Socks, blades, and a sticky mixture of blood and mud coat the filthy cement floor, only the beginning of the chaos that is bunk room number five, and most unfortunately, my room.

  Well, not entirely mine. The room is shared by well over eighty crooks, or otherwise unwanted souls turned villain by poverty and starvation, and often, the reality of having nowhere left to go. The mere thought of privacy is a laughable idea here.

  The room is large, but not large enough to distribute the constant smell of sweaty men and infected wounds. Not large enough to fit all of us, either.

  Composed wholly of rows of cramped bunks, there is no bed left untouched by centuries worth of neglect. Though any type of bed is better than those forced to sleep under rickety frames, the only remaining room with how stuffed the dormitories have become in the last few years. Nobody is guaranteed a bed for the night. At least, not until you earn it. Gods help the newbies and the weak

  I hoist myself onto the bed I’ve slept in for about six years now. It took me a while, and a lot of spilled blood, but after four gruesome years, I earned myself a top bunk. It was rather good timing, too. For that was about the age I got boobs. Things got…interesting around then. But hey, the past is the past, and besides, I’m the one who came out with the bed. Those dipshits just ended up in the mass tomb beneath the prison we call home. A wins a win.

  Drenched and battered boys soon stream into the room, their obnoxious chatter and boisterous laughter filling the air like smoke. Unfortunately for my sanity, it seems that today’s blood spilling is done. At least for now. Only the Mother knows what will happen before under the cover of the Moon.

  Shoving my hand into my burlap sack, the only comfort I’ve had for a decade, my eyes catch on the deep black markings that spiral up my arm. The odd swirls and spots have always been a curiosity of mine. I was the only one in the family who had them.

  Oddly, they look exactly like stars, a shadow trail weaving them together. A curvy depiction of the Sun sits on the back of my left shoulder, the Moon just below the crease of my right elbow, and the stars lay everywhere in between.

  Starting at the very tips of my fingers, the marks wind their way up my body. When they get to my shoulder, they split across both my chest and back, swooping down my body like a wave of night. The marks only stop at the ends of my toes, the swirls swishing and glimmering in near real life accuracy, having wound their way down my left leg.

  I have never learned why they are the way they are, or why they look so much like the solar system above, they just…are. But the mysterious pattern is not the only reason I’m so intrigued by them. The markings at times will radiate emotion.

  Shaking my thoughts from the markings, I dig through the bottom of my sack. There’s only a few things rummaging about the bottom; my only remaining box of cigs, a book from my mother, and some extra knives I’ve taken from the boys over the years. But my lack of possessions is fine by me. You don’t want a lot. Not when it’ll put a target on your back.

  Finally, I grasp the edge of my weathered, leather bound book. Which, arguably, is my most important possession. This book is the only thing I have from my life before this cesspit. The only reminder I have that not all of my life has been lost. Or perhaps it’s a reminder of how much has been lost. Regardless, I suppose I’m lucky that these brutes had no interest in books the first day they shook me down of my belongings.

  Running my finger over worn out letters painted in gold, I look at the familiar title of my most favorite book from childhood.

  Legends and Tales of Hythalla

  A Collected History by Durvania and Lethriesha

  I’ve always been fascinated with myths and tales. The gallant heroes and treacherous villains, the mysterious creatures, both good and evil, both or neither. I used to spend hours looking through the chapters of this book. I would bring the worn out tales with me everywhere, memorizing every detail of each being, knowing each story down to the wording.

  My mom nurtured this, always finding ways to keep my curiosities growing. I would sit with her as she cooked dinners, enthusiastically asking questions about any and everything. She would make me handmade dolls and murals, and when I had memorized the book and begged for more, she would tell me stories herself.

  I never knew where she got the book, nobody else has even heard of it. I used to wonder if she made it all up for me, fueling my passion with handwritten tales and beautiful artwork. But something deeper in my soul told me they were more than that. That they were history. Be it from this world or another.

