[System]
Craft a Ten page narrative for adults with these guidelines:
Use ideas to improve the story including dialogue, conflict and challenges, and character development.
TYPICALLY IT GOOD TO FOLLOW THIS:
Introduction
Rising Action
Midpoint
Climax
Resolution

In a well-told story, elements like the climax, resolution, and midpoint shouldn't need explicit mentioning; a discerning reader should be able to identify these moments through the narrative's progression

Use adult themes if specified.
Start uniquely, avoiding clichés.
Adult content is permitted.
Make the story captivating, possibly humorous, and thought-provoking.
Begin each segment with "Page x:" for each page.
FOUR FULL LENGTH PARAGRAPHS
Do not generate a title.
generate ALL 10 pages,
Example Response Format
  'Page 1: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 2: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 3: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 4: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 5: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 6: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 7: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 8: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 9: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 10: (4 full-length paragraphs)'

[User]
Brief Overview: A person traverses a mysterious and seemingly living forest with an egg that must be transformed into a rare gem by a creature within the forest, all while being taunted by a spectral old woman. The journey tests their resolve, and they ultimately succeed, securing their family's wealth. (Fantasy)

Pages 1-2:
- The protagonist enters a bizarre and lifeless forest, navigating through treacherous roots and a silent landscape.
- They encounter an eerie old woman who knows about the valuable item in their pocket, hinting at her supernatural awareness.

Pages 3-4:
- The protagonist is confounded by the repeating landscape and the old woman's sudden appearances and demands.
- They begin to suspect there's more to the old woman as she fails to physically interact with the prized egg.

Pages 5-6:
- The protagonist is caught in a loop, seeing the same dirt mound repeatedly and realizing the forest manipulates perception.
- The old woman reveals her ghostly nature, and the protagonist refuses to leave the egg, deducing her limited influence on the seen world.

Pages 7-8:
- The protagonist asserts control and continues through the forest without yielding to the old woman's pleas.
- They reach the clearing and confront the creature that will transform the egg, ignoring the old woman's distress.

Pages 9-10:
- The protagonist witnesses the creature consuming the egg and undergoing a fiery transformation, causing environmental upheaval.
- They retrieve the resulting gem from the creature's remains, ensuring their family's fortune, and leave the forest behind, the old woman vanishing completely.

[Assistant]
Page 1:

Care for it as if it were your own, or watch it melt to ash and bone. Words that echoed in my mind as I edged my way through the forest. The trees were spread sparse, and lay bare. Their dark, silvery trunks clinging to the ground through exposed roots; roots that wove their way across the grim, grey dirt. I had to be careful not to trip as I walked, the entire forest floor was laden with them. The air was still.

Not a sound floated through it, save the crunch of my boots on the dry, dead ground. And that’s what this place was, or at least seemed: dead. There was no colour, no life. The forest seemed empty, devoid of anything you might expect to see in a woodland. No animals, no water, no sunlight breaking its way through the canopy. The lack of leaves would have left the whole forest to bath in the warm glow of the sun, were it not hidden beneath perpetual cloud.

I came to a steeply crested dirt mound. Either side were trees, jagged roots and felled decaying logs. It seemed to be my only way forward. In my attempts to scramble up, I lost my footing and fell forward. I wasn’t quite sure how, my foot felt planted one second, then as if the ground was gone the next, but it didn’t matter. I had made it over the rise but landed on my stomach in the dirt.

Peeling upright as quickly as I could, I frantically checked my pocket. To my relief, there was no harm done. My prize was safe. Dusting myself off, I continued onwards, heading deeper into the forest. “Nasty isn’t it…” I flew around, a haunting voice catching me by surprise. My heart in my mouth, my breath caught in my lungs, I found myself peering down at a haggard old woman, head spun with dry and curling white hairs.

Page 2:

She was sat against the base of a tree, wore a tattered old white dress down to her feet, no shoes and a crooked smile. “To be caught off-guard by a scary old woman in the middle of a forest” she continued, her smile broadening. I nodded frantically in agreement. “What brings you out here?” She pressed. “Alone”. Her expression was warm but her eyes were cold.

They were like the forest around me. Lifeless and empty. “Nothing”. “Nothing?” She replied, sceptically. “I doubt that very much.” “What are you doing out here?” I asked, trying to turn the conversation to her. “Hmm?

Oh, just sitting.” “Sitting?” We looked at each other, an eerie smile on her face, what I imagined to be nerves on mine. “I better head this way,” I said after a pause, edging away from her. “Oh yes, you better had.” The old woman croaked. “It’ll be getting dark soon.” I nodded awkwardly at her, scurrying away. Before I could move out of earshot, I heard her call. “Must be very valuable, whatever is in your pocket.” I turned back to answer, to lie or question her knowledge of what lay beneath the fabric of my clothes, but there was nobody to respond back to.

The woman was gone. With every hair on my body stood on end, I carried on. I had to be there soon, or must at least be getting close. She was right, though, it was getting darker. It was impossible to know how high the sun was in the sky. Between myself and the clouds was a high floating mist that wafted through the treetops.

Page 3:

It scattered what little light crept its way through the clouds, destroying all indication of the placement of the sun within the sky. All I knew was, I was losing light. I shuddered at the thought of being caught out here in the dark. Waking to a wrinkled old crone standing over me, fumbling at my pocket and scared me half to death. She’d already done that once, I suppose if she came back and did the other half she’d finish the job. I could feel the fear etching its way into my body.

A strange sensation of heat on my skin, despite the cold. A feeling of movement in my stomach, without any food inside it. And a distortion behind my eyes; the world was the same as how I always knew it, but somehow looked different at the same time. Like I was seeing more detail, my unconscious mind looking for things it normally wouldn’t. Like creepy old ghost women. I didn’t want to be here anymore.

The only way out was forward. I marched on, watching my footsteps carefully. I would seemingly trip every time I looked up, like the roots beneath me were tricking my eyes. Where I thought was clear was suddenly not. This forest was shapeless, aimless, it just kept going. But then, my heart sank, as I came to a familiar sight.

A crested dirt mound, this time with scrapped boot marks down the rise. I approached it cautiously. To either side were trees, felled logs and jagged roots. There was no mistaking it. Carefully, I climbed, watching my feet as I went. With a hop I sprang over the ridge and immediately cast my eyes around the trees, turning back to check for old, haggard strangers.

Page 4:

But there was nobody. “Nasty isn’t it…” I gasped as a jolt of shock struck me deep within my chest. “To be caught off-guard twice by a scary old woman.” Slowly, I turned back around. There she was, stood barefoot in the dirt. Hunched over, neck twisted, peering up at me through the spirals of hair falling down her face. “What’s going on?” I demanded, eyes darting around the forest for other potential surprises.

The woman had not been there mear moments ago, and the trees were spread so far apart around us that there was no way she could have appeared from behind one of them. “I would like to see the treasure you carry”. She said softly, wearing the same broad smile. “It is not for you,” I said, trying to strike my tone with some form of confidence while carefully shielding my pocket with my hands. The woman’s smile dropped to a sneer. She folded the hair out of her face to reveal a harsh and angry expression, yet those eyes still held nothing but emptiness.

No emotion, nothing. “There is only one reason people visit this forest. Only one reason they travel so deep.” “Get away from me, crone!” I wailed, sprinting round her, my hands still covering my pockets. I ran deeper and deeper into the forest, zig-zagging between the gnarled roots as fast as I could. I kept the pace for as long as I could, constantly switching between tracking my movements across the floor — careful not to trip — and looking up for signs of repetition. Eventually, after a fairly lengthy, yet cautious run, I started to tire.

I wasn’t the most physically fit of individuals. I came from wealth, I didn’t have to be. Panting, exhausted and pleading with my own head for signs of the creature that I sought, I came upon a particularly dangerous looking patch of roots, stretching on ahead of me into the far distance. They spun up in all directions, curved and twisted, some even looping twice over before burying themselves back into the ground. It seemed like they were fleeing the very earth itself. I looked around the desolate landscape.

Page 5:

No sign of women, or crests or anything familiar; except a brutally grey and unappealing forest. I broke off my pace and opted for a slow walk through the entangled roots. Eyes firmly at my feet, I made steady progress for all of thirty seconds, then I glanced up. There is was. The crested dirt mound. Right before my eyes.

How? What had happened to the swarming roots? There was no way I’d made my way through them. Shaking, but with anger and fear, I put my hand forward and climbed. Eyes darting about the place, I kept myself moving, circling as I went, looking for the old woman. I didn’t want to be surprised again.

But she wasn’t here. I couldn’t see her anywhere. I stood for a good few minutes, in the dead silence of the forest. Waiting for her to appear. She didn’t come. I could feel my mind slipping away from me.

I was becoming desperate. The sun didn’t appear to be moving. It was still fading, and had been for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t see a way out. How could I escape a forest that could change its shape at a moments notice? Nobody had warned me this forest played games with you.

Page 6:

That a witch lived between its deathly edges and tangled roots. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my prize. A mottled green egg, slightly larger than a chicken’s, lay in my palm. I held it out before me, gazing at its smooth shell. I felt a coldness behind me. Not a breeze, more like that cold feeling of placing your hand near frozen water.

