《To Bleed is to Bear》 First Breath The sound of a busy street¡ªthat¡¯s what hit them first. Not light. Not pain. Just noise. Clattering carts, distant shouting, something that smelled like smoke and something else that didn¡¯t belong. Their eyes opened to motion, to warmth, to people who didn¡¯t care they were standing in the middle of it all. No one stared. No one screamed. No one called for help. They were just there. The sound of a busy street¡ªthat¡¯s what hit her first. Not a sudden rush, not some dramatic awakening, just¡­ background noise. Life already in motion. Voices rising and falling. Hooves tapping against stone. Wheels turning, metal clanking, something frying in oil. Someone yelling. Someone laughing. Her eyes opened. And she was standing there. Not in her room. Not on a bed. Just¡­ upright. In the middle of a road filled with strangers. No one looked her way. She turned her head slowly. Buildings made of stone and sun-bleached wood. Stalls packed with fruit and cloth and dried meat. Dust clinging to boots and robes and the air itself. None of it familiar. None of it hers. She took a step. Then another. No gasps. No questions. No one shouting ¡°who are you?¡± like they do in stories. People just passed her. Like she¡¯d always been there. Like she didn¡¯t matter. She reached up to touch her chest. Felt her heartbeat under her palm. It was fast but steady. Her breath came slow. Too slow for panic. Too slow for a dream. The sky was a little too wide. The sun was a little too bright. She could smell sweat, wood smoke, dried blood, bread. And still, no one stopped her. She kept walking, eyes sweeping from stall to stall, corner to rooftop, trying to understand anything. ¡°Okay¡­ so medieval but not? Market square? People with swords? That guy definitely had a sword.¡± Her fingers brushed against a hanging cloth¡ªrough, handwoven, dyed deep red. She barely avoided knocking over a basket of onions. Someone behind her cursed in a language she didn¡¯t know. She didn¡¯t look back. ¡°This has to be a dream. I mean¡ªnone of this makes sense. I don¡¯t even remember falling asleep.¡± She stepped around a woman holding three chickens under one arm. The birds flapped and hissed. The woman didn¡¯t even blink at her. ¡°I should be freaking out more. Why am I not freaking out more? Why do my legs feel like they¡¯ve been walking for hours?¡± She glanced down again. Her feet were dusty. Her shoes weren¡¯t hers. Not even close. ¡°I didn¡¯t wear these. I don¡¯t own anything like these. What the hell.¡± She looked up at the rooftops. Smoke drifted from chimneys. Flags fluttered in warm wind. She could hear metal banging somewhere nearby. Dogs barking in a slow rhythm. ¡°I don¡¯t know where I am. I don¡¯t know the language. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m even¡ª¡± She cut herself off. Her mouth stayed open for a second. Then closed. She didn¡¯t want to finish that thought. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Not yet She wandered until her legs started to ache. The noise didn¡¯t let up, but the crowd thinned near the edge of the market¡ªfewer voices, fewer carts, more space between people. A table sat tucked between two stalls, half in the shade, crooked legs sunk into uneven stone. It was empty. She moved toward it without thinking, lowering herself slowly into the chair. It wobbled, groaned under her weight, but held. For the first time since she¡¯d opened her eyes, she stopped moving. She sat there, arms on the table, breathing. Watching. Listening. Still no one approached her. A few people glanced her way, then moved on. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, eyes tracing the edges of the stall roofs, the cracks in the stone. The silence around her didn¡¯t feel peaceful. It felt like something holding its breath. And then¡ª Voices. A group of girls approached the table from the far side, three of them. Their clothes were layered in deep oranges and dark greens, hair braided with fabric strips and beads. They looked like they belonged here¡ªsharp eyes, easy smiles, confident steps. One of them pointed at her and said something. The words meant nothing. Fast, clipped. A question. Or maybe not. Another crossed her arms and gestured at the seat. The third girl raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, waiting. Uma blinked at them, lips parting. