"In another corner of the kingdom, these same eternal truths were testing another soul. In the deepest, most well-guarded chambers of a castle..."

  In the deepest, most well-guarded chambers of a castle erected on the highest peaks, sat a girl slouched against the dilapidated walls. The walls served as a reflection of her heart, which, with muted strength, persevered through the indifference with which the world had regarded her.

  “One day I will be free,” her Eyes said. “But, what is freedom?” her mind rang.

  In the deepest corner of her mind, she gazed into the vast expanse, and there an entity greeted her.

  “Leave me in peace,” she responded.

  “And what do you envision as peace, young one? Rotting away in some forgotten corner of the world? A subject of experimentation?” the entity grieved

  “What you envision as peace?” the girl asked cautiously.

  “Contentment,” the entity replied. “But contentment often costs what we consider peace.”

  “What do you mean?” the girl asked, with a muted expression of curiosity.

  “To want, to take from what could have been someone else’s, and make it solely yours—even life itself.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No fighting spirit,” the entity sighed. “I don’t know what is more tragic: one who suffers because he knows better, or one who doesn’t know better and therefore does not suffer,” the entity lamented.

  “Can you show me better?”

  “Perhaps I could, but you would suffer.” “They’re going to kill you tomorrow.”

  “I see.”

  “Hence, why I am sad for you, child. To be robbed of the basic desire for self-preservation... On second thought, I will show you better... I will be killed for this, but I have lived long enough.”

  The girl felt millennia of experiences flow through her—every sentiment, every moment: anguish, grief, love, compassion, envy, lust, rage, wrath, pride, and even gluttony. The intensity of the experience snapped her back to the physical plane, her sense of self molding itself around each emotion. And then she wept. And then it was an overwhelming fury Her heart sang..

  When she was done weeping, she lay, her mind flowing with emotion that pulsed through her with every beat of her heart. It stirred her soul to motion. A restlessness grew within her, a kindling of ambition—a longing for something beyond this present moment. As she realized this longing, she felt anguish. “Oh, how I’ve been wronged,” her eyes lamented.

  Hours upon hours passed, and footsteps began to echo in her mind as the girl awoke from her slumber. The metal door slowly creaked open, revealing a silhouette of a man, the light blinding her.

  “Izaline.”

  “Edward,” she said, misery weaving its way into her expression.

  “Izaline, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t take another day in this place. Is this hate?”

  “Izaline, you’re in danger.”

  They heard the pounding of footsteps and then shouting.

  “Izaline, I came to get you out of here. Please, let me do this. Let me right this wrong.”

  Edward took Izaline’s hand as they ran through the labyrinth, each path unveiling a myriad of forks.

  “There is an underground passage.”

  As they rounded a corner, a sword missed Edward's neck by an inch. He summoned the Father's will through a talisman and placed it on the guard's chest. As he did so, his chainmail shattered from the cold, and Edward drove a sword through his heart. The man's eyes went lifeless before his body, the blood-curdling in his mouth, a symphony that echoed through and pleaded for his mother's warmth. Edward took Izaline by the hand and ran; the sound of her bare feet pattered against the cold stone floor. After some time, they came to a large, expanding courtyard within the castle.

  There, they were surrounded by many men.

  “Izaline, remember what I taught you.”

  “I stare into their eyes while reaching into the back of my mind.”

  “Yes, but this time I want you to stare into the ice crystals.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask, just do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Edward reached into his armored robes, pulling out several talismans as the men charged at him. He bobbed and weaved between all of them, placing talismans on the ground at each opportunity while blocking attacks with his vambraces. Then, when there was a circle of talismans around the courtyard, he emitted a blast of air from his mouth, knocking the men to the ground. Using the brief interval, he wove a sigil in the air and said a chant. The talismans began to glow and come to life. Suddenly, it began to rain in the courtyard, the rain turning to vapor and mist, and then the mist turned to ice shards.

  One of the men grabbed Izaline. She began frantically kicking her legs out as the man chuckled, and just as he was about to slice her throat, Edward closed his eyes and shouted: “Izaline, now!”