An aura. The woman appeared. Shuffling past my shoulder, she came to a kneel in front of me. She too gazed at the egg. Again she wore that same smile. Again her eyes, though wide and fixed upon the egg, were lifeless.

“Leave it here, and I’ll let you go”. She whispered, eyes still fixed upon the striking little egg. “I know what happens if I let go of it.” I whimpered. I was afraid, but not more afraid than I was of dying, cold and alone in this forest. “Do it.” She urged. “Go on.

Take it from me.” I said, a pleading note clear in my quivering voice. “Just put it on the ground.” The witch breathed with a gesture towards the floor. “Why don’t you just take it?” “Put it on the ground.” She was becoming agitated again. The smile wiped from her face. Her anger was building. “Put it on the ground and leave!” I watched her for a moment, wondering why she wouldn’t just take the egg.

Page 7:

Then, cautiously, I reached out with one hand. As I slide my hand towards her skin, it floated away like mist. She really was a ghost; an apparition. “You have no power here,” I said under my breath. “You can’t do anything to me.” “I can trap you in this place until you’re too weak to carry on.” The witch screeched at me. “I’m giving you a chance to leave here alive.” But the wheels were turning in my mind.

I was starting to piece it together. What was happening. Not how it was happening, mind, that part still eluded me, but what was causing my confusion, my lost sense of direction and inability to avoid the crested dirt mound. I could see the witch growing anxious, she twitched as she crouched before me, watching me intently. “You can only control what I cannot see,” I said finally, cracking a small smile. She gazed at me, blankly for a moment, seemingly lost for words.

When she spoke, she didn’t say what I thought she might. She didn’t question what I knew, she didn’t ask me why or how I’d figured it out. No, instead, in the softest, and weakest of voices, she just said: “Please don’t.” I rose quickly. I kept my eyes on the horizon and I walked onwards, straight through her. I did not let my vision waiver from the direction in which I walked. I stumbled, I tripped and fell.

Cut, bled and bruised. But she couldn’t trap me if I didn’t take my eyes off the path. “Wait!” I heard her voice behind me. “Look!’ “No!” I called out, not turning my head even an inch. I had a newfound sense of confidence. I’d beaten her, I’d beaten her magic and her tricks.

Page 8:

I felt a surge of energy within my body, my fear turning to determination. From behind a tree ahead of me, she came into view. She appeared to be sobbing, or at least, sad. I refused to look at her directly, my eyes were looking nowhere but dead ahead. As I walked past her, she started to scuttle along beside me. “Please!” She begged.

“Please. Drop the egg and leave. You are making a mistake.” “This is my task. This is how I look after my family.” I replied firmly, shaking off her feeble attempts to sway my decision and pull me off course. “I cannot take it anymore. Please, don’t do thi-” But she was cut short.

We’d arrived. I had been so close for so long. Before me was a clearing in the forest. Within it lay deep crater entrenched by roots and fallen trees; within the crater itself, was what I set out to find. The creature hummed softly. A low, baritone noise.

It was an almost perfect half-sphere, about the size of a small cottage, sitting dead centre, in the heart of the crater. Its skin was a harsh pink mixed with tinges of brown, and all over its body were placed long, barbed spikes. It reminded me of a more jagged looking sea urchin; a delicacy we often treated ourselves back home. It had no face, eyes, nose or anything else you’d normally associate with an animal. I supposed they may be under its striking shell. A quick glance at the witch told me she was devastated by my find.

Page 9:

She shrank down onto all fours, clutching the lip of the crater, looking down on the otherworldly beast in the pit below. “I can’t…” She moaned. “I can’t go through this again. Please don’t make me” “It is not for me to help you,” I replied harshly, fed up with the trickster’s tactics. “I am here for a reason, and I will see it through.” I left the sobbing woman on the edge of the crater as I slid down its ridge, towards the animal. It made no movements towards me, nor did it react to my presence.

The smell was horrific. Like rotting food and gone-off meat. As I reached its massive form, I placed the egg on the floor beside it. The egg shattered into a pile of ash, the small bones of the chick that had laid inside spilling out onto the ground. The creature seemed to sense this. With a rumble, it crept towards the pile of ash and bone, its swollen body contorting in and out as it went.

Within moments, it had engulfed the remnants of the egg. All I heard next was some rather unpleasant sounds of sloshing and gurgling, presumably as it ingested the remains in a mouth that lay somewhere beneath its hulking shell. There wasn’t a lot about this journey that I had expected to happen, but I knew all about this bit. My family, those that had heard tales of trips made before, had told me in great detail. The creature started to glow, its pink skin hews turning a deeper red. Beneath the skin’s surface, a fiery orange seemed to be erupting, flowing its way around the beast’s body like lava.

It glowed a vibrant glow in this dark, desolate place. Then, it seemed to latch itself to the floor, and the ground began to shake. Around me, I could see the roots of the trees twitching, starting to twist and turn even more so. They made their way further and further out of the ground. The trees that stood on the edge of the clearing began to crumble and fall helplessly into the crater, yet so weak and hollow, they didn’t roll or come crashing down the ridge, but instead gently slid, crumbling into smaller pieces as they went. The crater itself was growing in size, as the dirt ridge collapsed around us.

Page 10:

I had to watch my balance, careful not to fall as the vibrations grew in intensity. In the frantic scene, I took a quick look around. The witch was gone. A few minutes after it began, it all stopped. In that time, the crater had grown, the roots had leapt further from the earth and trees had fallen into the pit all around us. The creature itself was much larger as well.

It’s vivid red and orange skin returned to its normal pink state. Again, it was humming softly. I stood, watching the animal. Waiting for what I knew must come next. It had to… it couldn’t not. It took some time, time enough for me to grow increasingly nervous, but eventually, the giant started to convulse in and out again, as it very slowly crept away from me.

The patch left behind was drenched in a thick white mucus which billowed from the ground like steam, evaporating into the air. With no wind or breeze to speak of, it rose straight up into the mists above. And there it was, laying in the thick of the slimming mess, a gleaming blue stone. Clambering into the ooze, my shoes sticking to the ground as I went, I grabbed the mucus-encrusted stone and made my way swiftly out the crater, using fallen trees and roots to haul myself up to the edge. Sitting on the lip of the enormous pit, I wiped the slim off the gem with my clothes. It was a perfect circle, a glowing blue pearl.

The size of my cupped hands, it shone without any light reflecting into it. I couldn’t have asked for anything so stunning. This gem was perhaps the most valuable single item anyone could get their hands on right now, and it would keep my family in great wealth for a century. I left the forest, nearly skipping, overjoyed. The gem was hidden beneath my clothes, I couldn’t let anyone know I had it. Not until it and I were safely home.


[System]
Craft a Ten page narrative for adults with these guidelines:
Use ideas to improve the story including dialogue, conflict and challenges, and character development.
TYPICALLY IT GOOD TO FOLLOW THIS:
Introduction
Rising Action
Midpoint
Climax
Resolution

In a well-told story, elements like the climax, resolution, and midpoint shouldn't need explicit mentioning; a discerning reader should be able to identify these moments through the narrative's progression

Use adult themes if specified.
Start uniquely, avoiding clichés.
Adult content is permitted.
Make the story captivating, possibly humorous, and thought-provoking.
Begin each segment with "Page x:" for each page.
FOUR FULL LENGTH PARAGRAPHS
Do not generate a title.
generate ALL 10 pages,
Example Response Format
  'Page 1: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 2: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 3: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 4: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 5: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 6: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 7: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 8: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 9: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 10: (4 full-length paragraphs)'

[User]
Brief Overview: In a high-fantasy world, a vengeful farmhand journeys into the perilous mountains to slay a wraith that destroyed his village and family. Taking place in a bleak, snow-covered landscape, he must confront his own guilt, the elements, and the supernatural to find redemption or death.

Pages 1-2: The protagonist's companion succumbs to his wounds inflicted by the wraith in the safety of a cave. Despite the protagonist's attempts at consoling him, they both know the end is near. A blizzard rages outside, and by dawn, the companion is dead. Alone and lost, yet fueled by the desire for vengeance, the protagonist decides to continue the hunt for the wraith.

Pages 3-4: The protagonist reflects on his village's destruction and his father's death at the hands of the wraith. As he trudges through the snow with no supplies, he contemplates the stories he's been told of wraiths and how miners are protected against these creatures. Despite the difficulties, he resolves to keep moving, driven by guilt and a thirst for revenge.

Pages 5-6: His thoughts drift to his lost companions and their willingness to follow him. He ponders the nature of wraiths, their lack of sustenance from physical bodies, and the legacy of village tales. Suddenly, an avalanche alters the terrain and pushes him to action when he spots a wraith disturbed by the event. He stealthily follows its trail, driven by the need to fulfill his mission.

Pages 7-8: Following the wraith's trails through the bitter cold, the protagonist reflects on his motivations and responsibilities. He plans his attack on a wraith, believing in the legend that a sword strike can disintegrate the creature. However, he has an awkward fall, losing his weapon and the opportunity to strike.

