The Cruelty of Waking Up

A slow, languid stretch rippled through Jianna’s body as she drifted in the warm, hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyelids remained sealed, holding fast to the final, fading remnants of a dream. That was an interesting one, she mused, a phantom smile touching her lips. Even if that Malakor fellow was something of a brute, I wish it had lasted a moment longer. A flicker of confusion followed the thought. Why on earth would I think that?

She pulled the blanket higher, burrowing her chin into its folds and preparing to sink back into slumber, but a sudden awareness of its texture brought her to a halt. This was not the familiar, downy fleece of her comforter at home. This fabric felt coarse and unyielding, its rough weave an abrasive whisper against her skin. With a growing sense of unease, she peeled her eyes open, a sliver of bewildered hope suggesting that perhaps her mother had simply forgotten to add fabric softener to the wash.

With every fiber of her being, she willed the sight of her own bedroom into existence: the crisp white walls, the cherished bookshelf laden with porcelain dolls and other treasured trinkets nestled amongst well-loved literature. But the reality that met her gaze was a brutal, heart-stopping refutation of that hope. She was surrounded by walls of mud and wattle, stained with the waxy ghosts of long-dead candles. And there, slumped against the far wall, his colossal form a hulking silhouette in the pre-dawn gloom, was Malakor. He had been sleeping, or so it seemed, a mountain of a creature barely contained by the tiny hovel.

Jianna's mind fractured. Oh, god. It wasn't a dream. None of it was a dream. The truth crashed down with the force of a physical blow. It's all real. I've been kidnapped, and I'm stranded here.

A sharp, stinging heat bloomed behind her eyes, the undeniable promise of tears. A moment later, they came—not with sobs, but in a silent, hot deluge, carving wet tracks down her cheeks. She yanked the scratchy blanket tighter, curling her body into a small, defensive ball and squeezing her eyes shut in a futile effort to dam the flood. The faint, smoky scent clinging to the fabric—an earthy perfume of damp soil and ancient embers—only intensified her despair, and a single, strangled sob finally tore its way from her throat.

"'Ey, what is it, then?"

The voice, deep and still heavy with sleep, was the last sound in any world Jianna wanted to hear. It was too real, too solid, and its presence in the cramped space utterly demolished her final, fragile wisp of denial. The sound broke her, and her quiet tears escalated into ragged, desperate sobs.

Though he had feigned sleep, Malakor had been awake for some time, listening to the soft, rhythmic cadence of her breathing. The first muffled cry had sent a jolt of tension through him. Now, watching her small frame tremble beneath the blanket, he rose onto all six of his limbs. His claws made soft, deliberate clicking sounds on the packed-earth floor as he moved toward her with a surprising gentleness.

"You're not hurt, that I can see," he said, his voice a low growl of gruff concern. "So what's the matter?"

Jianna only burrowed her face deeper into the blanket, shaking her head violently. How could she possibly explain it to him? "It's… nothing," she choked out, the words mangled by her weeping.

"If it's 'nothing,' then why the waterworks?" Malakor demanded, his patience already fraying at the edges.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

The simple challenge hung in the air. Jianna swallowed against the lump in her throat and took a shuddering breath. "Fine. Try this on for size. One minute, I'm just walking home, minding my own business, and the next, I'm being abducted. I'm knocked unconscious, and when I wake up, I'm in this… this impossible world, surrounded by satyrs and demons and who knows what else! And you know what? At first, I was fine with it. I really was. Because I thought it was just some bizarre, vivid dream! But it's not!" Her voice cracked, rising in pitch with every word. "It's not a dream, and I'm never going to see my parents again, or my brothers, or my little sister! I just want to go home!"

"Alright, alright, I see the problem," Malakor pleaded, holding his upper palms out in a placating gesture. He cast an anxious glance toward the hut's door, his ears twitching, listening for any sign that her not-so-quiet tirade had roused the nearby villagers. Her sobs were louder now, hysterical. Utterly out of his depth, he reached out, intending to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from his touch as if burned.

With a sigh saturated with annoyance, Malakor tried a different approach. "Listen. I don't know the specifics of what the Council in Kaur-Koram wants with you, but I am certain they will send you back to your own world when their business is concluded. Alright?"

Jianna opened her eyes, gazing up at him through a bleary, tear-streaked haze. "How can you be so sure?" she questioned, her voice a raw whisper.

Malakor executed a complex shrug that involved a ripple across his upper torso. "I'm not positive. But they are not an unreasonable group. Not all of them, at any rate. They wouldn't keep you here against your will if you truly wished to leave."

The words were a lifeline. She sat up slowly, wiping the last of the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "How long will it take to get to… Kaur-Koram?"

"About a week, give or take, depending on our pace."

Jianna nodded, a flicker of resolve hardening her tear-softened features. "Then I suppose we should get moving, shouldn't we?"

A smile stretched across Malakor's face—the first genuine one she had ever seen, and it transformed his monstrous features into something almost handsome. "Now that's the kind of thinking I like to hear."

They were folding the coarse blanket when an idea, sudden and absolute, struck Jianna. As he threw a heavy pack onto his back, she began, "Hey, Malakor?"

He shifted the cumbersome weight on his shoulders, letting it settle into place. "What?" he asked, his tone stern.

"You know what we should do?"

"No. What?"

"We should take Blynn with us."

Malakor froze mid-squirm, his entire body going rigid. He stared at Jianna as if she had just sprouted a second head from her neck. "And why in all the hells would we do that, girl?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Jianna stated, her tone making it sound like the most obvious truth in the universe. "No one deserves to be a slave."

"And? We still can't take him! The entire village would be on our tails before we cleared the woods. Is that how you would repay their hospitality?"

"He looked so unhappy," she pressed, her gaze falling to her hands as she fiddled with the leather straps of her own pack. "I would feel like a terrible person if we just… left him here." She looked back up, her eyes wide and shimmering with the threat of fresh tears, her face a mask of profound misery. "Please?"

"No."

"We can't just leave him…"

"Yes," he cut in, his voice flat and cold. "We can. And that face won't work on me, Florian. I am not in the business of rescuing slaves, and I am certainly not saving that accursed satyr."