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t¡­¡± Nothing came out. Nothing they¡¯d understand. They didn¡¯t get it. One of them repeated what she said, slower this time. Still didn¡¯t help. She stood. Backed away with her hands up, palms open. The girls stepped in, sat down, didn¡¯t say another word to her. She turned and walked off again. Faster this time. Eyes on the ground. Jaw tight Shadows stretched longer across the stones. The warmth from earlier had faded, replaced by a slow, creeping chill that settled in her arms and legs. The sun dipped behind the roofs, and the sounds of the market thinned. Fewer carts. Fewer voices. Stalls being broken down piece by piece. She wandered. No plan. No direction. Just trying to stay in motion long enough to not feel how heavy her chest was getting. She turned a corner too fast. And slammed into something solid. She stumbled back a step, barely keeping her balance. Looked up. It wasn¡¯t a wall. Not exactly. It was a person. Broad-shouldered. Towering. Wrapped in worn leathers and soot-dark cloth. Their arms were bare, covered in scars and old burn marks, and their hands were stained black with ash and metal dust and the beard that you looks like a fire hazard. The blacksmith looked down at her. Their expression didn¡¯t change. Didn¡¯t harden. Just studied her, quiet and unreadable. She froze. One hand half-raised like she might apologize, but no words came. What would she even say? The blacksmith glanced around. Looked her over¡ªdust on her sleeves, the way she hovered on tired legs, the way her eyes didn¡¯t know where to land She stood up straight and bowed. Not deep. Just enough. The only way she knew how to say sorry. The blacksmith blinked once. Then said something¡ªlow, rough, in a language that meant nothing to her. She didn¡¯t need to know the words. He pointed behind him with a thick, calloused hand. Not sharply. Not impatiently. Just pointed. She hesitated,Then nodded,And followed They walked in silence. The road turned from stone to dirt, winding past low fences and crooked wooden posts. A few lanterns flickered behind windows, but no one else was out. The world felt muted here, like it was holding back its breath. At the end of the path sat an old red barn. Slanted. Sagging at the edges. Paint peeling like it was too tired to keep pretending. The blacksmith pushed the door open. It creaked like it hadn¡¯t been used in a while. Inside was hay. Dust. The soft smell of livestock that hadn¡¯t been here in months. A few crates stacked near the wall. A blanket folded on top. A rusted lantern resting beside it. He pointed to it. Said something else she couldn¡¯t catch. Then handed her a crust of bread¡ªwrapped in cloth, still warm in the center. She took it with both hands. Held it like it might fall apart if she wasn¡¯t careful. The blacksmith gave a short nod. Then turned, and walked away. The barn door groaned shut behind him. She stood there for a while. Just her, the dust, and the blanket. Then she sat down slowly. Pulled the blanket into her lap. Looked at the bread. Took a bite. Chewed without tasting. Her hands were still trembling, just a little. No one knew who she was. No one even knew she was here. And for now, that was okay. It was enough. It had to be. The barn was dark. Quiet. The kind of silence that made her unsure if she¡¯d really fallen asleep or just slipped into a daze. Her body ached. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. But the blanket helped. The bread sat heavy in her stomach. She was warm enough. Still. Something pulled her awake. She opened her eyes. The silence had changed. It was too still. Too¡­ held. Like the world outside had stopped breathing. Then she heard it. Scrape. Drag. A wet, uneven rhythm, like something was being pulled through gravel. She sat up slowly. Held her breath. Scrape. Skrrrk. Another step. Closer this time. It wasn¡¯t a cart. Not an animal. Not anything that moved right. She rose, feet silent in the hay. Her eyes scanned the gaps in the wood slats. Nothing at first. Then¡ªthere A shape Too tall,Too thin. Standing just outside the barn doors Its head twitched Once then Twice Then turned toward her, slow and stiff, like a puppet on bad strings And it moved Where the Silence Begins Too fast The whole body snapped forward like something broke inside it no wind-up, no warning just the will to hurt. The blade was already coming. She screamed as she raised the sickle half breath, half terror. ¡°Someone¡ªplease! HELP!