And that world was different than the outside world within the chicken pen. It was open and free, unattached from the home with the mother she’d hated so much. She could breathe easily out here, even if she was still confined to the village itself. At this hour, the people were just beginning to exit their homes and begin their own set of chores. . . most all of them adults, rather than children but ― even if it was unfair that she be left to her mother's chores, at least she could be alone with her thoughts.  

According to father, the village consisted of people from all across the vast world, who built the strong walls to protect both it and the king’s castle nearest to the very back. Supposedly, the King had sent for builders from other kingdoms far off as well, but from what father and the other villagers had spoken of? They were all on their own from beginning to end. That, and with the help of an alchemist by the name of Rahzmir. From what the elder people of the village had told her, it was Rahzmir alone who had indeed built the impregnable wall that surrounded them with his alchemy. Strong wood thick as many trees that grew without gaps between, with iron (actual iron!) to further support it. Though Rahzmir would not be around to bear witness to his wall’s power and resilience however, for he had fled into the woods to be with his love. . . or, once more, as some of the villagers had told her. It was rather tiring to be told of such fantastical information secondhand, but for now she could just hold fast to the idea of learning to read soon. To arrive at answers to her questions all on her own.  

But as she hadn’t yet seen the entirety of the village, or even the faintest glimpse of the inside of the castle, so she couldn’t be completely sure that her father had told her all this in earnest. . . but father had never lied to her before, so she chose to believe him this time as well. Until she began to read and learn past mother’s chores, she would bravely make do with what the villagers had to say.  

Qistina made her way up the streets toward the bread shop of plump little Miss Castiglioni, bowing her head politely to all the adults that had called to her by name, hardly remembering their names as easily as they’d remembered hers. Perhaps that was just the power of an adult. Miss Castiglioni was just that way as well (doing things so out of the ordinary that one might think her a theatergoer to the stagehands that were the villagers). Qistina had been walking to and from her home to the bakery for years now, even by the age of nine. Always the same thing as her mother had requested. On some days, she can be halfway near the shop and suddenly Castiglioni is there! Ready with bread in hand to pass along. On other days, Qistina will plan to trick Castiglioni by adding an extra piece of bread different than what mother requested - even still, Castiglioni had found a way inside her mind for the extra kind of bread she’d choose: A sweet pumpernickel rather than the sour bauernbrot that mother favored. Suffice it to say, the woman Castiglioni had warmed her heart even on the coldest of mornings! Even leaving her wishing that she had been Qistina’s mother instead of the one she’d gotten.  

“Save the rest of that one pfennig for yourself, yeah?” she spoke softly, petting the top of her head as if she were a kitten. As if she would break at a heavier touch. As if she were her own daughter. “You’ll let me know how your family likes it too, won’t you?” 

“Of course I will!” With a nod and a huge smile, Qistina gripped the bread closer to her chest and humbly thought to herself that she would have given everything to return ‘home’ to a family within that bakery. When her eyes met with miss Castiglioni’s, she watched as the older woman moved to place the breads within a small basket. Unnecessary, but thoughtful.   

“Miss Castiglioni, how much of the pumpernickel did you make this morning?” she said, watching her elder cover the breads with a cotton cloth. “Will you have more in the evening?” 

“You shouldn’t be filling up on sweet bread, little one! Go on then! Go on home!” The woman laughed heartily, turning to head back into her bakery. “The knights are returning any moment now! You’ll want to be away from the heavy footfalls of the horses and villagers come to see them.” 

A goodbye of her own, that heavy and warm voice fading the further she walked into her shop. She decided to go for a further walk, and peeked into the open area that was the bakery before going off again. Indeed, the bakery was completely filled. The breads she’d usually come to get for the family were there, but there were also many kinds of bread she’d never seen before! Even the smells, for as different as they were, seemed to blend in a fragrance unrepeatable by any natural occurrence. Fluffed up breads. Breads that were flat. Round. Crunchy looking. Soft. Standing there in front of the open window with her eyes shut and taking it all in, Qistina did her best to commit this memory of smell and sight to her mind. How funny! How amazing! Amazing that even a simple kind of food could range so differently. No doubt, she’d made all of these by either request, boredom, or kindness. Why else go through the trouble? They must have come from all over this vast world, just like the villagers themselves. What nostalgia, to have your favorite bread in a strange land. 

Not that she could relate, but it made her appreciate miss Castiglioni all the more. 

She would not continue to get in the way, so she thought it best to venture further into the village for a bit before heading back home. 

