes. Years ago, when May had first laid eyes on the place she now visited so often, she saw the woods as nothing but hostile; both in nature, and in who it inhabited. There was an aura of fear permeating around the tree line, warning all who crossed the threshold that something unwanted and probably painful was awaiting them on the other side. And yet, tucked inside of all that, was someone so innocent as not to know of war; of death and blood and battle and victory. She didn’t know when it happened, she didn’t know the cause, but the fear was replaced with a warmth that had been missing from the manor for quite some time. That aura became a beckoning call when it was once the Witches’ defenses.

“It’s nothing good, Oryn.” May said, stopping in her tracks and looking to them. “I don’t want to think about those things. War is… it’s something men don’t always come back from. I don’t want to think of my brother like that.” She took a moment before continuing to walk, their paces now slowed, lethargic.

“Alright,” Oryn said, a look of clouded questions hiding in their gaze. “Would the Witches tell me?”

May smiled, shaking her head. “Probably not, but I don’t see how it’s something they could avoid. It’s everywhere, all the time.”

Oryn sat up a bit straighter. “Is it here now?”

May laughed, bumping into them as they continued. “No, no. Not like that. Think of it as an argument between big groups of people. As long as people live, they’ll have things to argue about, right? Differing opinions and such.”

Oryn nodded.

“War is like when you and I disagree on something, but instead of just you and me, it’s one kingdom versus another. If there are people, we will fight. If there are kingdoms, they will go to war.” She kicked a small stone along their path, her words falling from her tongue before she could stop herself thinking of them.

“Oh,” Oryn mumbled under their breath, slowly nodding as their brows furrowed with more questions than understanding. As May realized the plethora of things she had just unearthed for them, she looked at them with a worried glance. They chewed their lip, staring at the ground ahead with each step they took. “I argue with the Witches all the time. They say it’s normal; that a person is supposed to question things and feel strong emotions. But, in the end, we are still the same. We don’t go anywhere. Why wouldn’t your brother come back?”

She saw it coming. “People fight with more than words, Oryn. Weapons. Spears, axes, swords and bows. They…” she followed suit to them, looking down at the path ahead of them. “They die.” Please, for the love of the Waters and Winds, tell me they’ve explained death to them.

Oryn stopped in their tracks, eyes wide as they met May’s. “People just go and— they just run off to fight so hard they die? Why would someone…” they shook their head, continuing down the path.

-

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” Maureen seethes, pacing the creaking wooden floor of the deck. “The things you put in his head!”

May sat straight-backed, a stern look of her own displayed on her face. “If you’d just told him—”

Maureen stopped in her tracks, her cold gaze settling on May’s, as if sizing her up.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” She said under her breath, her thin tendrils of what was once beautiful hair flinging itself into the breeze behind her.

“Understand what, exactly?” May huffed in exasperation. “The three of you do nothing but talk in circles!” Her throat started to constrict as she went to ask about the vile, viscous brown liquid she drank those many nights ago. “And you—”

She choked on her words, gasping for breath, hacking up phlegm and bile. There was a taste permeating her tongue, enveloping her entire mouth as she struggled to catch a breath. With each arduous inhale there was more gagging, more pain. She could taste it, feel it lethargically slugging its way down her throat again, coating her insides with something rancid. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how hard she tried. This is what happened every time; what held her back from speaking her truth.

That’s what this must be, she thought, retching yet again, this is lies. This is what lies taste like.

One of Maureen’s thin arms snapped towards May, her hand grabbing the girl by the neck as her steel grip tightened, piercing gaze causing a shiver to ravage her body. “Stop struggling,” she said, voice thick with authority, “and stop trying to speak of it. You can’t. That’s what makes it so effective. Don’t you get it?”

May took another moment to gasp and struggle, digging her nails into the bony hand wrapped around her neck. When there was no flinch—not even a modicum of pain splaying on the witch’s face—she decided to do something different for once and listen.

Breath slowly steadying as Maureen released her grip, May raised a hand up to her own throat and rubbed the sore skin. It’s their fault, she thought, locking eyes once again with the witch. She wouldn’t back down; she would be told the truth tonight.

“What did you do to me?” she muttered.