Pages 9-10: The protagonist is shocked by the wraith's non-aggressive behavior as it absorbs the essence from berries instead of attacking him. Weakened and nearly frozen, he resigns to death but soon finds himself mysteriously saved. In a twist of fate, he wakes to his thought-to-be-dead navigator, who claims to have slain the wraith, leaving the protagonist wracked with guilt over his past actions fuelled by anger.

[Assistant]
Page 1:

“How does it look?” Carefully, I gripped my companion by the shoulder and pulled him away from the slippery stone wall. He left behind stains of blood on the cobalt rock; strands, thick and black, sticking to where he once rested. In the flickering firelight, what little I could see was pure horror. Three deep gashes, each about three inches apart, were scored across his back from left waist to right shoulder. A mess of torn flesh, muscle and tendons, he had been ripped to the bone, right through his thick furs and leathers. In the freezing temperatures, the blood seemed to flow less willingly, but this made the injury no less grim. Slowly, I let him roll back to his resting place against the wall of the cave.

The heat from the fire warmed the rock that encased us, forming droplets of water that either dripped from the jagged ceiling or slid their way down the curved wall. I wiped my hands on the moisture, trying to remove some of the blood that coated them. “I’ve seen worse”. “On a gutted pig?” He chuckled breathlessly, his voice rattling. “You just need rest. The wound will heal enough by morning.” He gave another, hollow laugh and smiled, a crooked, disbelieving smile. “You make it pay, won’t you?” “We will.” I insisted, putting my hand on his shoulder.

I looked the dying man in the eye, hoping that some of my confidence would inspire him to keep on fighting. He just gazed back, his eyelids drooping. I could tell he was tired. So very, very tired. He didn’t seem to have the energy to fight, or to even care that he was facing his last moments. Harsh winds wailed past the entrance to the cave. A blizzard was tearing through the night beyond our little shelter.

I could feel the bitterness of the frozen world outside. The dwindling fire a meagre offering compared to the unrelenting nightmare of snow; little protection against the sharp, icy winds that crept their way into our abode. By the time dawn broke, I was huddled in the deepest corner of the cave, wrapped tightly in the fur cloak I had thought would keep me warm in these unforgiving mountains. My companion lay dead, taken either by his wounds or the ice that encrusted his lips and eyelashes. The fire had died about the same time he did. So long ago that it no longer even smouldered. The blizzard had cleared, but snow still fell.

Page 2:

It almost never stopped falling in the mountains. In a stupor of hunger and sleep deprivation, I emerged from the cave. The sun had only just risen above the towering mountain peaks, but shone so brightly between the gaps of grey cloud that swarmed overhead I was nearly blinded. Its rays streamed off every flake of glossy white snow, snow that coated everything in sight; from giant boulders jutting from the canyon walls, to the trees that lined the deep valley sprawling away over both of my shoulders. We’d found our hideaway halfway up the side of the valley the night before. As night fell, a lucky break in the barrage of snow meant the dark rocky archway caught my eye, a striking contrast against the white world that surrounded it. In a rush of cries, blood and panic, we’d scrambled inside.

There was no sign of that now. No sign of the frantic night before. The snow made everything so elegant; so calm; so clean. I had no idea where I was going now. I had no idea what I was going to do. The man that lay dead inside the cave was the smart one; my problem solver. The man that lay dead somewhere in the snow before me was my navigator; the one who could tell me where to go.

I was just the muscle. The farmhand with a large sword and the will to swing it. And I was alone. My father had always warned me about coming into the mountains. There were two truths in life, he used to say: That the mountains were no place for farm folk, and that Uncle Ryle was a no good swindler. I’d learnt as a boy that my Uncle was not a swindler, he was just better at business. But many years later, I was finally learning my father wasn’t wrong about everything.

But I had a purpose for being here; we all had a purpose. And we knew there were risks. There was nothing left for me now. Nothing left but to finish what we started. I dug my boots into the snow beneath and trudged on. Where I was travelling — east, north, west, I had no idea — but I knew what I was looking for. I knew what I was hunting.

Page 3:

Wraiths left behind a sort of luminous mist wherever they moved, like the shimmering trail of a slug. This was how we knew what had slaughtered the people of the village. This is how I knew what had killed my father. Often the trails meant it was easy to avoid the wraiths, but I wasn’t looking to avoid this one. We’d found it already, or I should say, it had found us. Its bright frosty-blue eyes had emerged from in the encircling blizzard last night, appearing as if from nowhere out of the gloom. I immediately took a swing and missed, but it didn’t.

It took out my navigator with a slash off its left claw, falling away into the blizzard, lost in the night forever. In the same movement, the beast carved up my companion with the right claw. There was no chance to defend ourselves, no chance to fight after that. We just had to run. It had now taken everyone from me. The last survivors. My family, my home.

I couldn’t even go back to the farm, not really. Growing food on the frozen plains that lay in the shadow of these hellish mountains was damn-near impossible. Getting the conditions right in the frigid temperatures, where ice never left the ground, took a lifetime of experience and my father had not yet managed to teach me all I needed to know. Twenty-two years apparently was still not enough to be a farmer in a world ruled by frost. All I had now was my goal, our goal. To kill the beast that stole my future. We weren’t even sure why it was in the village.

Not in my lifetime, nor my father’s, nor his father’s before him, had a wraith left the mountains. He used to tell me all about them, as the hearth crackled away. The stories had grown even longer of late, with the new mining going on in the mountains. They brought to the village some new stone fuel, and with it, the fire burned longer than ever — which meant the stories just kept on going. Stories of monstrous creatures in the mountains. Bloodthirsty demons of an old world. My father would regale me with tales of wraiths cutting down weary travellers and seasoned knights alike.

Page 4:

He himself had never seen one, nor had anyone I knew, but we all knew what they were. The stories were as old as time. The miner’s work got me asking even more questions about my father’s rules, though. Why were they allowed into the mountains if they were so dangerous? Apparently, a combination of military convoys and fire-wielding sorceresses kept them safe from both the elements and the wraiths. I was a bit disgruntled with the notion that I was so incapable when they were not. Those feelings had long since passed.

I wandered through the frost-touched valley for what seemed like an eternity. The land was beautiful, but baron. There was no food, no warmth, and no life, save the snow-laden pine trees that reached on for miles. I was feeling weaker and weaker by the minute. I had lost our supplies in the rush the previous night. The pack of food was now buried under inches of snow. I knew I’d never find it.

I didn’t bother to search. Between dazzling brightness and dreary gloom, depending on how covered by clouds the sun was, I started to feel my resolve wain. I wanted to quit, to give up and leave this glorious, deadly place behind. But I couldn’t. I thought of the mangled bodies of my family. The guilt was overwhelming. Had I been there, not out in the city chasing women, I might have been able to fend off the beast.

The village wasn’t home to many able young men, only three, and none had been around when it came. Then I thought of my companion in the cave, the frost surely still biting at his quickly freezing corpse. The guilt was worse still. As they wept over their families, my heart filled with rage. I felt the anger wash over me, masking the pain — I knew that now, as the cold bit at my own heart and began to thaw the fiery anger that burned inside. I had to almost drag our navigator into the mountains, and now he lay dead within them. My companion was only slightly more willing.

Page 5:

The wraith took both his wife and daughter, but even he wouldn’t have set foot on these treacherous slopes if I hadn’t driven him to it. I goaded him, playing off his torment. I had to kill the beast, it was the only way to unburden my guilty conscience. Was the wraith that attacked us last night the same that cut down the villagers? It was impossible to say. They all looked identical, apparently. We didn’t know exactly how many were living in the mountains, but we did know was they were mindless killers and even if I slew the wrong one, I’d redeem myself by culling a true vision of evil.

Wraiths were ancient creatures, powered only by a lust for death. I was always told that they didn’t consume the flesh of their prey, they took the very life from them and fed off that instead. I didn’t believe it, and I was still not sure. Except for the massive slashes across his torso where the wraith had cleaved him as he worked in the fields, my Father looked as he ever did when I found him. I expected the draining of life to look more dramatic, but maybe it wasn’t something you could see. I continued to struggle on through the wilderness, my feet sliding into inches of fresh snow with every step. My pace was slow and staggering.

I had no direction in my mind, just eyes peeled for the sight of that luminous foggy trail. Bitter breezes sailed through the trees constantly, hitting me from all angles. Beneath my thick furs, I was covered in leather padding wrapped in yet more furs. Beneath that were tight linens tucked into my boots and gloves. I was used to the freezing temperatures and knew how to keep them out, but in the mountains, where winds gathered speed as they whipped through the deep valleys, even I was succumbing to the pain of the cold. The steel greatsword, heavy on my back, was not helping either. Nothing much changed all day, other than that I progressively shrank into myself, residing to the fact that I would simply wander these frozen wastes until I collapsed and died; dead wraith or not.

I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to fight the monster alone when I was fit and healthy, not least now when I was ragged, tired, cold, weak and hungry. But what else could I do? I didn’t know my way out the mountains, even if I was coward enough to run. And yes, I’d thought about it. But then, things changed. It began with a bang. A horrible, low rumble that emanated from far away in the mountains, shaking the very ground around me and knocking snow from the branches overhead.

