Resurface
Hannah?
I winced as the needle dove into my flesh. Each jab was accompanied by a tirade of curses while the old Orc woman stitched me up. My mind was elsewhere; I only half listened.
My body ached from the fall. Bruises and cuts—small and large—covered me, but otherwise I was fine. Honestly, a miracle. I could have been dead. But I wasn’t. And that was the feeling I was exploring now.
I felt… lighter.
For the first time in I didn’t know how long, my head felt empty.
Everything I had bottled up for so long had burst out into the night, given to the rain, washed away.
I felt calm. I was still hurting—of course I was.
What I’d been through would leave scars, not only on my body but in my mind as well.
I had exhausted my thoughts, and I almost welcomed the quiet that followed.
Dust motes drifted through the room, illuminated by thin rays of sunlight cutting through the window. Dust in the mistress’s office—a crime.
I followed the beams to the glass and looked outside. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen the sun. A bright, golden disk hanging in the sky.
“It’s… pretty,” I murmured.
The mistress froze mid-stitch. “What?”
“The sun,” I said softly.
The Orc blinked, clearly unprepared for such words. For once, silence fell between us as she resumed her work.
I wasn’t allowed to return to my usual duties and was instead sent to help in the washhouse. “With that face of yours, you’ll scare the guests,” the woman had said. So I carried baskets of dirty towels, collected clean, damp ones, and hung them outside to dry.
I passed the stairs I had fallen down. Flattened grass marked where I’d landed.
My temple throbbed dully. My memories were still hazy—I knew what had happened, but not word for word.
I studied the stone steps, framed by bushes and flowers that had finally opened their petals again, reaching for the light.
“You!” the mistress shouted from the porch. “Come here!”
“We’re out of herbs and incense. Go to the market. There’s a merchant on the corner next to the bookstore. Tell her it’s for us—she’ll know what to do.”
I dropped the empty laundry basket in the washhouse and took the side entrance up toward town.
As I walked the stone path, I noticed lanterns lining it on both sides, wondering who lit them at night.
For the first time since arriving, I truly looked at the town—how it crowned the hill, how every house seemed different.
Small windows, large ones, balconies jutting out at odd angles.
Yet all of them shared colorful roofs. The buildings were packed so tightly together that one ended where the next began.
It looked almost like a bouquet of flowers bound together.
My gaze wandered further. Trees and grass swayed in a gentle breeze, rain-fed and vibrant in every shade of green. I stopped and turned around.
The Thermonion stood in stark contrast—polished dark gray walls, severe and imposing, as if it didn’t belong. In the distance, a large lake lay cradled by forests. Mist rose from its surface, softening the view.
For the first time in a long while, I truly noticed my surroundings. Really saw them. Felt them. It wasn’t enough to spark excitement or joy, but I noticed them—and that was something. A quiet reminder that there was more around me than darkness.
I lifted my hands and studied them. Dry skin flaked away in places; other areas were raw and red, marked with tiny wounds and dried blood. Slowly, I curled my trembling fingers, watching the motion. Noticing it. Trying to feel it. Reconnecting.
My gaze traveled up my arm, dragging sensation with it—my shoulder, my chest, down my body to my bare toes. Cold, damp stone pressed against my feet. I wriggled my toes slightly, testing the connection.
I had the sense that I was… here again. No longer invisible. Present.
The feeling was soft, fragile—something that could shatter if I wasn’t careful. As I looked out over the scenery once more, something took root inside me. I was here. I was alive. Too small to call hope, but undeniably something.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill my lungs, stretch them wide. Then I continued up the road.
The town buzzed with life. Merchants shouted deals and bargains. I couldn’t stop staring at the stalls and shops in awe. The noise, the people, the colors—it was almost overwhelming after so much silence.
In a polished pan at a cooking stall, I caught a glimpse of myself and grimaced. I looked awful. Half my forehead was a deep purple, fading into green and yellow, a long, crudely stitched wound running through it. It would scar.
I reached the main road. The bookseller stood to my left, the unmistakable scent of herbs and incense drifting from an open door on my right. I stepped inside.
“I’m here to pick up herbs and incense for the Thermonion,” I said softly to a middle-aged Orc woman dressed in vibrant colors. Thick black curls were bound with red, orange, and blue threads. Her ears were heavy with dangling earrings. She took in my appearance with a slow scan, then nodded.
She poured steaming liquid into a cup and set it in front of me. “Here.”
She disappeared into the back of the shop to prepare my order. I hadn’t expected tea, but I didn’t refuse. The scent stirred memories—winter days, snow, warmth.
“This,” I said when she returned, gesturing to the cup. “What kind is it?”
“Dried roseberry.”
A soft laugh slipped out of me.
“What?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Nothing. Just… memories.”
She wrapped my order. I thanked her and stepped outside.
The sun was setting, the sky drenched in orange, pink, and red. I paused to watch. Down the road, a spaceship lifted off, hovering before gliding toward the horizon until it vanished from sight.
Someday, I thought. But not yet.
“Hannah.”
I turned—and froze.
My breath caught. My heart spiraled into overdrive, hammering against my chest. Drokahr.
Why was he here? Another nightmare? It couldn’t be. My newfound calm threatened to collapse.
No, I thought.
Instinct took over. Self-preservation kicked in—and I ran.
I sprinted toward the bathhouse, blood roaring in my ears, my wound pounding against my skull. Why now? I didn’t want him to see me like this. Would he laugh? No. I wouldn’t let that happen.
I wove through the crowd, not daring to look back. Afraid of what I might see. Afraid he might follow.
I burst through the side entrance and slammed the door shut behind me, shoving the parcel into the mistress’s hands before retreating to the washhouse. Hanging towel after towel, the monotony slowly steadied my breathing.
On my way back for another basket, the mistress called out, “You! A guest has asked for you.” Her expression was grim.
“I don’t serve guests,” I said, trying to slip out of it.
“Well, now you do. Move.”
Heart pounding, I followed.
We stopped in front of one of the single pools. “What are you waiting for?” she hissed. “Get in.”
My hands shook as I reached for the handle. I knew who waited on the other side. Drawing in a deep breath, I braced myself and pulled the door open.