Maureen scoffed, brushing her skirts with the backs of her hands. “We saved you, child. I saved you. This life you live? The freedom and luxury of not having to do anything to cover it up?”

They knew.

“Because of what we did for you, no one will ever know what you did, May. No one will ever have the privilege of locking a spoilt girl such as yourself down in a dank cell. No, not you, May. You’re—”

Elisa rushed into the room with a gust of wind behind her, the door whipping open and slamming itself shut after she entered. “I swear, if you’ve laid a harmful hand on her—”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to!” Maureen shrieked, knowing full well her intention behind her brief stunt a moment ago, even if it was out of her command to execute it.

As they looked at each other with disdain, May found herself starting to tremble in her seat.

They knew.

~

“My Lady, we have to advise against—”

“I’d have asked if I wanted your advice,” she said, secure in her judgement as she swiftly made her way down the hall. To think, just days before, blood and gore painted the walls. You wouldn’t know if you hadn’t seen it. “I’d have already asked for it.”

The shuffling of leather and clinking of mail grew louder behind her, too afraid to stop her but holding too much respect for her to listen. “But he—”

She stopped short, turning to face the gaggle forming behind her. They stumbled over one another at such a short stop, most looking towards her with wide eyes full of something she hadn’t seen in any of her men for a very long time: fear.

“I took him here,” she started, making eye contact with each soldier, one by one, “therefore I am responsible for him. I’ll be the one to decide what comes next. If you cannot trust that your lives are of the utmost importance to me, then why have you ever taken my orders in the first place?” She paused, allowing the men to think on her words. “I know more now than I did a week ago, as do you. Trust that I am doing what’s right.”

One of the spearmen—a guard—from the back row of soldiers shuffled where he stood, eyes darting between May and the men standing beside him. With what must have been an enormous amount of courage, he spoke.

“Our lieutenant trusted you,” he mumbled.

May’s ears perked, eyeing the man. He couldn’t have been much older than herself. “What was that?”

The guard blushed, his cheeks matching the deep crimson of the uniform he wore beneath his leather vest. Yet, still, he spoke again. “Lieutenant Riker, my Lady. He, uh… he trusted you and, well, he died.” He seemed to sink into the small group even more, if possible.

May shook her head, her piercing gaze not letting up on the poor spearman. “Did you forget that Lieutenant Riker expressly denied orders to leave our guest in peace? Do you think the proper warnings and precautions were not taken? Do you think,” she said, her voice raising, gesturing towards the door at the end of the hall; her ultimate destination. “I would risk the lives of my men—our men—by inviting something hostile into our home with no reason?”

She had their attention now.

Looking once again from one man to the next, she sighed. She owed them more than she could ever tell, and yet they’d all have her head if they knew the truth. It may be time.

“Tell your officers there’s an impromptu meeting this evening,” she said, gazing towards the shadow through the ornate window adorning the plain stone wall. “Give it four hours' time. I’ll tell you. I swear it.”

As she started striding once again down the hall, Oryn’s door coming ever closer, the men behind her merely watched. The door hadn’t been open since the attack, locked from the inside by a man who thinks he’s a monster. May approached, taking a deep breath, her hand reaching for the handle as she heard a soft click, the door opening but a sliver to reveal the dark recess of the room beyond.

“Just you,” Oryn said, voice but a whisper, pulling the door back slightly more, allowing May in.

They sat in silence, looking at one another. May’s ambitious attitude melted away at the sight of them, all shriveled up upon themselves, draped in two or three robes hiding their visage from being seen. There was nothing in the room but a shredded mattress upon a stone dais, raising it slightly in the center of the room. All other furniture—most likely broken beyond repair—had been removed. Long scratches lined the walls, trailing from one end of the room to the other, their twins cascading over the floor. The smell permeating the air was rancid, of rotting meat and decay. The closer May got to Oryn, the worse it became. As Oryn sat upon the remnants of mattress, May adopted the soldier's stance—hands clasped behind your back, feet apart, chin down—giving them ample time to prepare for her onslaught of questions.

Suddenly, the thoughts were flying away, leaving nothing but an empty void in their wake.

“I’m sorry,” Orryn said, breath hushed and full of something heavy and painful.