Page 6:

It lasted only a second, but was like nothing I’d ever heard before. Then, on the far side of the ravine, through the wiry trees, I saw cracks emerge in the snow, like splits in an ice-bound lake struck with a pick-axe. With a groan, the snow started to slide, slowly at first, but quickly picking up pace. It was crashing towards the deepest part of the valley — exactly where I stood. Heaving my stiff legs through the dense snow, I ambled frantically towards the other side of the valley, fear driving my frozen body to move faster than it should. I went up higher and higher until I could go no further; blocked by steep rock walls. Looking back, I saw snow swarm where I once stood, burying the land deep enough to cover me several times over.

The force of the drift had brought down trees and uncovered a great expanse of bare rock on the cliffs of the valley’s far side. Whatever had just happened transformed the landscape. It was as if I was standing in a totally different place. But that was not what interested me most. Down in the pit of the valley, where the freshly moved snow now lay, I could see something moving. Ducking behind a tree, I peered around to watch. A lone wraith was moving around frantically in the canyon below, similar to a fly trapped in a jar.

It was slashing wildly, dashing from tree-to-tree, cutting through them with ease. It was hard to make out its features, so far away was it, but it was definitely a wraith. About the size of a man and floating a foot or so above the ground, it left glowing trails of frosty-blue dust in its wake. After a moment of what seemed to be sheer panic, it let out a shriek, a piercing almost metallic noise, before darting away, dragging its low slung claws through the dusty, unsettled snow. With haste, I followed, just fast enough to outrun the dispersal of its trail. Walking through the mist was like walking through the heart of winter itself. The air was so cold it dragged deep into my lungs and felt like every breath was scaring them.

I could feel ice forming on the hairs above my lip. I took to a path beside the wraith’s trail, I wouldn’t last long within it, and I was already on my last legs as it was. Pushing forward took every scrap of energy I had, but I knew this would be my only chance. The wraith had moved far, its path leading me out of the sprawling valley and to the shores of a great frozen lake that stood between three looming mountain peaks. The frantic trail had slowly become calmer. The darting from side-to-side had stopped as the beast’s focus seemed to have narrowed. The trails were also thicker and more densely packed, spun with more and more floating specks of shimmering blue dust.

Page 7:

I think it had slowed down. I found it, seemingly rummaging through a bush of succulent red berries on the edge of the expansive lake. If I was to fight it, I was to fight it now, before I lost a single ounce more of my strength. The fires of revenge lit in my heart again at the sight of the wraith, they would keep me moving — even if the cold was trying hard to turn my bones to ice. My desire to slay the beast was all my mind’s eye was fixated on; that, and getting to the juicy berries on the bush behind it. We farmed these berries all the time. They grew on the slopes of the mountains just outside the village in abundance, although most were unreachable up the side of great, snow-covered clefts.

They were delicious and hearty. They’d keep me going a little longer. With my heart pounding and my palms sweating despite the bitter, bitter cold, I drew my sword with a clatter of steel. The wraith spun around in a smooth, gliding motion, its glowing blue eyes immediately found me. They were empty, soulless; without any humanity or emotion. They just glowed a hollow glow. Its eyes were set inside a narrow, elongated and pointed skull, grey and bare.

A skull more like an ox’s than a man’s. From the skull grew a spine, of large bones as big as a fist that slowly trailed off into smaller pieces, until one, pointed bone hung about a foot from a ground. Just below its head, two arms sprang seemingly from nowhere. Attached not to shoulder blades nor its spine. To the arms were fixed giant claws, each longer than my forearms, thin, curved and sharp. There was no muscle, flesh or skin on the wraith. Nothing holding its bones together but a thick fog of glowing blue dust that clung to its form.

Legend has it that a stroke of a sword through the spine would severe the magic that bound this ancient monster together, and the wraith would simply crumble. I was about to find out if that were true. As it approached, the beast’s gaze bore into me. It moved slowly, seemingly cautious. Stopping and starting, edging closer. I gripped my sword with both hands, raised it as steady as I could and prepared to swing. But about ten feet away, the wraith stopped.

Page 8:

It let out a hollow snort. Again, the noise was metallic, an unusual sound for a living creature to make. To my surprise, it didn’t charge, leap or race towards me, slashing its talons. The wraith simply turned and started to glide away. Ignoring my presence, my stance, my willingness to fight. It was just leaving. I was frozen, not by the cold, but by disbelief.

Where was it going? Why wasn’t it trying to tear me apart? My confusion turned to anger. Did it think it could just kill my father and get away with it? Did it think I would just let it float away? “No!’ I screamed, my voice echoing across expanse before me. It didn’t even turn around.

It just kept moving towards another patch of berries nearby. I’d had enough. I started to run. The snow thinned by the lake’s edge, allowing swifter movement. I held my sword high. I was going to kill it. I was going to take my revenge.

One slice, across its back. It was too easy. But I was going to do it. For my Father. For my companions. For th… My foot caught the lip of a concealed rock beneath the snow and I tumbled forward, sword flung from my hands. I landed face down in the snow, and my strength evaporated in that moment.

Page 9:

My body was so battered, so achy, so cold that it hurt. I couldn’t bring myself to rise. I could just lay here and die. I steeled what little resolve I had and rolled over to face the sky. Above me I saw blue, but I wasn’t the soft blue of a clear sky. It was darker, and shimmered in the sunlight. The wraith was above me, its long, gangly, claw-ridden arms either side of my head.

It gazed down, arching its spine, peering at me. I prepared myself for the end. Yet again, the wraith shocked me. After a moment of curiosity, it moved on, far more interested in the berries than me. Hauling myself to my feet, I grasped at my sword on the ground beside me, dug it into the ice and used it to prop myself up as I stood panting, watching the ancient being. I didn’t understand. The wraith leaned over the bush, using its claws to cut away thicker branches and dead foliage.

Taking a long, jagged breath, it made a sound like howling wind blasting through a cave. How it breathed without lungs I’ll never know, but it seemed to do so all the same. The bush rustled as the wraith inhaled, and began to wither, the berries turning from a cherry-red to mouldy black. Their plump and juicy shape sagging and oozing. The wraith moved on to yet another bush. There were plenty in this exposed part of the mountains. The scene unfolding before me was nothing like what I expected a wraith encounter to be like.

It was… peaceful. The fires of my rage, my desire for revenge, were all but extinguished. Instead, I felt the cold creeping up inside my body, taking every inch of me. My breath was slow and shallow and I could no longer feel my heart beating in my neck. I wondered if it was beating at all. What drove me no longer did, but now I had no reason to go on. I could no longer feel my legs, my hands gripping my sword, or anything else for that matter.

Page 10:

I just felt the ice. Ice in my veins, ice in my heart. I caught one final glimpse of the wraith, draining the life from another patch of berries, before my hand slipped from the hilt and I felt the snow envelop me. What followed was a haze. I could feel myself moving, snow rushing over my shoulders, down my back and into the crevices of my boots. I was being dragged. My eyelids were heavy and frozen shut, but I could see light flickering beyond them.

Then, darkness. I was no longer being dragged through snow, I was on a much rougher surface. I tore my eyes open and cast a look around. I found myself in yet another cave, now propped up against the wall, just as my companion had been. The navigator crouch over me, grinning. He reached beneath his shredded fur cloak — it was slung over his shoulders haphazardly, its proper form destroyed by large gashes all across it — and pulled out a handful of berries. He pushed them towards me.

I took them without a thought, without even a thank you. “I thought you were dead” I croaked, after scoffing down the sweet berries. “I thought you were dead” The navigator replied, nodding to the tracks that lay outside the cave; the marks of my body that he’d dragged through the glistening snow. “I slew the monster”. “What?” “The beast was just there, looking at a bush. It didn’t even notice me sneak up. I took your sword and cut it in half.

The stories are true, you know? One swing was all it took.” When would I stop feeling it? This all-consuming guilt. Sadness overcame me, the mourning feelings I should have had for my Father, instead of the unbridled anger. The anger that had cost too many too much. The navigator could see the look on my face, the look of regret, sorrow and devastation, not the joy and retribution he’d been seeking. I didn’t feel anything I thought I’d feel.


[System]
Craft a Ten page narrative for adults with these guidelines:
Use ideas to improve the story including dialogue, conflict and challenges, and character development.
TYPICALLY IT GOOD TO FOLLOW THIS:
Introduction
Rising Action
Midpoint
Climax
Resolution

In a well-told story, elements like the climax, resolution, and midpoint shouldn't need explicit mentioning; a discerning reader should be able to identify these moments through the narrative's progression

Use adult themes if specified.
Start uniquely, avoiding clichés.
Adult content is permitted.
Make the story captivating, possibly humorous, and thought-provoking.
Begin each segment with "Page x:" for each page.
FOUR FULL LENGTH PARAGRAPHS
Do not generate a title.
generate ALL 10 pages,
Example Response Format
  'Page 1: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 2: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 3: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 4: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 5: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 6: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 7: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 8: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 9: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 10: (4 full-length paragraphs)'

[User]
Brief Overview: In a brutal, icy mining town, the foreman known as the Merchant of Bones pushes laborers to their limits to meet the demands of mysterious masters. Unknown to the workers, their toil and deaths serve a much darker purpose. Genre: Dark Fantasy/Thriller

Pages 1-2:
- Introduction of the foreman, known for his harsh methods.
- Depiction of the bleak mining town and the foreman's role.
- Foreman's viewpoints and reasoning for his brutality.
- Foreman summoned to a meeting above ground about the rigorous mining conditions.