¡± Metal hit metal and threw her sideways. Her shoulder slammed into a post. ¡®what the fuck what the fuck what the¡ª¡¯ Her wrist stung. She didn¡¯t drop the sickle but it felt she should¡¯ve she didn¡¯t even know she was still holding it. The thing jerked back, like it needed to recharge its limbs. Then it snapped again. She ducked. Spun. Hay flew up. Her foot slipped. It slashed low¡ªshe jumped back too late. Pain. White hot pain across her throat. She dropped to her knees. Her hand clamped to the cut. It was warm. It was wet. ¡®no no no no no¡¯ She tried to scream again. ¡°Help¡ª!¡± Nothing, Air. Just air and the stench of death in the air The creature twitched. Took a step.Then another. ¡®not like this not like this please please¡ª¡¯ She crawled. Reached for anything. Her fingers brushed wood¡ªtoo far. It raised the blade again. She curled into herself, one arm over her head, the other still squeezing her neck. She wanted to scream again. Wanted to cry. Wanted to go back. The blade came down¡ª And then the doors exploded. Voices. A body. Wood crashing. The Hollow Man staggered. Steel struck bone. A pitchfork through its side. A hammer slamming it off-balance. It reeled. She looked up. Everything was spinning. Her ears were full of nothing. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Then a woman stepped through the door. Older. Tall. Red hair streaked with gray. Coat dragging behind her. She didn¡¯t run. She didn¡¯t shout. She just walked She picked up a spike from the wall and drove it through the thing¡¯s chest like it was a nail in rotten wood. It twitched. Dropped. So did Uma. She felt hands on her. Warm. Shaking. ¡°Hey¡ªhey, baby, stay with me,¡± the lady whispered. Uma tried to say something. Nothing came. Her mouth moved. Her whole body shivered. She just stared. ¡°You screamed, didn¡¯t you?¡± Uma didn¡¯t say or do anything just kept breathing hard not understanding a word not like she could, blood leaking through her fingers. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Serosa said, voice cracking. ¡°I¡¯ve got you now. I¡¯ve got you. You¡¯re safe.¡± But all Uma could think was ¡®I can¡¯t screamI can¡¯t scream,I can¡¯t scream!¡¯ And everything after that went black When she woke it was to the smell of books and breakfast. Something savory. Eggs, maybe. Herbs. Butter. The air was warm and soft, like it had been living in this house longer than she had. The ceiling above her was wooden. Low. Not polished or perfect¡ªold beams with lines like stretch marks. The bed beneath her creaked as she shifted. The blanket was too big. Worn. Cozy. Her neck burned,Not a lot.Just enough to remember,She reached up, slowly.Bandages. Thick. Firm. Tied carefully.She didn¡¯t pull. Just touched it. Just made sure it was still real. Chatter drifted in from somewhere nearby. Voices. None of them familiar. Words she didn¡¯t understand. One was deeper. Another lighter. A small group, maybe three or four. None of it made sense.None of it sounded like anything she¡¯d ever heard before. She sat up, slow. Her legs were stiff. Her arms ached. There was a wooden tray set on the nightstand beside her.Steam rose off the food and beside the tray¡ªsitting in a chair like she¡¯d been there for hours¡ªwas the woman. The same woman from the barn.Red hair streaked with silver. Still wearing the same coat, just with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.She didn¡¯t speak didn¡¯t try to explain anything. She just reached for the tray lifted it carefully and placed it on Uma¡¯s lap. The woman nodded once then sat back down. Uma looked at the food. Then at her then back.Her stomach twisted. Not in fear¡ªjust the kind of hunger that made you feel small.She picked up the fork and ate The woman said nothing.She didn¡¯t need to The woman didn¡¯t leave. She stayed in the chair across from the bed while Uma ate, quiet and still, like she was waiting for something but didn¡¯t mind waiting forever. Uma moved slow, chewing carefully. Every swallow lit a fuse in her throat, not sharp but deep, like the pain had buried itself in the muscle. She didn¡¯t trust this place. Not yet. But it was warm, and warm meant something. Then the woman spoke. Not loud, not fast¡ªjust a short string of sounds, steady and directed at her. Uma stared blankly. She didn¡¯t recognize a single word. ¡®Cool not English not even close great.