May shook her head with disbelief, pinching her nose between her fingers and sighing. “I didn’t invite you here to watch you rot in this room. I didn’t come here today to chastise you for what happened.” She made her way closer to them, standing over them near the mattress and offering them a hand to stand next to her.

Oryn, between the hoods of the robes they wore, looked at May’s outstretched hand. “You aren’t afraid?”

She leaned closer, peering between the sheets of fabric with might. “I don’t think you could hurt me. Now get up.” She reached down and took their hand in her own. It took everything in her not to recoil with shock as she felt the cold, dead weight laying limp in her palm, sweat starting to bead on her brow.

Oryn felt something when May grabbed their hand, warmth flowing freely from her body into their own. They looked upon the two hands sitting together, held there by the sheer will of two people.

“I said,” May barked, tightening her grip on Oryn’s hand, “Get. Up.”

She pulled on their hand, yanking him off the tattered mattress and out into the cold center of the empty room. Limp and cold, Oryn stumbled behind, finding themselves standing next to May, her conviction visible and flaring from her ears.

“You can’t do this anymore. Sit here, brooding. Wallowing.” May sighed, eyes narrowing as they continued to stare.

“But I... You—”

“You’ve never killed anyone before? Not once? Not for any reason?”

Oryn shuffled where they stood, refusing to meet May’s eyes, wishing they could curl into the mattress behind them. “Why would I have...”

As they lifted their chin into the light, meeting May’s gaze but for a moment, she saw something there that she’d never seen before. She shook her head, dropping Oryn’s hand and letting it fall beside her as she started pacing the room.

She sighed, the sound of her boots hitting the stone matching the drone of the soft pounding playing in the back of her head. “What did the Witches tell you about death?” she said, her breathing even.

“Everything dies,” Oryn mumbled, “it’s a part of being alive. It might be the end part, but it’s a part we all come to.” They hugged their arms to their chest, pulling the robes tighter around them. From the corner of her eye, May could see the shape of the body underneath; one she wasn’t familiar with. She kept pacing.

“Do you remember when I told you about war?” She kept her eyes straight ahead.

“Yes.”

May nodded. “I’m fighting in a war,” she said, pausing her pacing to meet Oryn’s eye.

As expected, the shock on Oryn’s face was magnifying. She could see the layers to the fear crossing her mind, the horror of murder and untoward death upon the innocent. May knew that—in Oryn’s mind—there was no real understanding of the world as it is. If she was going to stay here, she needed to understand. And, despite the pounding ringing through May’s skull, she couldn’t think of any outcome to the events leading here in which she didn’t take Oryn home.

They shuddered. “I don’t understand. Why would—”

“I’m going to explain everything to you. I promise. But it’s going to take a lot of time: there’s a lot I need to teach you. But,” May said, stepping closer to Oryn, keeping her eyes locked on theirs, no matter how wrong they looked. “I need you to know that those men—my men—they all choose to be here. They all choose to fight. And they’re not fighting in search of death, but in spite of it. Do you understand?” The hardness in her eyes melted away as she leaned forward, taking her hand to pull back the hood concealing Oryn’s face.

She tried her best to hide her shock, but Oryn read her like a book. They knew something was different; whenever something like this happened, they always were. First it was subtle, but as the days passed, the differences became more obvious. They didn’t dare to look at themselves since the attack, but they knew. The soreness brooding in their ribs when they took a breath, the aching in their joints, the tight feeling of their jaw... it always happened.

Oryn nodded, shallow and slowly. “I understand choice,” they started, hands trembling, “and I trust you, May. But I can’t just… I can’t just kill.”

“I never asked you to.” May took in whoever it was in front of them; the new shape, the new structure. “But I’ll need your support. Your undoubted, unequivocal support. No questions asked. Can you do that?”

“I’m not going to be another one of your men—”

“I never asked you to, Oryn. I’m asking you to be my friend. To trust me. And you just said you could, didn’t you?”

Another nod was exchanged between them.

“Good,” May sighed. “There’s a meeting a few hours’ time. Come to the Hall, okay?”