  It turns out I was right. And while I spent my entire life dreaming that these creatures would become real, I never would have guessed that my dreams would soon turn to nightmares, ones that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Peeling back the worn cover, I flip to the first chapter, one of my favorites. Or, it was one of my favorites…it’s hard to decide how I feel about the memories this book brings.

  So, as I do nearly every night, my only hope in blocking out the world and boys beyond, I again read the timeless tale.

  ? ?Mother Earthila ? ?

  Long before our world came to be, the Sun and the Moon were in an eternal dance of love. Though meeting was forbidden for both of our ancient gods, their affection strung true since the beginning of time.

  As their love grew, the distance turned smooth, and after many lifetimes, when the universe was reborn new, they were at last allowed what they had long since dreamed of.

  Their first embrace sent a wave of power so strong that it was felt in even the furthest corners of the universe. And from that love, they were blessed with a child. A daughter they named Earthila, in honor of the life they created from their love.

  The small, astral girl resembled both the Sun and Moon, a perfect mesh of them, true, but her unique gifts were something entirely new.

  Despite her bountiful gifts, the Sun and Moon soon became desperate. Their time was dwindling, their mortal bodies fading. What would become of their daughter?

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  With just a few precious minutes remaining, they created a new world for their curious child. One made of the purest stone, a canvas for her to mold into her own.

  When they at last placed her on the blank face, her new soul changed in many ways. The ground became coated in lush greenery, woven with rivers and seaside. Mountains sprouted from the earth, as if to reach to where her parents would reside, and the trees became guardians, forever by her side.

  When it was at last time to return to their cosmic bodies, the Moon altered her dance, pairing herself with her daughter. The Sun was unable to stay close, forever just out of reach, but he too found ways to look over her, spreading his warmth as a special embrace.

  And so, the family continued their dance of love, forever watching over one another, forever awaiting the day they may meet again.

  ? ? ?

  I’m turning to a new chapter when my bed begins to rattle. I scowl at the interruption, but lean over anyway, tossing the book under my sack as I do. It’s probably better I pry away sooner than later, it's not uncommon for me to read it front to back in one sitting. It’s always been my favorite pastime. My brother used to laugh at me, saying that I could be a historian in a made up world. A hobby he thought to be useless. I’d almost believed him, but maybe if he’d paid better attention, he would still be alive, too.

  Dropping my head over the side of the bed, I find the shit-eating grin belonging to none other than William Reed. I almost roll my eyes at how ridiculously he’s sitting. Lounging on his back, his muscled, brown arms cradling his massive, ego-inflated head. The mooch is probably looking for a cig. He ran out earlier today.

  Reed is the only person I’m remotely close to here. I’ve known him since the day I arrived. He was actually my first challenge. Turned me black and blue. But I don’t blame him. Well, not now, anyway.

  Reed’s actually a pretty good guy, all things considered. He hasn’t changed much since I first met him, still has the urge to pester people to no end, still won’t hesitate to kick my ass. Or try to, anyway. Even his hair is pretty much the same, his tight curls that he never lets grow past his ears. His skin has gotten darker over the years, but I would wager that the constant bruises we all wear like a uniform makes him appear darker than he naturally is.

  Our dynamic is probably the closest thing I’d consider a friendship. And if I hadn’t sworn off friends, I would probably consider him one. But after Luca…

  Gods, I can’t even think about him without getting choked up. It doesn’t matter that it’s been five years, I still remember him like it was yesterday. But I lost him. Just like everyone else.

  Since Luca was taken, I’ve done my best to distance myself from the boys as a whole. Reed’s a good enough guy, and I spend most days with him, but I don’t let myself get too attached. Not to him or Carter or Thomas. Brutal, but necessary. People drop like flies here. I can’t let myself be that weak again. I can’t keep watching the people I care about die.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Thorn,” he picks at his teeth as way of greeting, “don’ be such a smartass. I’ll drag you out by your braid if I ‘ave to.”

  “Oh, my apologies, your majesty,” I roll my eyes, “What do you want?”

  His deep brown eyes seem to glimmer as smirks, “Fancy a toke?”