Even for just a short amount of time, she wanted to enjoy it away from the suffocating atmosphere of the home, now walking along the dirt road at a brisk pace and looking at each building with budding familiarity. As she did not visit many shops in the village, she wasn’t sure what each of these housed. Some could have been family homes. Bookshops? Attire? Armories for the knights? Would they not require a more official blacksmith? How did such things work? Ahhh. . . more questions and no one to answer! As this irritating thought prodded and poked at her mind like a woodpecker, she hadn’t noticed the very obvious large animal standing right in the midst of her path. Stumbling back hard onto her bottom with a shriek, dropping her basket of bread. Unlike her, the animal didn’t budge whatsoever- only the swish of its tail indicated that it was alive and not some sort of statue. Thoroughly embarassed by this, she quickly rummaged for her bread and stood to her feet again ― staring straight into the large and muscular rump of a horse. 

It shifts, and suddenly the sight of a man can be seen easing the animal. Setting down a large basket of food for it, staring at her as if he wasn’t sure he ought to be addressing her. Clearly, the horse hadn’t been hurt by her stumbling about, so she could safely reckon that she was not in trouble. . . However, there was the more pressing and happy moment of noticing what the horse had been carrying in its own purse. Father had a name for this sort of contraption, but she couldn’t remember for the excitement bubbling over all other thoughts. For at that very moment, she had actually spotted books. Books of differently dyed covers of reds and blues and browns. Leather and paper. Some thick and others simplistically thin, some without text and others with it. Text, surely it is text, isn’t it? The strange patterns of shapes certainly looked like text! Her eyes sparkled when looking them all over from her spot below the horse, its carrier drooping slightly from the weight of the precious cargo. Something made of leather? Something? Her eldest brother had carried something similar. 

Regardless of her sudden and rapidly growing interest in the mysterious books, the man had walked heavily into the small shop of books and began speaking to the owner. So loudly in fact, that she could hear every word, even from outside. Qistina looked upward to the untranslatable sign. It was the very same bookshop she’d never been allowed to venture to. Though unable to read, she was even unable to peruse the contents and just stare at the pictures. As she was outside, wouldn’t it be alright to sneak her hand in and at least peek at the covers? Her small fingers outstretch, reaching into that pouch of paper treasures to touch the cover whose hue strongly resembled her eyes. Leather, just as she thought. Soft. Impossibly soft. Holding temptations she could scarcely imagine. After sufficiently stroking the cover, her thumb and forefinger slid to its sides. Just thick enough to hold with one hand, and long enough that she could have hid it in her basket if it were cheap enough in price. The single pfennig that had been left to her from the bakery earlier would surely suffice for a book, wouldn’t it? 

A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. 

“For the arts?” she asked innocently, not removing her hand nor turning to face him. 

“For the King and the Kings Knights alone girl.” he scowled at her in a gravelly voice when he met her eyes, lightly smacking at the hand that touched the red-covered book. “Have your mother teach you proper rules, girl.” 

“Not a clue what you mean. It’s only a book.” she frowned, pouting childishly and rubbing her smacked hand. “What do you mean ‘the Kings Knights alone’? What’s within the book?” 

One would think she’d asked a highly inappropriate question from the way his face contorted when hearing her question. In the end, he relents with a deep sigh, pulling out the book she’d been touching and looking at the cover. He smirked, showing her the cover. 

“I tell you what, if you can read the title of this book, I’ll let you have it, girl.” 

Qistina’s pout protruded so greatly that the top of her lips brushed the bottom of her nose, patting the book as if the symbols and scribbles would suddenly become a language to which she could read. When nothing happened, the man laughed cruelly and returned the book to that pouch. Out of her sights. He continued to laugh at her feeble attempt while shoving his hands into the same pouch, carrying all the books inside by a single trip. 

“Only the youngins your age reading are the squire's, girl.” after a hobble toward the table inside the bookshop, he set them all down at once with a heavy ‘thunk’. Maybe he thought she was much too young to understand the rules about the kingdom, because he continued. “Squire’s are the Knights in training. Knights serve the King. The King is your ruler. Ruler of this kingdom. You do know the name of the kingdom, yeah? Go on.” 

“Konigreich des Stolzes!” A confident nod of the head. A question she could answer clearly. “Under King. . . Aaaah. King Mutigsten?” 

“You are sure?” 

“Yes!” 

“Well you’re right. King Mutigsten is the alchemist that built the kingdom, right from the ground up. He taught children in his youth the great art so that they were able to protect what he built and the people who chose to live here. But since alchemy is only capable by the title of Knighthood, the King forbids any who are not under his service to learn it.” when he paused, she noticed his head turn toward the castle far from the shop. “Protect the peace from within, and all.” 

“What about Razmir?” This bit of information was contradictory to what she’d heard from her father, and she was unable to keep it to herself. The man answered just as quickly. 

“Just an old legend, girl. Now go on. Adults got business to be doing.”