¡¯ The woman tried again, a little slower this time, like that would help. It didn¡¯t. Uma gave her a look she hoped translated to ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± because that was all she had. The woman smiled like she¡¯d expected that. She tapped her own chest and said one word. Then said it again. And again. ¡®Okay that¡¯s gotta be a name, right? Gotta be hers.¡¯ She pointed to herself again, slow and clear, repeating the name one last time. Then she pointed to Uma. ¡®Right I think she wants my name¡¯. Uma touched her chest and mouthed, ¡®Uma,¡¯ no sound behind it, just shape. The woman¡¯s expression shifted¡ªsubtle, but brighter. She nodded, repeated the name. Not perfect, but close enough. Then she pointed to the bread. Said a word. Then the fork. Another word. Then the cup. Same thing. ¡®She¡¯s teaching me.¡¯ The lesson wasn¡¯t fast or exact, but it was real. The woman made no demands, no corrections, just repeated each word like planting seeds, not caring how long it¡¯d take them to grow. For the first time since everything went to hell, Uma didn¡¯t feel hunted or lost. Just¡­ included. She watched the woman¡¯s hands, her mouth, the objects. She didn¡¯t try to mimic anything yet, but it was sinking in, slow and heavy like warm water. ¡®I can do this this will be helpful pay attention Uma.¡¯ She didn¡¯t know where she was, what this world wanted from her, or why no one had noticed when she first appeared¡ªbut this was something she could hold onto. Something solid. She kept eating. The woman kept pointing. And between the silence and the soft clatter of dishes, Uma started learning how to stay The rest of the day passed without a single word Uma could say, but more than a few she began to understand. The woman¡ªSerosa, though Uma still hadn¡¯t heard the name clearly¡ªdidn¡¯t treat it like a lesson. There were no tests, no pressure. Just small moments. Pointing to a spoon and saying the word again. Tapping her shoulder, then her own, and repeating something until Uma started associating sounds with meaning. Sometimes she¡¯d show her a thing, wait, then look to Uma for a response. Uma wouldn¡¯t try to say it back. Couldn¡¯t. But she¡¯d nod, or mouth the word, or move her hand in a way that said, yeah¡ªI got it. Serosa noticed every time. She wasn¡¯t loud. Wasn¡¯t overly patient either. She didn¡¯t coddle. She just¡­ taught. In the same rhythm she moved through her house¡ªquiet, strong, like someone who didn¡¯t like wasting time but never rushed anyone else. When the sun began dipping lower in the window, Uma was already curled up in the corner of the couch again, blanket across her lap and that ache in her throat humming like a bruise. Serosa came in from another room carrying a small stack of books. Hardcovers, wrapped in old leather. The kind that looked like they¡¯d been read a hundred times but still opened clean. She knelt down and placed them on the table in front of Uma, then tapped the top one. She said something¡ªslow, deliberate. Then pointed to Uma. Then to the books. Uma raise an eyebrow then made a jester¡¯s with her hands that said ¡°you want me to read these¡± Serosa nodded like that was obvious. She turned to leave, paused, and added something else Uma couldn¡¯t translate. A little softer this time. Then she smiled and walked back toward the kitchen. Uma reached for the top book. The spine cracked gently. The first page was worn thin, words pressed into it in a language she didn¡¯t know. But she stared at them anyway. ¡®Guess we¡¯re doing this.