I readjusted my injured leg, trying to get more comfortable, and immediately regretted it when a shaft of pain shot up my calf. Gritting my teeth, I brought my leg towards me again to take another look. Was the skin turning purple already? Or was that just my eyes playing tricks on me?

Cursing under my breath, I carefully rolled up my trousers to inspect my leg. Luckily, my calf didn’t seem to be swelling, just my ankle.

About to pull my pant-leg back down, I paused. Even after seven years, the old burn scars hadn’t faded completely away. Running a finger across one of the pink, puckered scars that littered my right calf, memories surfaced. I remembered my mother, and the small farming village I grew up in. Born and raised in the kingdom of Palay, I’d grown up near the eastern border we shared with the neighboring kingdom of Kashna.

Tensions had always run high between the two kingdoms, and war usually broke out every couple of decades or so. We weren’t due for another war with Kashna for at least ten years, when something unexpected happened: the Kashnian King was beheaded by his third son, who then proceeded to eliminate the rest of the royal family and all those who supported the dead king. Storytellers claim the palace ran red with blood and evil spirits could be heard laughing during the slaughter.

When the sun rose the next day, Kashna had a new king. Wearing a crown still stained with his father’s blood, King Kazian immediately began plans for war. For as bloodthirsty a man as he was, he was still cunning, and so he sent out raiding parties in order to test Palay’s—and other countries’—borders. My village was one of the first to be attacked.

I was ten years old when the Kashnian soldiers attacked our village and burnt it to the ground. My mother died that day, along with most of the rest of our village. I was fortunate enough to only receive a few burns on my leg, other survivors weren’t as lucky with their injuries.

After the attack, I gathered what I could from what remained of our home, and began the long journey to Navar. When whispers of war had first begun to spread, my mother told me that if anything ever happened to her, I should disguise myself as a boy and go to Navar; she thought I would be safer in the capital. Personally, I would have preferred to stay out in the country, but with Kashna waging war on Palay all along the border, the city was the safer choice.

When the war between the two countries ended in a stalemate three years later, I didn’t even think about heading back to the countryside, having grown used to life in Navar as a humble thief.

I pulled my pant-leg back down, hiding the scars once more.

Sighing, I put the bracelet back in its pouch and tucked it away inside my shirt. Then, tired, hungry, and in pain, I dragged myself over to the pile of rags that served as my bed and curled up on top. Pulling up a ratty blanket, I got as comfortable as I could and closed my eyes.