I haven't been posting nearly enough I've been drawing so many ocs SORRY

sorry BETA MALES, but this is what PEAK MALE PERFORMANCE looks like

this is a very serious and mysterious room mr qi

The way (and I love her so much) my therapist is LITERATE?!?! I sit down with an I Feel statement and this warm and kindhearted woman smiles at me and READS ME FRONT, BACK, UPSIDE DOWN, AND FUCKING BACKWARDS like I know it's her job to Explain the Things to Me but she has just read, reread, annotated, and written an analytical essay on my emotional intelligence and mental health. When she hits me with the "I think we should unpack that :)" i KNOW I'm about to get the spark notes on the last three chapters fed to me like a baby bird.

Back with chapter five!! Things are starting to pick up now 😈 please feel free to leave any and all feedback!!!

tw: fighting, bodily horror, mentions of death, war

Ch. 5

The air in the room was thick with anticipation. The humidity was rising, heavy breaths hanging on every crevice. As the door clicked shut behind the last soldier, May cleared her throat and rose from her seat. Her men followed suit, standing straight with their hands behind their backs, eyes straight ahead: alert, at attention.

May raised her hands and subtly relaxed her wrists, allowing her men to sit. May remained standing at the head of the table, solid chair sitting crooked behind her. To her left sat Oryn, starring directly ahead, eyes fixated on a random point in the table. Next to them sat Alec, blushing and trying his hardest to keep his composure at being invited to such an exclusive meeting. To May’s right sat the head of her personal guard, Lieutenant Demetrius.

“Thank you,” May started. Oryn—through quick glances—was making eye contact with each soldier around the table, intentionally or not. “I have several things I must get off my chest this evening, all of which are meant to benefit you—all of you—in the long run. There may be outrage and there may be those who would rather walk away in peace. Either is fine with me; your servitude is a gift that you may revoke at any time.” She looked towards Oryn, who’s unhooded figure looked more ethereal in the waning sunlight, skin seeming to sag in certain places and be pulled taught in others.

“The skirmishes between us and our fellow countrymen must come to an end.” May’s eyes scanned the room, searching for the first sign of upheaval from her men. Not one of them stirred.

She folded her hands on the table as she continued, swallowing a lump forming in her throat. “It is with great sadness that I report to you all the death of our beloved High Councilor of Ilucia,

The very air in the room became stagnant, the unsteadiness rolling through the room like a wave. Each man around the table had a look of distant mourning—a mask to disguise their fear.

The guard’s words were sharp as he spoke, “Tt was Giardin.”

The small crowd murmured, more men agreeing silently with each passing second.

May sighed, sitting up straighter in her seat. She knew the accusations would come, but not this quickly. “I’ve already considered him the cause, but it was unfounded upon further inspection.”

The loud grumble they gave in dissent reminded May of their loyalty to her and how fickle a thing it was.

“The border disputes have never been an act of unperturbed violence; we marched in fields, we followed oaths, and both ourselves and Giardin’s men have carried the Crown Banner into every battle fought. The disgusting act of murder upon our Holy Councilor does not spell anything close to the Lord who, may I mind you, has done nothing but fight with honor.” May looked from one man to the next, her conviction unwavering.

The silence was heavy.

There was a soft shuffle near the other end of the table before a young man spoke, “Honor?” His breaths were labored, his shirking eyes never daring to make eye contact with May’s own. “That scum… Has fought with honor?” His crude laugh echoed in the suddenly cold office.

May’s jaw tightened as she stood from her seat, the young man doing the same.

“The man kills your kin—has been trying to stake his claim in what’s belonged to your family for more generations than his own has walked the sodden dirt he calls his own duchy… That man is far from honorable, my Lady.”

His statements strengthened the men’s resolve, their eyes becoming certain in their own convictions. May ran her fingers through her cropped hair, taking a step away from the table to get a better look at her men.

She looked at Oryn, then at Demetrius. He nodded, knowing what would come next.

The fire was powerful behind her, roaring in the mantle as it cast dramatic shadows upon the Duchess. Her eyes were hard, yet her voice was on the edge of wavering. The weight of their lives was behind her, supporting her, supporting Ilucia. Without them backing her, what was she?

“I’m ending the dispute.”

The slack jaws and shocked faces were no surprise. This war had been funding them for much longer than May would like to admit.

“But—”

May held up her hand in protest, the guard’s mouth falling shut. “It has to end. I will no longer permit any more of my men to die fighting a battle neither shall ever win.”

