A Dream
***
I walked through a dark world with a beautiful woman by my side. I had no goal or awareness, but I felt her hand gripping mine as we walked.
She was taller than me. Her pale skin glowed in the darkness, her eyes a deep blue. I could barely recall who she was, but I could guess.
Naive had been my mother in my past life. A girl who was kidnapped at a young age and sold to a brothel, to grow up and become a prostitute.
Now I walked with her in pitch blackness, my chest tightened with each step. My breath was ragged, as if I had asthma, though I didn't.
I was just losing control of myself as the brothel appeared before us.
Its metal door was reddish-white with rust.
Behind that door, I lived sixteen years of hell. Every day was a battle. What pushed me to sleep and wake again was hope—a desperate hope for a better tomorrow.
I knew I was in a nightmare, but I didn't know how to escape. I was compelled in this dream world, unable to act as I wished. I just walked… and walked.
When my mother opened that door, I would see something I didn't want to see.
People I didn't want to remember.
Eyes full of lust, envy, hatred… everything vile.
Evil eyes were trying to forget themselves in that place.
When we reached the door, I looked at my mother.
She was silent, no smile on her face.
"I don't want to," I said when I saw her other hand reach for the handle. "And you don't want to either," I added.
If this were a dream, then nonsense was allowed. If I couldn't move my body and run away, then let me at least talk.
"There was something I should've done in my previous life," I said, looking at her. For some reason, her hand stopped at the handle. "I should never have given up."
The night you ran after me into the swamp—on that cursed night—I should've come back with you. We shouldn't have ignored each other the next day.
"There were ways to escape… but I couldn't see them. I was just a child. And by the time I grew up, you were already gone, lost in strange cigarettes and yourself. You were never in your full awareness again…"
Even so… I wish I had understood you. Even if you no longer could have expressed yourself, I wish I hadn't looked at you only through my pain. I wish I had at least tried to understand your past and what had happened to you.
"You were a victim too…" My tears began to fall. "And I was a victim. I shouldn't have hated you."
I let hatred blind me from seeing any path out.
"That's why… don't open it," I said, staring at the rusty door. "Even if it's just a dream—don't open it."
But Naive opened the door. And I looked at it with desperate eyes. It wasn't like I expected anything, but I hoped for something different.
…
Huh?
The scene entered my eyes. My eyes widened for several moments.
This wasn't the place I expected.
There were no hungry men.
It wasn't the brothel I once lived in.
The floor was made of simple mud; the kitchen was open to the main room, where a wooden couch with cracked leather sat. A fireplace glowed in front of it, and at the kitchen table sat a beautiful couple.
The man was young and sharp-featured—Alton. The woman was Shirley—a piece of heaven, an angel if such beings existed. Her eyes glowed a warm, brilliant green, like a lantern on a snowy night.
They were laughing.
Shirley giggled at a joke Alton made, like she'd die if she didn't laugh. Alton smiled every time he saw her laugh.
"What a lovely family."
I looked to my side!
Those words had come from my mother, Naive.
She was staring at them, a strange sorrow in her eyes, then she looked at me with a smile.
She didn't wait for a reply. She vanished—like dust in the wind.
Then I found myself inside the home, the door closing behind me. Alton and Shirley were happy.
The house was warm, despite its simplicity.
And I… I…
I collapsed to my knees. Tears fell onto the muddy floor.
God… I'm lost. Do I even deserve this?
***
A Kind Breakfast
***
"Roooory," said the woman. Her voice was like a breeze. "It's time to eat, sweetheart."
When I opened my eyes, Shirley was lying beside me, resting on her side, her head leaning on one hand. Her braid draped across her chest, and when her green braid marble holder hit the floor, it jolted me into full awareness.
Two green eyes stared at me sharply.
"Another dream, wasn't it?"
"I'm used to them," I said. "I'm okay."
She placed her hand on my cheek and wiped my right eye with her thumb.
"It's alright, Rory. One day, the nightmares will fade."
"Yes," I said. Then smiled. "Yes, they will."
I was five years old, though I grew much faster than normal.
I looked at our only mirror whenever I came downstairs.
Once, it was my greatest fear; now it has become a dear friend.
It was a small tabletop mirror, usually sitting on the kitchen table. I loved what I'd inherited from these two people. Every day, I examined my genes—Alton's sharp features, Shirley's colors.
"It's rare for Shirley to wake you," Alton said as we entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Reo."
Indeed, I usually wake up on my own before them.
I looked at the window. If I had to guess, it was around nine or ten o'clock.
Usually, I was up at six.
Time in Thialis, our village, was primitive. I hadn't seen a clock since I was born.
But Alton and Shirley seemed to understand time well.
Sometimes I'd hear Alton say things like, What time is it now?
"He had another nightmare," Shirley said.. "The boy can't go a week without one or two."
"Hmmm," Alton hummed as we sat down.
Then he folded his arms and looked up thoughtfully. "Hmmmmm."
He opened his eyes wide!
"Reo! How old are you now?"
"Five years!" I answered immediately.
"Haha, still early then."
"For what?" I asked.
"It's a secret," he chuckled. Then raised his wooden bowl. "Second round, Shirley!"
Alton always ate two or three bowls per meal. Not surprising—the man was tall and muscular. He was probably over 190 cm tall.
I couldn't help but laugh softly, imagining what I'd be like in ten years. At five, I was already 135 cm taller than most my peers.