  Izaline stared into one of the ice shards. Suddenly, the depths of the cosmos reflected in every direction, in every ice shard, forcing the men to look. As they peered through the veil, they were driven into a mad frenzy and reduced to a bumbling, catatonic state. Edward muttered to himself, “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  Within the still silence of the triumphant victory, Izaline asked: “What are you, Edward?”

  “I am a magus of the Order of the Twilight Veil, or rather, a former magus now.”

  Izaline looked to the side. “Why did you save me?”

  “Because... I've developed a paternal affection towards you these past few years of my life.”

  And so it was they mounted a steed and rode off, but regardless of which direction they went, they would be facing time.

  Atop a hill sat a humble village. It was a quaint, quiet village far removed from the capital's politics. The village folk were winding down from a long day of toiling with the earth. In that village, there was a girl named Camila. She sat at a table in a homely cottage adjacent to the river, illuminated by the hearth that cast shadows which hugged every crevice of the cold, dank stone walls and were abetted by the depths of her decrepit heart. Her idleness was interrupted by a loving hand on her shoulder.

  "Camila," her mom said, "it's dinner time."

  Within the still silence, the embers from the hearth danced towards the heavens, yet remained caged by their brief lifespans.

  Atop a hill sat a humble village. It was a quaint, quiet village far removed from the capital's politics. The village folk were winding down from a long day of toiling with the earth. In that village, there was a girl named Camila. She sat at a table in a homely cottage adjacent to the river, illuminated by the hearth that cast shadows which hugged every crevice of the cold, dank stone walls and were abetted by the depths of her decrepit heart. Her idleness was interrupted by a loving hand on her shoulder.

  "Camila," her mom said, "it's dinner time."

  Within the still silence, the embers from the hearth danced towards the heavens, yet remained caged by their brief lifespans.

  Camila turned away, her heart laid naked and bare upon her face. "No," she said. "You know how I feel about that."

  Her mom looked at her with a muted tone of concern. "Camila, everybody loves you despite what you eat—"

  "But the way they look at me," she interrupted her mom, her voice drier than the winter air. "Please don't say it. Please." Desperation clawed its way up her throat.

  Her mom kissed her on the forehead and left her to eat in the solitude of her mind. Each bite of her meal reverberated through it and reminded her of what she was not.

  Camila was different, for the world kept a secret from her. Her skin was as pale as the tundra, the moonlight reflecting off it; veins stretched across her skin like a nebula. Her eyes were as pitch black as the cosmos, and her fangs were sharper than her brother's wit.

  Up the hill, the village houses were stacked; a longhouse sat, the echoes of joy emanating from it, bestowing a radiance upon an otherwise bleak sky, for the indifferent cosmos gazed down upon their humble existence.

  Meanwhile, in the longhouse, John, Camila's brother, conversed with his best friend, William. His dark, unkempt hair hung from his forehead, shrouding his silver eyes.

  "You know, William, the morning bell—"

  "Yeah, what about it?" William replied.

  "By the gods, it does my head in." William looked up from his food, seemingly enamored by it, and let out a soft but hearty chuckle.

  "And here I was thinking I wouldn't have your tongue up my arse this evening after beating you in a sparring match, but here you are," William said.

  John opened his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, feigning endearment and hospitality. “Here I am, like a fly drawn to shit. I’m just fulfilling my role in nature, trying my best to remove vile vagabonds like yourself, whose only redeeming quality is that they allow new life to grow.” William and John stared at each other briefly before a girl, Meridith, interjected. “Well, why don’t y’all stop flirting with each other and eat your food?” she said belligerently. John and William both laughed. They exchanged, “Eat your food, you cunt,” before resuming their meal.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Down the hill, across from the longhouse, a cottage seemed to dance along the edge of the village. John entered the home. He was greeted with the warm air and muted scents of fruits, and his older sister Camila, who was one year his senior, sat atop a mountain of fur in the corner of the main room.