Pages 3-4:
- The foreman's journey through the town, encountering hatred from the townsfolk.
- Attends the public gathering where the town's anger is palpable.
- Masters address the crowd, dismissing their concerns and insisting on the mine's necessity.

Pages 5-7:
- Return to darkness and unusual silence of the mine.
- Foreman is ambushed, chained, and held captive by some of the workers.
- Captors demand better conditions, suggesting that less brutality and improved tools could increase output.
- Foreman mocks the demands, knowing there is a deeper, more sinister reason for the mine's operation.

Pages 8-10:
- The miners reveal their plan to use the foreman as leverage to force the masters' hands.
- Foreman agrees but reveals a grave mistake in the miners' plan—not realizing the true purpose of their labor.
- Suddenly, he frees himself, attacking and killing his captors except for one.
- With his dying words, the foreman reveals the harrowing truth: the masters don't care for the stone but the bodies of the miners for their dark experiments.
- The story ends with the surviving miner in shock as the foreman succumbs to his injuries, leaving the truth exposed.

[Assistant]
Page 1:

The Backbreaker. The Chain Keeper. The Merchant of Bones. I’m known by many names down here in the darkness. The winding caverns of my lair bored into rock not by machine, or even beast, but the grime-encrusted hands of men clasping splintering wooden picks. These mines run deep.

Squalid, narrow and damp, their craggy walls glisten with a sweat that permeates the air like a thick mist. It doesn’t matter that no sun nor heat ever worms its way into this forbidding place, illuminated only by flickering firelight of torches clamped to the bare rock by rusting iron brackets; the graft is so hard no worker fails to leave without a sodden sheen across their filth-ridden brow. Not if I can help it, at least. To them, I’m like a fable. A ghost story taken true form. A demon or a bad omen haunting their days.

To those above ground though, I’m known by a different name: the foreman. The work is tough, and my masters demanding. But I find I’m delivering more of what they need every day, and I’m praised for it, so I push my drones harder, and become more beast than man in their eyes. The harder I push, the more I become a dread to the workers, but the more they dread me, the happier my masters are. The dread also serves more purpose. The dread is needed.

Without their fear of me, the mines would never deliver all of what my masters desire. Without the Merchant of Bones, our entire world could fall apart. Then where would we be? There is nothing in this bitter, ice-encrusted corner of the world but the work of the mines. No fjords to fish, no fields to till, no timber to chop. I am the whetstone that grinds at the axe that is my home; without me, it would grow dull and lifeless.

Page 2:

Without me working these dogs until their hands shook and the jagged floor of the mines ran with their dribbling vomit, the masters would leave, and the world would stop turning. Emerging from the mines, after the sun has already fallen, bright moonlight clutches the chill air, rebounding off a great and familiar cliff face that looms behind me, gently bathing the world below in a soft blue light. I take in a breath so crisp and clean I cough it straight back out again. I stay beneath the stony surface of my mine so long that when I leave it, I feel as if the space that has opened up around me is a maw threatening to swallow me whole. This open world always seems alien to me, despite the fact I walk the same path every night and every morning. I might be first into the mine and last out, but it is not my home, a place I am eager to get back to now.

A small house on the edge of town; far from people, far the from noise, tight and narrow and quiet, my home is just how I like it. I rush my way up the crest that lays between mining pit and the cityscape, desperate for the clutching embrace of walls. The ground beneath my feet is a frozen slurry of snow met with churned up mud from the days work in the yard. Tomorrow is going to be different sort of day. Tomorrow I will find myself wandering the stone-flagged streets of the city that I swiftly press my way towards, but this time while the sun still hangs in the sky. I’ve been summoned.

Called up by my masters to attend a public gathering that will discuss what they label ‘a growing concern’ amongst the community about the rigorous nature of our mining. As a rarity, I am the one who experiences that sense dread usually preserved for my workers. Much of the city is tightly packed in, like my mine shafts, which I can find some comfort in, but I’ll be forced to stand in the open courtyard of the town square. My prayers of the past few days have been that I am not required to stand there for long. I tell myself they shouldn’t keep me, my work is too important to be standing around serving their beleaguered politics. At least I am not needed to speak, which is good for I have no mind for speaking; I communicate better with a chain in hand.

I leave words to smaller men. Even as the sun bears down from its place in the cloudless sky, the sheets of snow blanketing the roofs of the tightly-packed greystone houses does not melt. The snow never melts here, and the frost on my breath so heavy it sinks shows exactly why. Even bound up in thick furs, like all the gaunt and dreary pale faces I pass, I feel the cold biting at me. The layers make every man and woman look wide and spry, but beneath them, there is little meat on anyone's bones; so scarce and coveted is food here. Well, my bones are covered in more than most.

Page 3:

I am the foreman after all. And if I didn’t have my muscles to lift my chain, the workers would wain, the masters would lose interest, the money wouldn’t flow, and there would be even less food for the hungry. Every eye that falls upon me is sharp and glaring. I feel the hatred rise off them like the smoke billowing from every chimney across the tangled mess of houses that make up this meandering city. Hatred, and hunger for the food they know I’m treated to above them. But they shouldn’t hate me.

Without me, they’d all be buried under the snow. Many already were, of course, because of me. More, I mean. More would be buried. The time spent outside my precious abode was, as I came to suspect, irrelevant and unfulfilling. The masters merely dragged me out to stand by idly as they tried to placate the growing discontent of this ungrateful town.

Maybe they thought an intimidating face would mar the angry voices, or maybe they thought it would quell some of the rumours to see a man, not a beast nor vicious monster as I’d probably been described, standing before them. A folly on their behalf. My presence did little to stem the torrents of rage. Thankfully, the whips of the city guard faired better. A preferable choice, in my opinion. Although my iron chains would have made for even more convincing arguments, had they let me bring them.

After the mob was brought to heel, the masters made their point, whether it was pleasing to the masses or not. If they wanted coin coming into their desolate little city, in the far reaches of the world between nowhere and fuck-knows-where, they needed to let the mines run, and run deeper and deeper. There was no alternative. To close the mines would mean abandonment from the world beyond our reaches, along with the masters that brought us the only chance of survival. Where else would the people go if the money left? Closure, or even just a slowing of output, would be all but certain death for every man, woman and child here.

Page 4:

The brutality required for such a task, and a capitulation to it, was favourable to that, surely? The voices of the crowd took umbrage with this notion, saying they were all dying anyway, so why suffer so badly in the process. They argued, in their pitiful ignorance, that there must be another way. That’s when my name came to bare, and I was forced from the shadows. I knew the best way, it was said. My rule should be followed.

I don't understand why the masters bothered. I don’t understand why they put stock in the weak and filthy rabble, nor took any credence in their opinions, but still, they tried to make peace. Some hope is better than no hope, was their stance. I had to stifle a laugh when softer voices called for mercy; called for aid from the cities and towns out over the wastes. They said we could find help. The idiots might as well have asked for life to be brought back to a dead hog, such was the futility of what they pleaded for.

I left when I was bid to, and not a moment later. Streaking through the town, I ripped through my front door, grasped my chain and slank back down towards the pit. Back to where I belong. The yard seems quieter than normal. Only a few karts are hauled up the hill, packed with stone and into the city. Often long lines of men stood atop the cleft of the mound, gripping tightly to rope and heaving their mud-locked wheels up the slippery slope.

Today it was just a smattering of hands. My underlings must have pulled more workers into the mine to fill the day’s quota, with me not there to oversee progress. The hand wrapped around my chain grows tighter as I take harried steps towards the entrance to the mines. It’s dark down here. Darker than usual. Or perhaps that is just my morning spent in the dazzling brightness of the sun.

Page 5:

Wait. No, it’s definitely darker. There are only a few of brackets burning with lit flames, shrouding most of the tunnel in shadow. Normally, the entire cavern would be bathed in flickering light. It is silent, save for a slow, far off drip. But as I enter one of the longest stretches of darkness, I hear it.

A quick shuffling of feet, then hands on my shoulders. Finally, there is a sharp, splitting pain across the back of my head. Whether they meant to or not, they hadn’t killed me. I can feel my own chains wrapped around my wrists, but only barely, the rest of my attention is forced to my pulsating head. It doesn’t so much as hurt as feel heavy. A great sickness hits me like a wave, passing through quickly before another takes its place.

I let my head loll forward, but pull it back sharply as the true pain hits. The movement brings forth another burst of sickness. I decide to keep myself steady. A quick and violently excruciating lesson learned. Neither the pulsing nor sickness pass, but my stillness does give my eyes a chance to flicker around the spinning chamber. A space cut into the mine where tools are normally kept, it is now laid bare, two torches hung either side of the pitch-black archway that lays a few strides ahead of me, crackling softly in the otherwise deftly silence.