¡¯ She pulled the blanket tighter and leaned back, eyes following the shapes on the page like they were puzzle pieces waiting to click into place. The words didn¡¯t come easy. They didn¡¯t mean much yet. But they were hers now. And so was the quiet. Home is where you make it Serosa¡¯s hand settled on her head warm, steady like a mother who just watched their kid do something out their comfort zone. ¡°Come on,¡± she said, gentle. ¡°Let¡¯s get you some fresh air Someone¡¯s has got something to say to you.¡± Uma blinked didn¡¯t ask. ''But i don''t no know anybody'' But she followed. The air outside was crisp. The kind that made you feel clean, like the wind knew something you didn¡¯t. Birds flitted across rooftops. A dog barked somewhere down the road. The town was quiet, but alive. They took the path winding toward the edge of the main square. The smell hit her first burnt iron, oil, smoke and then she saw it. The forge. the smithy looked up when they stepped inside. He stood behind a cluttered workbench, soot streaked across his arms, apron already half-unfastened like he¡¯d been ready to call it a day. But when he saw Uma, he straightened. His mouth opened, then closed again. Then he cleared his throat. ¡°We, uh¡­ didn¡¯t get names before,¡± he said. ¡°That day. I didn¡¯t ask. I should¡¯ve.¡± Uma tilted her head. ¡°I¡¯m Hamron,¡± he said. ¡°Been working this forge longer than I¡¯ve had knees that don¡¯t crack.¡± She raised a hand, touched her chest, then mouthed the word: ¡®Uma.¡¯ ¡°Uma,¡± he echoed, nodding. ¡°Right.¡± Then there was an awkward beat Hamron rummaged under the workbench for a second before coming back with the board in both hands. ¡°I, uh¡­ made this.¡± He handed it out, palms open like he was offering her something more fragile than it looked. Uma took it slowly. The board wasn¡¯t pretty. Not even close. It looked like someone had tried to smooth the edges with a rock and a prayer half of it was sleek enough to press your cheek against, the other half felt like it¡¯d eat a sweater alive. The wood still smelled like sap, the kind you only get when the tree came from just a few blocks down the road. It was sanded, sure, but not by a woodworker by someone who normally worked in steel and hoped that was close enough. Tied to the corner with looped twine was a stub of chalk, already worn a bit at the end like he¡¯d tested it. ¡®It¡¯s ugly I love it.¡¯ She gave a tiny nod of thanks, sat on a nearby crate, and started to write. The first few letters came out like a child learning cursive in the dark. T H A N K U Hamron grinned. ¡°Hey, readable¡¯s good enough for me.¡± ¡°I still say your handwriting¡¯s worse,¡± Serosa muttered, arms crossed. ¡°Mine¡¯s sturdy. It¡¯s got character.¡± ¡°Is that what were calling chicken scratch?.¡± ¡°Rich coming from the woman who labeled her spice jars in a code no one else understands?¡± ¡°They¡¯re color coded.¡± ¡°They¡¯re all brown!¡± Uma glanced between them, lips pulling into a silent smirk. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡®Oh my god. Just kiss already.¡¯ She erased the board slowly. Took her time. Let the tension brew just a second longer. Then she scrawled out: U + H I M ? Serosa leaned over to peek. Read it once. Froze. ¡°¡­Are you serious.¡± Uma blinked up at her like an innocent cat who just knocked a vase off the table. Serosa¡¯s face went red. Like actual red. Without another word, she snatched the board out of Uma¡¯s hands like it had insulted her ancestors. ¡°Nope. We¡¯re done here.¡± Hamron blinked. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Tell her what you were going to tell her,¡± Serosa snapped, not making eye contact. ¡°Was I gonna¡ª? Oh. Right.¡± He turned to Uma, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°I was, uh, gonna ask if you wanted to learn smithing. Just the basics. You¡¯ve got a sharp eye, steady hands. Thought maybe¡­ you¡¯d like it.¡± Uma stared at him. Then down at her empty hands. ¡®She really took the board. Rude.¡¯ She held out her hand, fingers open. Serosa sighed and slapped the board back into it. Uma immediately wrote: O K Hamron smiled, relief settling in his shoulders. ¡°Great. We¡¯ll take it slow. I¡¯ll show you the forge next time¡ªwhen it¡¯s not a thousand degrees in here.¡± Serosa cleared her throat. ¡°And maybe next time, someone will think before they write.¡± Uma grinned at her. Then underlined ¡°U + HIM?¡± again, slowly, just to be annoying. Serosa took the board again. ¡°You¡¯re banned.