  A sullen smile rose on John's face at the sight of his sister. He looked down, shying away from the endearment nestled within his heart. “Camila, what are you drawing?” She looked up, her narrow abyss-black eyes devoid of pupils or color, the blue veins shimmering under her skin. “It’s a chamber-loaded rifle. With this, we can finally stand a chance against the robbers, bandits, and monsters.”

  John’s eyes glazed over as he processed what she said. Suddenly, the foundation of the house settling in the earth snapped him to his senses. “Why haven’t you presented this to the judge? This would change the entire fief, no, the entire world.” Camila laughed, tossing and turning as if she were touched by the beyond itself. “Easy there, megalomaniac. Let’s try to solve our own issues first.”

  “I’m not a megalomaniac,” John said. “I’m just the finest fighter in the village,” John said, as the girls laughed him out of the tavern. Camila narrated. John looked down, smiling. Camila stood up abruptly and hugged John. “Good night,” she said as she broke the embrace.

  Camila’s pale porcelain skin contrasted against the brown fur blanket. She lay sound asleep while her brother in the other room shone his boots. Their mother and father were nestled together, bantering about the day’s events.

  However, contrary to her family’s state, Camila found herself in a hell she’d thought she’d escaped six years ago when she was ten. The weight of the hostility of her origins weighed especially hard on her mind and heart during these turbulent times. Within this grotesque, malformed nightmare, she found herself being beaten. “You’re disgusting, Camila,” the girls said, taking a respite from beating her. Camila spat at their feet. “You’re just angry because Kai confessed his feelings to me and not you.”

  “You-, I hate you,” one of the girls said. One of the girl's brothers urged them not to take it too far. “She has corrupted Kai’s heart. She is a vampire.”

  “My father told me, ‘Vampires are monsters. He lost his brother to one.’ I love Kai, but none of the villagers will believe me. They say, ‘What is a vampire?’”

  Camila got up, tears streaming from her face. “I don’t even know what a vampire is!” she shouted as she punched the girl in the face. They then beat Camila until, at the end of the beating, she lay there dead. And within the silence and stillness of her body, her soul was stirred to motion.

  A voice told her: “Everything will be okay, My Child. Seraphina and Evelyn have taken on the hatred of their parents, and you have taken on your father's sins. If you were to die here, the roles would be reversed within the stream of time. But one must open their heart, even to those who shun them, for their hatred is no different from yours. Eventually, in life, you will find yourself in the shoes of cruelty with a victim in your hands.” The entity presented itself to Camila as an angel with four wings and white robes with gold-lined edges. “You will not die here today, child.”

  Camila took a breath of life, which animated her cold, dead body and filled it with the Father’s warmth. She abruptly sat up, all her bruises and broken bones healed, and began to sob, “I don't even die; what will become of me?” A murder of crows was perched atop the trees; their dark shadows an omen for the rotting of the self. Camila began the hike back to the village from whence she was dragged.

  Then Camila's surroundings changed, and she found herself in another dream. In a castle teetering on the cliffside, as if about to embrace its end, a child had taken its first breath and cried. William looked at the infant and vocalized an observation.

  “It’s interesting how babies always cry when they are born, as if they were aware of the hardships that awaited them,” William hissed.

  Lawrence retorted, “Or rather, the child was just traumatized by their birth.”

  “Isn’t that what I just implied, or were the finer details lost on you?” William countered.

  Lawrence bit the hook. “As a man of alchemy, I don’t believe in the supernatural.”

  William responded, “You do know that to breathe life into this vessel, I had to graft the souls of one of those malicious parasites and a fetus together. Quite the achievement, if you couldn’t tell. I don’t see why you refer to what isn’t understood by numbers and measurements…”

  “William! I’m not in the mood for this!” Lawrence shouted.

  William asked, “Lawrence, what should her name be?”

  Lawrence snorted. “I couldn’t care less. Name it whatever you want.”

  “Hello, Camila,” William said.

  Camila’s wailing came to an abrupt end as she stared into William’s sullen green eyes.

  “Hello, Camila,” she repeated in a tone grafted together, much like her very soul and body. William kissed Camila on the forehead. Camila’s smile morphed into a blank stare as William thought about the crime against nature that was her origin. Fear steadily rose on Camila’s face.