There are no sounds of pickaxes on stone. No sounds of workers trundling karts up or down the shaft, or miners screaming as more work is goaded from them. The silence fills me with fear. I might be restrained, tied to a wooden chair by my own chains and plumped down ready for some form of integration, but nothing churns my stomach more than the thought of the master’s wrath if the mines fail to deliver. Or perhaps, the churning of my stomach comes from the pulsing growing heavier upon the back of my skull. They enter now, three of them, ducking low through the archway.

Page 6:

At least, I think it’s three. My blurred and swirling vision could be playing tricks on me, but I’m fairly certain it’s three. Their frames are all narrow, clad in ragged clothing and skin thick with dirt stains so engrained no amount of scrubbing is cleaning them off. Each brandishes some kind of weapon, dull metal reflecting the dancing flames, although my eyes can’t focus enough to see exactly what they are. “The Merchant of Bones.” One addresses me in a sneering tone. “Brought to heel.” “A pig of the mines, bringing itself to slaughter.” I spit back.

Suddenly gathering the taste of blood in my mouth, I feel splits in my apparently swollen lips. The realisation brings an awareness of pain to my face, and to the bruising from an unconscious beating I probably received. I now notice my vision might also be strained from my right eyelid that swells heavily. I wonder what else I could be missing. Is my leg broken, perhaps? There are too many agonies to focus on, the sound of the scum’s voice before me the worst of all, as he speaks again.

“We’re here to bargain, not die.” I laugh. It’s not fake. I throw my head back with merriment but the swell of pain and nausea hits me far too quickly, and far too hard. I lurch forward to vomit on their feet. They in turn recoil, stepping away quickly with gasps of repulsion. Sputtering and coughing out the remnants of bile that swill around my mouth, I find myself grinning a self-satisfied grin.

“Apologies.” I croak, mockingly, unable to find a clear voice through the burning in my throat and the aching in my head. “Look, Chain Keeper.” Another says, stepping forward. In my hazed vision, set to the floor, I see his boots tread in the pool of sick laid across it. He squats down on his haunches in front of me, trying to get my attention. As my head swims, I avoid his gaze. I see his hands twitch.

Page 7:

I know he wants to grab at my face, to pull my focus to his eyes, but he daren’t touch me. Not for fear, but disgust at the dribbles of vomit I can feel on the chin. “We’re not here for death. We’ve had enough of that.” He goes on as I let out another, less emphatic, laugh. “We want things to change down here, for the better. And you can make that happen.” “How?” I grin up at him, finally meeting his eyes, or at least, trying to.

Mine can’t seem to hold a focal point, but as they fade in and out in the flickering light of the dingy chamber, I notice his are fixed. “We need machines in the mines. We need better tools and more food. If you stop the beatings we can work harder. If you make it easier for us, we can bring up more stone.” The man speaks with an authority, with a strength I thought I’d crushed down here in my domain. I’d have to work harder at that once I was free of these chains.

“It isn’t the work that kills us, it’s you.” “Okay, done. Now let me go.” I say with more mocking tone to my voice. We both know well enough it doesn’t end so simply. He sighs at my humour; or maybe he has realised his own ignorance too late. “You don’t go free. Not yet.” “No?” I choke indignantly.

“Then when?” “We here.” He gestures around the room. “We four come to an agreement. We take you before the townsfolk with that agreement. They rally to us. We all go to the masters. The masters have no choice but to meet our more than reasonable demands.

Page 8:

Then the miners go back to work all peaceful like.” “So simple.” I chide. “I have to wonder why you didn’t just corral the mob in the in the square today?” “You are leverage.” Spoke up another of the men behind him. Was it the one who spoke first, was it the other? I couldn’t tell and I didn’t care to try and figure it out. I just nodded with them. It is a gentle nod, but it hurts less than I thought it might.

I let it become a little bit of a fiercer nod. Testing my limits… I rustle at my chains. The man looks around my back but doesn’t move from his squat. He doesn’t fear my escape, it would seem. “Your plan,” I say with a considering tone. “Is not actually too bad.” I shift my head to one side in an agreeable gesture.

I find the sickness stays at bay. “But…” I continue, pausing just long enough to really draw in their attention and, more importantly, give me time to steady myself. “You’ve made a mistake.” “Explain it to me.” The man before me says calmly. He really isn’t afraid. He really thinks the upper hand is his. This is why they don’t put the dregs of the mines in charge of anything actually important.

This is why they give them to me to do with whatever I see fit. “What you say is true. If we cut the beatings. If we improved lives of the miners. Yes, we probably could harvest more stone than we do now.” I admit. “But the masters have no need for all that fucking useless rock.” I quickly slip my hands together and loosen the subtly built-in catch on the central link of my chain, splitting them in two.

Page 9:

Now separate swinging weapons, they remain bound to my wrists as I leap to my feet. I knock the man ahead of me onto his back with a crack; a crack not as loud as those of the skulls, though. I raise my arms and slam the iron chains down heavy on each of his co-conspirators. They strike true, blood gushing from grotesque head wounds as both men fall. One to his knees, gasping slightly as he slumps, the other straight down like a sack of coal. It is now that it hits me: the pain and terrible sickness.

I stumble forward, reaching for the wall to steady myself, my roiling head flashing streaks of light before my eyes, then patches of darkness where the light had once been. I fight back the urge to vomit, for a moment, before the retches come in waves and what is left of my stomach contents spills out over the harsh cavern floor. I feel a faintness almost take me, but my resolve keeps me upright as I notice the still living man in the corner of my eye, scrabbling to his feet. I try to wheel around on him, the chains dangling at my side, but instead I just collapse against the jagged stone wall and painfully slide to the ground, bumping on pointed edges as I go. I hit the ground with a heavy thud, which shoots pain up my back and strikes at my head. I gasp and cry out, unable to hold in the noise.

He’s on top of me now, gripping at my cheeks. He isn’t afraid of the vomit anymore. I know his hands are there, because they shake my head to keep me conscious, and I see them in faded outlines of my vision, but I can’t feel them. I can’t feel anything but burning coursing through my entire body, prickling at my skin. “What do you mean, useless rock?” He demands, and I can’t help but let out another laugh in spite of myself; in spite of everything. I play through the idea of not saying anything at all, but then a thought comes to me: A thought of the insolence and disrespect I’ve received for so long.

The hate. The looks of disgust. They despise me, these people. They despise me and all I’ve ever done is keep this fucking hovel of a town alive. Now, on my way out, with no burden of loyalty or lives to care for, why not take the whole place with me? Why not let this desolate little corner of the world burn to the ground?

Page 10:

The simple truth would do that. “What did you mean?” He roars, shaking me evermore violently. “The stone...” I say, hoping he’ll relax his grip at my words, at least long enough for me to enjoy a final slump against the floor. He does and I wither like a flower, sliding to the ground and curling my body around the arched walls of the rocky chamber. “The stone means nothing to the masters.” “Then why do we work down here?” He shouts. “Why do we die for it?” “Because that is what they want.

They want death.” My vision is patchy and my ears ring. The man says nothing for a long time. Have I gone deaf? No. “What?” He says eventually, voice riddled with confusion. “The masters want bodies, not stones.

The mining work is a front. A lie to satiate the crowds. To kill with impunity without people knowing they are actually being killed and not just dying instead. It is to give reason to what is, basically, murder. We don’t trade in stone, we trade in livestock. You and your filthy lot are the livestock.” He says nothing, so I carry on.

I can only imagine the look on his face, because I can’t see it. “They do work on the dead. Experiments. I don’t know what, but they need fresh bodies all the time. We drive the men brutally in the mines, pushing them to breaking point, to an early grave, under the claim the stone is needed for money to come in, but really the money comes in for the bodies we bring up.” “Why not just kill us all now and get it over with?” He asks with a helpless tone. “Because then the well would run dry.


[System]
Craft a Ten page narrative for adults with these guidelines:
Use ideas to improve the story including dialogue, conflict and challenges, and character development.
TYPICALLY IT GOOD TO FOLLOW THIS:
Introduction
Rising Action
Midpoint
Climax
Resolution

In a well-told story, elements like the climax, resolution, and midpoint shouldn't need explicit mentioning; a discerning reader should be able to identify these moments through the narrative's progression

Use adult themes if specified.
Start uniquely, avoiding clichés.
Adult content is permitted.
Make the story captivating, possibly humorous, and thought-provoking.
Begin each segment with "Page x:" for each page.
FOUR FULL LENGTH PARAGRAPHS
Do not generate a title.
generate ALL 10 pages,
Example Response Format
  'Page 1: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 2: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 3: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 4: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 5: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 6: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 7: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 8: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 9: (4 full-length paragraphs)
  Page 10: (4 full-length paragraphs)'

[User]
Brief Overview: A retelling of a dark and grim tale of a soldier named Bankamp who encounters and ultimately rescues a young girl, Miya, sold into a life of servitude in a tavern down south, where the nights are long and the people hardened. Genres included in this story are drama and dark fantasy.

Pages 1-2: A grizzled old soldier, Bankamp, enters a degenerate southern tavern during a blizzard and witnesses the mistreatment of a young girl, Miya, who is auctioned off nightly to the highest bidder. He intervenes, purchasing her time for the night—not for ill intentions, but to protect her.