You'll be one manly guy, kid. I told myself.
***
Zailerto, And The Fool's Guide
***
Thialis was a cold village. Winters were freezing and snowy, while summers had a slight chill.
I guessed the human continent we lived on was far from the equator—probably close to a pole.
My clothes were made of leather, and Shirley and Alton never failed to bring me new ones now and then. Brown leather pants, a warm wool sweater. My shoes weren't comfortable, but I got used to them.
"Mom," I said as I came down the stairs. "I'm going out for a run."
"Alright, Rory. But be back before sunset."
As I stepped outside, I took a deep breath and looked up.
The sky was clear, the sun shining. A perfect day.
Our front yard was paved with mud bricks, and yellow flowers with black centers—Black-eyed Susans, I think—had recently bloomed around our wooden fence.
Our neighborhood had five houses, ours the most primitive.
Together, we formed the back edge of Thialis.
Beyond us stretched deep forests.
After a few stretches, I began to run.
Thialis was oval in shape, with thirteen rows of buildings.
If our area were row thirteen, with five houses, I'd run through a tree-lined path like an orchard for a few minutes before reaching row twelve.
There were maybe eight to ten houses in row twelve. Row eleven had more. The village expanded as it went forward, peaking at rows eight, seven, and six—home to the bustling markets of Thialis.
Usually, I'd reach the front of the village within an hour, but sometimes I strolled through the market, taking longer.
When I reached the seventh row, I heard a voice calling from afar:
"Reopard, how are you, little one?" It was an old woman's voice.
I stopped, sweat dripping from my brow, and looked around. Others did too.
It was Aunt Shnezy, standing in front of a shop.
"Come here, Reopard," she called.
Shnezy was our neighbor—the woman who helped Shirley deliver me. She always sent us eggs and chestnuts in winter.
I walked toward her, passing several shops selling handmade goods: wooden utensils, pottery, knives, and more.
Thialis thrived with craftspeople.
"I'm well, what are you doing here, Aunt?"
"Shopping and chatting with old man Spike," she replied.
I looked toward Spike, and my eyes widened!
Spike wasn't significant. The shop was.
It had seven books! Stacked neatly! Books were rare in Thialis, a village that lived as if it were still in the Middle Ages.
"Uncle Spike, are these books for sale?"
The old man's hair was white, eyebrows so thick they nearly covered his eyes, his square face filled with wrinkles.
Haha… if he wouldn't lend them to me, he would die in a week or two, and I was going to steal them anyway.
He looked like the oldest person I'd ever seen.
"Not for sale—only for borrowing."
Spike's shop wasn't a bookstore, but a mat store. Beside the books were stacks of straw mats in primary colors—faded yellow, green, red.
"Can I borrow one?"
"Only if Shnezy vouches for you. Rental is one copper piece per day."
Money? So there was currency in this primitive place!
I'd never seen Alton or Shirley use any coins. I thought we bartered here.
"Don't be stingy, Spike," Shnezy laughed. "This boy is bright, wise beyond his years. Encourage him to read!"
"He's still a child. How's he going to read a book?"
"His parents can read it to him. Here," she said, placing a copper coin on the counter.
"Two days—no, three! Let the boy choose. Your books are rotting from dust anyway."
This old woman had no shame…
She completely dominated poor Spike.
She must've been a merchant in her prime.
I looked at the seven books, covered in dust.
Spike was silent for a moment, then sighed deeply.
"I'll be sad if I don't outlive you," Spike said with a smile. "How old are you now, Shnezy?"
"Ninety-seven."
Ha!? Ninety-seven and still walking around!?
"Still young compared to you. One-forty, right?"
"Hundred thirty-five," Spike said, reaching for the books. "And I've still got some years left."
What was happening here? Strange things were going on.
Then I remembered that dreamlike night when I was less than a year old… the Three Sisters.
And the warmth I still felt in my chest, where one of them had once placed her hand.
This world was full of mysteries. A very strange world indeed.
"Which book do you want, Reopard?" Spike asked.
I looked at the titles.
No illustrations—just words.
And though it was still a secret, I had mastered reading and writing by making Alton read a book to me, perhaps fifty times.
The titles were:
The Politics of Nobility by King Helen I, author unknown.
Geography of Kias and Cultures of the Continents by Asathel Lusilti.
Myths of Minor Races and Extinct Creatures from the Zailerto Tablets by Asathel Lusilti.
Races and Their Powers: A Fool's Guide by Zailerto.
Blacksmithing: A Fool's Guide by Zailerto.
Women: A Fool's Guide by Zailerto.
Two Hundred Zailerto Tablets, collected by historian Asathel Lusilti.
These titles—oh my god.
Zailerto had no idea how to name books.
But…
powers??
Perhaps what this book referred to as power was simply introductory chemistry or physics?
Still, I was curious. I wanted all the books. But I had to pick one.
Curiosity chose magic.
"This one," I said, pointing at one of Zailerto's books.
"Alright, it's yours."
Spike blew off the dust and handed it to me.
"Return it in good condition."
"Of course!" I said eagerly. "I'll bring it back cleaner than it is now!"
"Good, then," Spike nodded.
I bowed to Shneze in thanks and waved goodbye, continuing my run.
The rows passed in a blur, excitement burning in me as I headed to the front of the village. To sit in the forest and read until evening.