He held her gaze longer than he should’ve, but May wouldn’t break it. She would show her men she was still strong, despite pulling out of a generation’s long skirmish. She had more important things to focus on.

Demetrius grew restless in his seat as he watched the May’s play of dominance. He was ready if the man didn’t back down.

“You can leave my service, if you’d like,” May said, relaxing her stance as her gaze hardened.

“I have dead brothers to avenge,” he mumbled, trying harder with each passing moment not to shrink from her watchful eyes. “Our men. Your men.”

“Do you want to die fighting the same war your father fought? The same war your sons will fight? Do you think I want more of you to die for a lost cause?”

He stepped back as he broke her gaze. “Lost cause? They all fought—died—for a lost cause?”

“The border is set, men. The dispute is done. Leave your pin on the table if you’re leaving,” she said, sitting back in her chair as the man stared at the floor beneath his feet.

“What did you give him?”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You must have given him something!” The anger in the man’s voice was growing, his brow bunching as the veins in his neck bulged, “What did he demand for his peace?”

To everyone’s shock, May laughed. She laid her head back against the hard chair and laughed, going as far as to wipe a tear from her cheek and flick it towards Demetrius.

“He came to me asking how I infiltrated his home, wondering how I killed his High Councilor.”

The few who had started to remove their pins quickly stopped in their tracks, immediately looking back at May.

“I had met him to discuss my own predicament in much similar terms, but he seemed to have beaten me to it. We paid each other nothing besides the intent to bring forth the sacrilegious killer and have him pay his dues,” she placed her hands on the table in front of her, leaning over herself as the fire behind her cast the shadows of a warrior upon her. “I won’t fall victim to whatever plan is being hatched by whatever man is hatching it. Is that clear?”

She had managed to bring them back within her grasp, but knew it wouldn’t be easy to continue to hold them there.

The remainder of the meeting went as planned, the opposition to the truce floating away with the realization that there would be no more fighting upon the muddy banks, death spilling upon the shoals and staining the flow of the river.

They didn’t seem to mourn the holy man Voth much after the announcement of the ending war, instead choosing to celebrate bringing in a new era of peace.

She let them cheer as they ran to meet their wives through the manor corridors, choosing instead to meander a bit longer in the office with Demetrius after she’d dismissed them.

His jaw was sharp and tight as he faced her, slowly shaking his head. “They’d have more to celebrate if you told them the truth,” he said, unabashed as was his way.

May met his eyes, pleading dripping from her own. “What they did to Giardin for refusing—”

“Is not our responsibility!” His heavy fists slammed the solid table, the wood shuddering underneath them both.

May met his strength with her own. “Who are we if we let them win?”

The silence between them was quick in passing, but heavy in foreboding.

“You’ve never been religious, May—”

“This has nothing to do with the church, Demetrius, and you know it. What he’s doing… it’s wrong. I don’t want to sign them up for a war. A real war, with more than a few hundred men marching upon one another.” She scoffed, tilting her chair back towards the fire, “They don’t know what real war is.”

“They’d immediately support him. He’d be getting rid of all tithes, forever.”

May shook her head. “I’m not in support of the tithes, Demetrius. You know this.”

He nodded, folding his arms in front of him as he sighed. “You’ll have to tell them at some point. Sooner rather than later. Either that or risk your head.”

“I know,” she let her chair fall flat to the floor again, leaning her elbows on the table. “But not yet.”

-

Oryn didn’t know how to feel. They didn’t know what to say. The thought of May killing something sentient, something living, let alone commanding an entire… What was it called?

Alec skimmed another couple of pages before handing the book over to Oryn. He stood from their plush seats, rummaging through the scrolls littering the desks and shelves. “This passage is about the main structure of the Councilors,” he said, a distracted air about him. He wouldn’t look Oryn in the eye and didn’t want to stand too close; his fear was palpable, but Oryn could see the spark in the child’s eye, too.

Oryn shifted in their seat, sinking a little deeper into the cushions. “How do you want to go about this?”

Alec froze mid stride between one bookshelf and another, fumbling with the small stack of scrolls in his hands. “Well,” he started, “Our Lady wants me to teach you. That’s… that’s what I’m doing.”

