Morning came like it always did, slow and bitter, seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls like an unwanted guest. The cold was the first thing I felt, creeping in through the threadbare blanket wrapped around me. My straw mattress did little to keep me warm, its rough, uneven surface pressing into my back. Some parts had flattened completely, leaving little more than a thin layer between me and the wooden boards of the floor.

  I groaned, stretching, my limbs stiff and aching from another night of restless sleep. My room—if it could even be called that—was barely bigger than a storage closet. The walls were dull, aged wood, marked with cracks where the damp had crept in over the years. A rickety wooden chair sat near the door, a small table holding a chipped plate and a dented tin cup. A battered trunk in the corner held everything I owned.

  Not that I had much.

  I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair, wincing as my fingers caught in the knots. It had been days since I'd properly washed it. Water wasn't exactly easy to come by when you were the village errand rat. I sighed and pulled on my usual outfit—a tunic worn thin with time, patched trousers, and boots that barely held together. The soles were wearing through, and I could feel the rough texture of the floor beneath my feet.

  Stepping outside, I was greeted by the crisp morning air. The village was already stirring—smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the less pleasant smells of livestock and damp earth.

  I didn't make it two steps before trouble found me.

  "Oi, rat girl!"

  I sighed. Same as always.

  A group of kids loitered near the well, grinning like a pack of stray dogs that had found something to gnaw on. They weren’t much younger than me, but their clothes were cleaner, their faces free of the grime that always seemed to cling to mine no matter how hard I scrubbed.

  "What, no witty comeback today?" one sneered.

  "Not worth the effort," I muttered, keeping my head down.

  "Probably too busy eating out of the garbage," another laughed, nudging his friend.

  I clenched my fists but didn't take the bait. I’d learned a long time ago that fighting back only made things worse. The best I could do was get away before they got bored enough to try anything worse than words.

  Before they could say more, a sharp voice cut through the morning air.

  "Oi! Stop pestering the girl and get back to work!"

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  It was the butcher’s wife, arms crossed, scowling at the group. They groaned and scattered, leaving me alone. I shot her a grateful look before hurrying off.

  But I had no time to waste. The village had plenty of ways to remind me of my place, and today was no different.

  "You, girl! Take this to the compost pit."

  "Since you’re just standing around, you can haul this wood to the baker’s."

  "The midden heap needs shoveling—get to it!"

  And so the work began.

  The stench of the waste pit was unbearable. I gagged as I shoveled, my arms straining against the weight of the refuse. Rotting food, spoiled hay, and worse things piled up in steaming heaps. No one else wanted to do it, which meant it fell to me. My hands, already rough from years of this kind of work, stung as I worked the shovel, splinters biting into my skin.

  Hours passed. My back ached, sweat stuck my tunic to my skin, and the sharp scent of spoiled milk clung to me no matter how much I wiped at my arms. By the time the last task was done, the sun had crept higher into the sky, and I could finally take a breath.

  That’s when I remembered the errand.

  Old Man Harrod had asked me to fetch something from the herbalist’s hut on the edge of the village. It was a small task, but it meant getting away from here for a little while. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and set off toward the forest path.

  The air changed as I stepped beneath the trees. The scent of damp earth and pine needles replaced the filth of the village, and for the first time that day, I felt like I could breathe. Birds chirped in the branches above, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures darting through the undergrowth. The deeper I walked, the more I wished I could just keep going.

  But something felt... off.

  A strange smell tickled my nose. Not the fresh scent of the forest, but something acrid, something burning. I paused, listening. Then I heard it.

  Distant shouting.

  My stomach twisted. I turned, hurrying back toward the village. The scent of smoke grew stronger with every step, thick and cloying. When I reached the edge of the trees, my breath caught in my throat.

  Black plumes of smoke curled into the sky.

  Panic surged through me. I ran, feet pounding against the dirt path. By the time I reached the village square, the air was thick with chaos. People screamed, running in every direction. The sound of clashing metal filled my ears.

  Then I saw them.

  Ogres and humans, fighting side by side. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Ogres hated humans. They barely tolerated each other, let alone worked together. But there they were, tearing through the village like a storm. Homes burned, bodies lay strewn across the ground, and the sky was dark with smoke.

  My breath came in short gasps. Then I spotted him—a villager, trapped beneath the broken beams of his home. I knew him. He had never been kind to me. If anything, he was one of the many who spat at my feet and called me a nuisance.

  But I couldn’t just let him die.

  I grabbed a stick—barely more than a fallen branch—and ran at the ogre looming over him. I don’t know what I was thinking. That I could actually do something? That bravery was enough?

  The ogre turned, and in one swift motion, sent me flying. I slammed into the side of a house, pain exploding through my ribs. My vision blurred, but I forced myself to move. The villager was scrambling away, leaving me behind.

  Coward.

  The ogre loomed over me now, its massive club raised. I barely had time to roll to the side before it came crashing down, the ground shaking from the impact. My whole body ached, but I scrambled to my feet, gasping.

  The last thing I saw was the ogre’s fist swinging toward me before everything went black.