  Camila woke up to the smell of porridge and bread; she thought to herself, ‘Wish I could taste what they are eating.’ As she walked into the cottage's main room, enticed by the aroma of blood, her heart began racing, and her mouth started to salivate. She was knocked out of her trance by her brother waving his hand in her face. “Well, eat. Why don't you eat?”

  The sunbeams shone through her skin as dust floated in their paths. She looked to the side, grabbing her arm; her brother's radiance and human characteristics gazed upon her, making her aware of the nakedness of her sincerity. And from the bowels of her soul, the word was uttered, but how could she hate him? He was everything she wasn't. “Okay, John, if you insist.”

  “Camila,” John said, “why do you shy away from me, Mom, and Dad, as if you are hideous and undeserving of our affection?” This statement ignited a soft smile that radiated from her face. “Thanks, John.”

  “And Father should be home today. We have training at noon.” Camila sighed. “I know,” Camila said, “but Father demands it from both of us as his children; we must honor his wishes. The fief's fencing competition could get us both a life more than just plowing fields and idleness during the winter.”

  Camila's mother entered the main room of the cottage. “And what are you two birds chirping about?” she asked affectionately.

  Camila said, “Oh, nothing important; John is just reminding me of Father's demands,” in a playful tone.

  Camila's mother, in a soft tone, said, “Camila, respect your father.”

  “I do respect him,” Camila said, “but could you trust the words of a vagabond such as John, a vagabond, a brute who gallivants around with all of the daughters of the village?” she asked in a dramatic tone.

  “You flatter me, Camila,” John said with a chuckle.

  Camila put on her cloak and began the walk through the gloomy winter to the judge's residence; she carried her notes in a book. The cold grated against her throat, her blood flared around her cheeks and joints; the cold pierced deep into her skin and eyes like tiny needles; and the wind did not heed her footsteps or figure. And so the trek across the meadow to the top of the hill where the longhouse resided began.

  When Camila arrived at the judge's residence, guards greeted her. “Greetings, Camila,” she reciprocated the hospitality. “Greetings: Kai, Elliot, Henry.”

  “Come in and sit,” Kai said, “and we will tell the judge you’re here.”

  Camila had only a moment to think before the judge entered the longhouse's main hall. “Hello, Judge,” Camila said.

  “Hello, Camila,” he responded. “Would you like some Tredinian tea or even some food?”

  Camila said, “Thanks, but you know, those do nothing for me; the only thing I can taste is blood.” She sighed; the vapor from her mouth flickered against the candlelight. “My apologies,” he said. “I…I forgot.” The judge resumed his stiff posture.

  “I presume you had business regarding me, Camila.”

  “Yes,” Camila said. “I have these plans for something I call a chamber-loaded rifle.” Camila handed the judge the book with her notes and drawings. The judge spent the next few minutes skimming through it.

  “This is phenomenal,” he said. “And it can fire over ten times as much as a musket. We will begin production next week.” Then, “Camila, you have truly changed our lives. Thank you. And if you wish, we will use some of the surplus sales to fund your education at the institute.”

  The village endured through the stormy night. As lightning forked its way across the sky, the village sat atop the rolling hills, and at the bottom of the hill, next to the river, sat a cottage. And in that cottage… John and Camila were eating at the table. The moonlight created a soft ambiance. Camila looked at John as she wiped blood from the raw meat from her mouth. She felt a pang of shame and looked at John. “I had a dream last night. It was about a baby that had been created by grafting the body, mind, and soul of a squid together. But the strangest thing is that when the man named it, it was name.”

  John’s milk burst out of his mouth, and he began laughing. “Camila, this is a new development. I’ve never known you to be prone to fantasy.”

  Camila softly punched John’s shoulder, becoming flustered, but she couldn't help but laugh at her brother’s antics.

  A concerned look took over Camila’s face. “John, whatever happened to Seraphina and Evelyn? I had another dream—a dream I had before. In that dream, the night after, I told you Evelyn had been taking her anger out on me.” Camila became uncomfortable as she carefully expressed her next thoughts. “In that dream, I saw you bludgeon the girls' heads with rocks after deluding Seraphina into thinking you’d confess your feelings for her. You and William then dragged the bodies to the pig pens under the cover of night.”