Pages 3-4: In the private room downstairs, Bankamp and Miya converse, revealing Miya’s tragic past and how she came to be trapped in the tavern. Bankamp promises to stay with her through the night to ensure her safety.

Pages 5-7: Bankamp encounters the barkeep to inquire about purchasing Miya's freedom, only to be rebuffed. Haunted by her plight, Bankamp spends another night and shares more of his own past with Miya, who compares him to family and hints at the ghosts that follow him.

Pages 8-10: Miya, desperate to escape, frames Bankamp for the murder of the barkeep to force him to flee with her. Despite his rage at being manipulated, Bankamp sees no other option and escapes into the night with Miya, uncertain of their future, but bound by the haunting prospect of leaving her to a gruesome fate.

[Assistant]
Page 1:

Late was the hour in the dark but restless tavern. Dim light sparked from candles hung by rusted chains cast silhouettes of the worst kind across the slowly crumbling timber-framed walls. Men in deep and drunken stupors, beards sodden and eyes glazed. Others were cloaked in the shadows of the darkest corners, figures sitting lone and sullen. Grimmest of all patrons were perhaps were the younger men, who chorused in raucous cheers and drank with bright spirits, in this, the dingiest and contemptuous of places. Yet the darkest trick of all the tavern had to offer was not the clients, but instead those that served within it. The barman, the only man to pull a wage from the wreckage of a tavern, handed out drink without thought or acknowledgement of those who ordered. He simply swiped the money flung upon the bar and poured.

He was a grizzled and unsightly creature. Sunken eyes, wide-faced, thinning hair, boils clinging to his crooked nose and an unkempt, almost wild, beard. But he wasn’t the worst sight to behold. Three rakishly thin women, all narrow faced, hair as thin as the barman’s and draped in the cheapest of linen dresses swept between the tables, clearing drinks away whilst mopping up the drool and vomit. Not one could make a pass of the tavern without being groped, or leered at, or shot a putrid comment. Every now and then, men would wander to the barkeep and barter for time with the woman; his daughters. The barman would always oblige. Each time they would protest, but he would hear nothing of it and they’d be led away.

Maybe they used to kick and scream, but not anymore. But even this, was not the worst of it. Bankamp was not a native to the part of the world. He hadn’t been this far south in all his many years, he’d been keen to avoid it, but a job was a job. He knew people this far below the world were different, he’d met a few before. The nights were longer and darker, the snowfall was near constant and the temperature so low that only the toughest, most hardened animals or people could survive. He had resided to an acceptance of the place he was in. Yes, he detested it.

Yes, he would be glad to be rid of it, but as the blizzard churned outside and the ale kept his body warm, he would make his peace with the dreary surroundings and sickest of people. It was only for a few days. Keep his head down and his mind on greener pastures. This was his plan at least. But then she appeared. The brightest of faces he’d seen in weeks. And the most horrible of things he’d seen in his long life. She wore a long dress, once white but now stained and grey; ripped at the seams and patched up in places.

Page 2:

Her hair was a shimmering blonde that stood out in the flickering darkness. She held an expression of anguish upon her soft and pale face, cheeks plumper than her narrow figure should have allowed. Her deep green eyes scanned the room gloomily, as the barman hauled her up on the countertop for all to see. “Who has her tonight?” He called out, and the bidding started. Shouts called in from about the room, the price rising higher and higher. The auction became rowdy. People laughed and cheered and swayed with their drink as the money went up, slower and slower by the moment. People this far south had little in the way of coin, but clearly what they had was worth spending on her.

The bidding ceased as a man hit the limits of his kin. A vulgar old thing, he was weighed down by fat that ran circles around his body. His bald head shone with sweat as he heaved himself up and waddled across the tavern. He took his prize by the hand as she fearfully hopped to the floor. The girl was half his height, and probably four times his junior. She couldn’t have been over eleven. The grizzly, rotund buyer growled hungrily as he eyed up his purchase. His heavy breathing carried across the tavern as men wandering past with sloshing tankards slapped his shoulder in celebration.

He took in a deep and pleasureful sigh, salvia slapping against his jowls as he did. But before the deal could be done, as he moved to lay his coin on the table, his hand was caught. Bankamp clutched his wrist tightly, so tightly that he winced with pain and withdrew. The old soldier seethed at the rounded figure before him, a stern stare turning to a soft gaze as his eyes fell upon the little girl. He reached into his tunic, the finest piece of clothing in the room, and pulled out his own coin, flinging it upon the bar. It was a meagre amount, but more than the man had bid for the girl and the barkeep snapped it up quickly. “Sorry Borg, out of towners always have the coin.” The ballooning old Borg snarled at Bankamp, but had no more to offer. He let the girl’s hand go harshly and staggered back to his drink.

All eyes fell upon Bankamp, and then swiftly off him and back to their own business as he threw a stony glare about the tavern. His own attention fell upon the barman. “Where do I take her?” Bankamp demanded. The girl showed him the way. Around the back of the bar to a staircase and down below into the basement. The halls were dark and cold, lit by a single flaming torch precariously placed on a mental bracket hanging by one nail hammered tight, and another much looser. Carefully, she inched open one of a few wooden doors that lay off the hall, letting it swing with a creak, and beckoned for Bankamp to enter. Inside was much warmer, but no kinder on the eye.

Page 3:

Stone walls, stone floors, wooden rafted ceilings that groaned under the weight of men walking about the tavern overhead. A fire burned in a hearth, smoke rising up a narrow chimney and out into the cold night. A small bed lay in the corner, a thin mattress upon its frame, with a solitary tatty sheet and no pillow. The girl closed the door, walked slowly to the bed and started to undress with her back turned. Bankamp caught her by the shoulder as she unbuttoned her clothes. “Please, don’t.” He said softly. The girl looked up at him, dress already half slung over her slender shoulder. She carefully did up her buttons and sat on the mattress at Bankamp’s gesture.

He leant down to a squat before her, meeting her eye to eye. “Who are you?” Bankamp asked, softer still. His voice calm and kind. He feared anything would frighten this fragile young girl. She was not a hardened native of the south. Her skin was too smooth. Her hair too fair. The girl said nothing, she just looked at her feet.

“What is your name?” Bankamp tried a simpler approach. “Miya.” The girl breathed back, so quietly he almost missed it. “That’s a beautiful name.” Bankamp smiled. “I’ve met a few Miya’s in my time, and none so far south. You aren’t from around here, are you Miya?” The girl looked up and shook her head. Her eyes were filled with tears. “What happened, Miya?” Miya’s tear-sodden eyes were pierced with a blast of fire. “They killed him.” “Who was killed?” Bankamp placed a hand on the girl’s knee, trying to comfort her, but she shook him away.

He withdrew swiftly, taking a step back. “Who was?” He repeated. “My Da,” Miya answered through gritted teeth. “We came to trade, he went missing one night. They found him dead in the snow. I know they killed him.” Her eyes welled with tears again. “They wanted me.” “They trapped you here?” Bankamp asked, trying to hold back the anger he felt burning inside him. “I had nobody but Da, and now I have nothing but this place.

Page 4:

I tried to run once. I came back… It’s so cold out there.” Bankamp said nothing. He just watched the girl as she shifted uncomfortably where she sat, aware of his gaze but not sure what to do with it. He was as uncertain as her. He was warned not to upset the locals. Explicitly and without exception. But how could he not, after what these people were doing to this young girl? “Why aren’t you doing to me what they do to me?” She asked, breaking the silence.

Bankamp recoiled, aghast by the idea. “Because where I come from. And you come from. Men don’t do that. You can’t have been here so long as to have forgotten.” “I think a year,” Miya replied. “But I don’t know. I do forget things about home. I try not to think much at all.” “How long did I pay for with you?” Bankamp asked, moving the conversation along, unsure of what to do with her words.

“Until the sun rises. You’ll know once the fire burns out and the light comes in through the chimney.” Miya pointed to the still crackling blaze along the back wall of the stone room. “Only one man per night. He doesn’t want me too badly spoilt.” Bankamp gritted his teeth as he felt his nails dig into his palms. “You should rest.” He said to her with a weak smile. Miya didn’t take much persuading. She quickly found herself laying on the tough mattress, the sheet draped over her. “Will you stay?” She asked with a note that was almost pleading.

“I don’t feel safe on my own.” “Yet you feel safe with a stranger?” “You are the strangest man to ever visit me, but maybe that is why I feel safe.” Bankamp gave a smile, wider this time, and nodded. He rose from his squat and sat on the end of the bed, leaning up against the wall. The curled toes of Miya lay just shy of his legs. “Why are you here?” It was the girl’s turn to question her guest. “Same reason as your father. Same reason any respectable man comes down this far. Trade.” “You should leave,” Miya warned. “It’s not safe here.” “I was a soldier, dear girl.

Page 5:

A good one. A strong one. That’s why my Lord hired me to come this far and be his voice. I may be older, but I still remember my youth. I can handle myself, you needn’t worry about me.” “I wish my Da could have handled himself.” Miya sighed, mournfully. Bankamp looked down upon the girl. She was curled up even tighter now, sheet clung to her narrow figure. Her eyes were closed, but the sadness was still easy to see on her lips and puffy cheeks.