¡± Serosa spun on her heel, the wooden board tucked under her arm like a war prize she said nothing didn¡¯t even give a look back. Hamron gave Uma a helpless shrug. ¡°She¡¯ll get over it.¡± But Uma wasn¡¯t listening. Her eyes locked on the board. Her only way to talk. Walking away farther...and farther and farther then it clicked ¡®Wait. Wait wait wait¡ª OH SHIT¡¯ She bowed quickly to Hamron¡ªone hand pressed to her chest in apology, the other waving a frantic goodbye¡ªand bolted after Serosa like a polite little storm. ¡°Hey!¡± she tried to yell, but all that came out was the air wheezing through her nose. Serosa didn¡¯t even flinch. Just kept walking like a woman with zero guilt and an overabundance of smug. Uma caught up fast, stepped in front of her, and planted both hands out like a crossing guard. Then pointed to the board. Then to her own mouth. Then back to the board. Serosa raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh. You want this?¡± Uma nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. Serosa pretended to think. Tapped her chin. ¡°Alright,¡± she said. ¡°But there¡¯s a price.¡± Uma folded her arms, already suspicious. ¡°I need groceries,¡± Serosa said. ¡°You¡¯re going to get them.¡± Uma pointed at herself. Then at Serosa. Then made a circle in the air like, "what happened to you being the adult?" Serosa ignored it. ¡°You¡¯ll go to the market. I¡¯ll tell you what to get. Verbally.¡± Uma blinked. ¡®Excuse me?¡¯ ¡°No repeats. No pointing. You hear it once, you write it down, and you bring it back.¡± She handed over the board with a sharp, smug smile. ¡°Think of it as¡­ listening practice.¡± Uma took it like it might explode. Then wrote: R U S E R I O U S ? ¡°Deadly,¡± Serosa said, already turning back toward the house. Uma stood there, staring at the board, chalk still warm in her hand. ¡®This is what I get for being funny.¡¯ She exhaled through her nose. Tucked the board under her arm. And followed, dragging her dignity behind her like an overworked mule. Back at the house, they sat on the couch Uma curled in one corner like a grumpy cat, board in her lap, chalk hovering above it like it might strike on its own. Serosa reclined beside her, legs crossed, sipping something warm from a chipped mug. She stared straight ahead as she began: ¡°Alright. You need to get the following: dried fennel root, green yam¡ªnot the spotted kind, the flat kind¡ªtwo river pears, half a dozen salt pods, and if they¡¯ve got it, aged yellow rind. Not gold rind. If you get gold rind, I will disown you.¡± Uma blinked. ¡®Okay. What.¡¯ She stared at the board. Tried to write fennel. Got halfway through before it started looking like funnel. Serosa peeked over her mug. ¡°Doing great, by the way.¡± Uma shot her a look and erased the mess. Tried again. FENLL Nope. FENOL Closer? ¡®Why is this language allergic to spelling things like they sound?¡¯ She gave up and drew a little plant icon next to the half-word. A sad-looking herb with a label that just read: ROOT? ¡°Creative,¡± Serosa said. ¡°Not helpful, but creative.¡± Uma exhaled through her nose like she was practicing how not to scream. Then moved on. YAM Okay. Solid start. GREEN YAM FLAT NO DOT It barely fit. She boxed it in dramatically. River pears came out as RIV PERZ. Salt pods were just: SALT??? And then the kicker: AGE YELL RIND With a sad frowny face underneath. She turned the board toward Serosa. Serosa set her mug down, stared at it like it was a modern art piece that insulted her lineage, then gave a small nod. ¡°Honestly? Not bad.¡± Uma blinked, suspicious then tapped a frowny face. ¡°You¡¯ll survive,¡± Serosa said, standing. ¡°You¡¯ve got spirit.¡± Uma raised the board again: U HAVE ISSUES Serosa opened the door. Uma was still sitting. ¡°You¡¯ve got this,¡± Serosa said with a gentle push to her back. ¡°Just smile, nod, and pretend you know what¡¯s going on.¡± Then she added, as Uma crossed the threshold: ¡°Good luck, sweetie.¡± The words sounded genuine. Warm. Encouraging. But the smirk? Yeah, she was enjoying this way too much. Uma stood outside with her board in one hand, dignity in the other, and muttered in her head: ¡®This is fine. I¡¯ll just wing it. What¡¯s the worst that could happen? Besides¡­ y¡¯know. Everything.¡¯