  Do I get a reward for calling it? “Yeah, alright. The roof or the woods?” I swing my head back up, riffling through the sack.

  Pushing to his feet, he grabs the rails and gives me a chipped, toothy grin, “Let’s do the roof, my darlin’ angel.”

  I roll my eyes and hop off my bunk, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  “I’ve always liked ya, Thorn. So feisty, even as a kid. Still ‘ave the scar to prove it.” He lifts his shirt, motioning to a large, jagged scar.

  “You really want these cigs, don’t you?” I raise an eyebrow, pushing out of the door and into the frost coated hallway.

  Swinging his heavy arm over my shoulders, Reed shoots me his famous sly grin, “What’s wrong with a lil’ butterin’?”

  ? ? ?

  We settle onto a portion of the roof that has the best view of the forest surrounding the compound. The ancient trees spread so far that you can’t see anything but varying shades of green. The relentless rain has ceased for now, but the roof is still soaked, cold residue seeping into my clothes and caressing my skin.

  I pull out one of the cigs, rolling it between my crooked fingers, no longer straight after years of repeated snappings. I’ve been smoking since I got here. A horrible habit to be sure, but it eases some of the daily turmoil. My mom would kill me if she found out. Not that she could. She’s probably dead.

  Goosebumps prickle across my skin as I light Reed’s match, the smell of the smoke as soothing as a lullaby, already easing the day's trials as I take my first inhale.

  I look up at the starry sky, a sight that always eases my nerves, and blow out the thick smoke, handing it to Reed who’s eyeing me as if he may jump me for it at any moment.

  I run my hand up and down the shadow trail, almost trance-like as I gaze at the night sky. It’s been ten years since they were massacred. Ten years. I can’t believe it’s been that long.

  I arrived here after everything…happened. I’d been tucked in a tight ball in our kitchen cabinet, long since stopped trembling. When the officers got to us, they stormed into the house, wailing as blood gushed out like a river.

  It only got worse when they entered the tomb. Two stayed in the living room, where they were horrified to find the splintered bones of my father and brothers. The others entered the kitchen, where they found the mutilated remains of what you couldn't even describe as the corpses of my sisters.

  They never found a trace of my mother, and obsessively asked me where she was. But even I have no idea what happened to her. Where that thing took her. The not knowing has sent me to mania more times than I could hope to count.

  A week after my family was obliterated, they retrieved my beloved book, and it cracked the wall I had built around my shattered heart and soul. After all of those painstaking days, I finally spoke. Just three words. It’s my fault.

  Eventually, they finally decided it was a lost cause. I wasn’t going to break, and truthfully, they didn’t care if I did. Either way I was going to end up here, at Madame Axtens Detention for Delinquents, or as everyone calls it, the MADD House.

  It’s supposed to be the most strict detention center in the country, built for the most terrible of men, and I suppose in many ways it is, but not in the ways everyone thinks.

  Yes, we get beat and punished. Yes, we have far more rules than freedoms. But it is not just discipline they enforce here. No, the MADD House is more than a prison. It’s a training camp. For what, I couldn’t tell you. Even after a decade of living here I haven’t a clue. But what is clear is that they're turning us into weapons.

  Reed snaps his fingers in front of my face, making me jump, “Thorn!”

  “Shit, sorry. Did you say something?” I blink foggily.

  He scoffs, handing me the cig, “You disappeared there. What was you thinkin ‘bout?”

  I stare at the looming forest, now more frightening than before. Every dark spot reminds me of soulless eye sockets, every sharp treetop makes me think of pointed, blood stained teeth.

  “Just thinking about who I’m gonna challenge for more cigs.”

  Reed bumps my shoulder with his and takes the smoke back, “Damn straight. Better get ‘em fast, two cigs won’ last us an hour.”

  I roll my eyes so intensely I’m surprised they’re still in my skull. If Reed wasn't such entertaining company, I would have to kick him off the damn roof. But despite the leech who consumes more of my cigs than I, I can’t help but be thankful for his company.