  John showed no discomfort; he only listened while eating his bread. “John, I saw the teeth yesterday while feeding the pigs.”

  John told Camila, “Yes, I killed them, Camila.”

  The despair Camila felt in the depths of her soul was painted clearly and plainly upon her face. She said, her voice seeming reduced to a whimper, “Why?”

  “It was justice—justice for them beating you to a pulp because the object of Evelyn’s desire confessed his feelings to you. Do you have any idea what it was like seeing you come home bruised up, knowing that whatever pain it caused me, yours was tenfold—not just for the body but for the heart? But my rage was so deep it possessed me, and then an idea popped into my head: Why don’t I just get rid of them? And so I did what I set out to do, what had to be done. You felt that they were right because they were seemingly normal, and you were a monster. Everybody is a monster, Camila, because everybody has something they stand for and something they will inevitably stand against. Be it pride, compassion, their reputation, their self-worth—and that night, I stood against them, and so I dealt with it.”

  Camila looked at John with hatred and appreciation, fighting for a position on her face in an elegant duel. “You may have made my suffering stop, but it will always be there. Your actions have turned me into a monster.” Camila stood up, walking away with her face obscured by shadows in the waning daylight.

  There William lay the nightmares from guilt plaguing him … Ever since that day, he had never been the same.

  William found himself at the church

  Father, I have a confession … to make he said to the monk there is a great weight I must get off my chest…..

  The tense silence was broken by three hard knocks on the door.

  "Oridian family—John, Camila, Laila, Caspian, open the door!"

  Camila looked at John. “Oridian—we don’t have last names,” she whispered. “And anyways, isn’t that the judge’s last name?”

  “Just don’t make a sound. William confessed everything.”

  They heard a woman shout, “We ought to hang the whole family!”

  Camila, panicking, asked John, “What do we do?”

  John looked at Camila. “No, it’s what must do, Camila, for the good of the family.”

  “Hurry up!” the voice said sternly.

  Laila and Caspian entered the cottage's main room, where Camila and John sat before the door. John got up to answer it, and before he could open it, the door was kicked in, and the mob dragged the whole family to the town square. There, they saw the judge beaten, broken, and dead.

  Laila fell into despair and uttered, “Father?” as she began sobbing. She asked John, “What’s happening?”

  John responded, “Justice.”

  In the village square, they began executing Camila’s family one by one. First, the fathers. Camila’s and Laila’s whimpers were interrupted by the sound of Caspian’s head hitting the ground and the ax wedging itself in the wooden block. Camila’s whimpering broke into a scream. Then the mother. Once again, Camila’s screams were broken by the head hitting the ground.

  When it was finally John’s turn, they dragged him to the wooden plank. The father of the girls John killed when he was younger asked, “Any grievances?”

  John gave him a glance with a hint of understanding. “Do what you must,” he said.

  When the father of the girls John killed raised his ax, the light began to bend and contort around him. The man started to morph and shift; his torso turned all the way around, his skin began to melt, and he started screaming in pain as tentacles sprouted from different parts of his body.

  All the villagers came to a stop, broke into a frenzy, and began morphing and transforming. They grew different body parts and morphed into strange creatures as the Beyond reached through the veil that guards the physical plane.

  The villagers began shouting. Camila was panicking, but then she started to listen, and whatever creature or entity was speaking through the villagers' incoherent shouts was addressing her.

  “They always felt this way,” the voices of the villagers strung together.

  Camila looked to John, who was calmly assessing the situation, but he did not let the situation overtake him. He tried to shake Camila out of her shock, but she was unresponsive. John told her to wait, ran to the barracks, and grabbed swords, a bow, and two horses.

  When he returned, Camila was still in shock. John slapped her, screaming at her to get up, jolting Camila out of her catatonic state. She abruptly got up and followed John’s lead, and they rode off, fleeing from the world that they once knew and loved.