“Well, yes,” Oryn sighed, “but I image there’s got to be a whole lot of information to cover.” She looked around the archive from where she sat, never having seen a room so tall with shelves so large. So many books to read, so much to learn. It was just a tad overwhelming.

Alec tapped his foot on the stone, a soft echo resonating around the archive. “Yes,” he nodded, “there is. Here, I’ll have you start with some of the basics of the clergy, then some old hymns and poems…” he nodded, growing more confident with himself. “I’ll put together a few of the basics for you to read through while I try to form some semblance of a history lesson.” He turned and started down the hall, mumbling to himself about which books he should pick first.

After his original search down in the archive, Alec knew he’d need to make some changes if he were ever to find what it is he was searching for. The layers of dust and debris could be hiding any number of precious tomes holding exactly what he was looking for. Things were strewn about without rhyme or reason, and Alec took upon the task of fixing it. Although it had only been a few weeks since he began, the polished stone floor and fresh candles made the place where Oryn sat seem completely different than the one Alec had first entered.

He didn’t know if his father would be proud or enraged at his current position, flitting amongst stacks of books instead of training to fight, yet taking direct orders from the Duchess herself. He wouldn’t worry about that now, though—he had lessons to prepare, books to find. He was getting better and better at pushing things from his mind, like the fact that the man he’ll be spending the majority of his time with is a beast wearing sheep’s skin.

Oryn started reading the book laid on their lap from the page Alec had flipped to.

The torment cascaded through the flesh of what was once man, devouring a soul in exchange for sanctity. To live safely amongst the banished demons, you had to become one. An act of evil that has occurred only once throughout the history of our realm, shattering the unity of man and the vitality bestowed upon us by our Gods. In doing so, order had lost all meaning and Natural Chaos enveloped the land, any semblance of what was once holy lost among those maimed in the sacrifice, their secrets disappearing with them upon their deaths.

A large portion of the rest of the page was an author’s note, pertaining to the time skip in this particular text. Several centuries of strife and chaos and ruin befell humanity, with most being hunted for sport by the rampaging beasts fueled by our indecision and selfishness.

It was with great hardships that the Council was risen, restoring holiness to a dying race. It was with a Herald’s blessing—glorious in its horrifying visage—that all was saved and greatness restored. Upon his descent—

Boots thundered down the hall as what sounded like a full battalion of soldiers making quick pace through the manor. Muffled orders were shouted, someone on the other side of the door sounding afraid.

“Shit,” Alec scrambled out from the tall shelves, dropping the large stack of scrolls and books and parchment. “Sounds like a call to arms,” he muttered, looking towards Oryn. “There hasn’t been one of those in well over a month now…” he rambled, his eyes constricting as the door was opened with force.

Demetrius’s hulking figure stood in the door frame, his great-axe looming at his side in his shadow. Guards and soldiers alike rushed behind him down the hall, getting louder and louder as each order was barked from the many superiors heading to the center of the fight.

“Attacked from the southwest. Looks like Lord Giardin’s banner, but we can’t be sure. Duchess has asked I take you to safety,” he said between heavy breaths, sweat staining his brow. He had fought already tonight, and would have to fight yet again.

“At… attacked?” Alec muttered, his skin starting to pale.

Demetrius sighed, grabbing the boy by his shaking hands and turning towards Oryn. “Follow me. Stay close.”

He turned quickly from the room, Oryn following in his wake. It was tumultuous to make it through such a packed hall. As the majority of them turned off into separate halls and headed towards their designated battleground, Demetrius and his motley crew headed up a winding staircase.

He continued his brisk jog up the stairs, pulling Alec along with him. Oryn’s chest burned with the exertion as they went through one door into another hall and up the second—or was it the third?—flight of stairs.

The screaming only got louder with their ascent, the battle on the ground accelerating quickly. The screams of the fighting and dying, the roars of the flames as barns were lit ablaze, the shrieking of steel on steel…

Oryn’s blood rushed hot through their veins as the sounds seeped deep into their skull, striking something primal within their core. Their hands shook as they ascended the rickety ladder after Alec, Demetrius having headed up first. The sounds abated as they were muffled by the final floor of the manor, the hatch being pulled shut tight behind them, Demetrius effectively sealing them in.

Wuh

he is so babygirl

farmer uses he/they

Larian???