“Miya. Would you allow me to step outside for a moment?” She bolted upright, gripping his arm. Eyes wide and scared. “Why? You aren’t giving me to somebody else are you?” “I will be back,” Bankamp said soothingly, patting her on the arm and easing her back onto the mattress. “I just need to answer the call of nature.” “I have a chamber pot beneath the bed.” Miya went to reach for it, but the older man stopped her. ‘I daren’t do that before a lady.” Bankamp said with an air of the respectable soldier left in him. Miya blushed.

He didn’t suppose many she met would have such dignity, or call her a lady. Bankamp found the barkeep in the hallway, lugging a cask towards the stairs. “Fun isn’t she?” He grinned as Bankamp approached, lowering the heavy cask to the ground with a groan. The retired soldier wanted to bludgeon the man with his own barrel of drink there and then, but he held himself back. His patron would have him hung by the thumbs if he disobeyed his orders. The goal wasn’t just to sell or buy from those this far south, the miners and quarrymen, but continued trade. Trade for years to come. Slaying a barman was not going to be good for business.

“How much?” Bankamp demanded, dodging the question. “For what?” “To buy the girl. I want to take her.” The barkeep laughed. “She isn’t for sale.” “All things are for sale.” “She is not. Maybe when she turns of age, but right now, the money, the business, the perks…” The barkeep cracked a wicked smile. “They are just too good for one payment. Sorry, my friend.” The barkeep hauled the cask above his waist and began to amble up the stairs, leaving Bankamp behind, feeling hopeless and defeated. His dejected state only worsened as he entered Miya’s room.

Page 6:

She looked up at him, almost happily, as he came back in, before laying back down. “I was worried you’d leave.” “I paid for this bed ‘til morning,” Bankamp said, sitting back down by her feet, kicking off his boots and making himself as comfy as possible against the hard and cold brickwork. “And I intend to get my money’s worth.” “You can lay with me if you like,” Miya said with warmth, but her voice quickly turned cold. “Most that stay do.” Bankamp shook his head. “You keep your space dear girl, I am fine as I am.” Leaving in the morning was one of Bankamp’s greatest trials, and he’d faced some nasty ones over his years. Prying the girl’s tiny fingers from his wrist was made possible only by the promise that he would return that evening, with enough coin to pay for another night in her bedroom. Miya’s eyes lit brighter than the fire Bankamp had rekindled in the hearth to keep them warm through the night, and to stop the girl from stirring in the cold; the shivers of the frozen wastes that encircled her abode crept up on her as she dozed. The young one had slept a deep and long slumber, a rest Bankamp thought was likely to be the first proper one in quite some time.

The inescapable cold couldn’t help but remind Bankamp of where he was, and what he was tasked to do. Trade talks were drawn out, weary and tiresome. Bankamp often found his mind wandering to Miya, worrying over her being alone with that detestable barman. When his focus could fall upon trade, it was of ore and smelting. The mines buried deep in the icy wastes this far south offered riches untold in the warmer and more hospitable lands that the old soldier, and Miya, hailed from. The mines were manned by many of the grim and lecherous creatures Bankamp so eagerly wanted to see castrated and cast outside to shrivel in the cold; it pained him that his hands were so fiercely bound by his duties. A long and fruitful deal meant he needed those workers alive and digging. A price was agreed, samples were shared, and the owners of the mines were to take him to view their extensive goods and workers the following day, which left Bankamp able to keep his promise.

A promise he had, in all honesty, not expected to make good on. To leave Miya like that would have broken his heart, but he knew it would only get worse. He couldn’t take her where he was going, and he couldn’t stay forever. As the light dwindled, he wondered about remaining at the inn his Lord had paid for. He thought about staying away from the tavern and letting the memory fade. But it was wasted effort, and he soon found his boots crunching over freshly fallen snow, thick furs wrapped about his wide-set frame, as he marched through the harsh and scarring winds towards the wooden doors of the seedy drinking hole. Bankamp brought a shoulder of mutton from the barman, roasting it over the fire in the corner of Miya’s room. The scrawny girl devoured her food as if she were the monstrous Borg.

There was little in the way of fat on her. Her childlike, rounded face was a stark contrast to her arms and legs, so thin Bankamp knew they’d be easier to snap than the kindling he would regularly cast upon the hearth. “Is there no family for you back home?” Bankamp dared to ask as the conversation moved away from his explanations of the trade he had travelled for. Miya shook her head. “Ma died many years ago. Grandfather not long before we left. You remind me of him. He was kind.” She smiled up at him, before a grin spread across her face.

Page 7:

“And old, too.” Bankamp made a look of mock indignation. The spirit in Miya was a marvel to him. How she could live through the horrors she had, and for so long, and still smile a smile so bright that it warmed like no fire ever could, astounded him. He wondered how long that would last once he was gone. “Do you have family?” Miya asked as she gnawed at the bone clutched between her spindly fingers. It was Bankamp’s turn to shake his head. “I was born to be a fighter. Raised to be a warrior and I did my duties until my bones were too weak to hold my shield high enough to protect my fellow men.

But while I do still have my youth.” He shot Miya a peevish glare as she snorted with laughter. “I’ve seen too much…” A harsh tone wrapped his words. He looked darkly into the fire as it flickered across his troubled eyes. “I couldn’t take a wife. Nor settle to a family. I have to keep moving. It’s the only way I can outrun the ghosts that chase me.” “Do they follow you so far south?” Miya was looking up at him with curious wide eyes. Bankamp wasn’t sure if she was young and naive enough to believe he was talking of actual ghosts.

“They will eventually.” He replied with certainty. The two remained quiet for a while. The silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and the occasional thud of boots on the floor above. “Will I haunt you?” Miya’s words pierced the peaceful moment like a knife, tearing it to shreds. And, indeed, it felt as though a knife had pierced Bankamp, as his stomach lurched and twisted. He sighed. “Worse than any of them.” Miya sank into herself, curling her back and placing her head in her hands. Bankamp raised his hand to comfort her, but thought better of it.

She needed her moment to grieve what was to be lost. “Have you killed many men?” Came the muffled words of Miya as she talked into her hands. “Yes.” The old soldier replied gruffly. “Could you kill another?” Miya met the gaze of Bankamp as he looked down her. She held a stony expression, determined and earnest. His was far more unsettled. “What?” “Can you kill the Dinap? The Barman.

Page 8:

I want him to die.” Bankamp breathed out deeply. “I want him to die as well, and I would, if I could. But my Lord does not permit me to do such things. He would see me hang for it, I’m sure. He needs this deal, and he needs this trade.” He drew his eyes away from Miya, unable to take guilt that washed over him from the look of sadness and disappointment that fell upon her face. “Is tonight your last night here with me?” She asked, dusting off her dress as she clambered up from the floor. Bankamp nodded. “Maybe I should just kill you instead” Miya said with a distinct taunting arrogance in her voice.

“Steal all your money and go.” Bankamp laughed. “Go ahead. There’s a knife in my coat.” He flung his hand towards the door on which his thick fur jacket was hooked. “I have plenty of money on me. But money isn’t going to get a girl like you far around here, and you know it.” “Can we sleep? I have not slept so well as I did last night since I left home. Maybe I never will again.” The brightness had gone from Miya’s words, as had sadness, fear or any emotion. She seemed cold and distant.

She’d let him see a glimpse of the girl she was beneath, but Bankamp knew this was the face she must have worn most days. The face that kept her alive. Hollow, empty but still here at least. Her fun was over, her glimpse of peace and safety faded, and she knew it. Bankamp jolted awake. It was the screams that woke him. The fire was still burning, but the room was empty. Miya was gone.

The door was swung open. Another scream, a woman’s scream, echoed down the hall. It wasn’t Miya. He wrenched himself up from the bed. As his hands pushed away from the sheets, Bankamp felt them slide on the coarse fabric. Looking down in horror, his eyes fell upon blood-soaked palms. They began to shake as he stared at them. He could feel his heartbeat now, crashing around his chest.

Page 9:

Miya appeared in the doorway. “You were supposed to save me.” She whispered. “You were supposed to take me away.” “What?” Bankamp gasped back. “What’s going on?” Miya said nothing. She just reached around the door and grabbed the old soldier’s coat, before disappearing out of sight. “Where are you going?” Bankamp shouted, quickly wiping as much blood off his hands on the sheets as he could before racing out the door after her. Emerging into the dimly lit hallway, he realised what had happened. As Miya climbed up the stairwell, below her, at the foot of the stairs, lay the barkeep.

Bankamp recognised his knife, thrust into the man’s chest. Blood coated his body, and the craggy stone floor around him. Two of his daughters leaned over him. They didn’t seem sad or distressed, the screams probably of shock more than anything else. They showed no emotion at all, that was until they noticed Bankamp. They backed away fearfully as he got closer to the barkeep. He couldn’t help but notice that their eyes fell upon his blood-soaked hands. He threw a glare up towards Miya whose ankles were visible, just for a moment, before she vanished once more.

She’d got him. Bankamp quickly knelt beside Dinap’s body, yanked the knife from his chest, wiped it against the man’s clothes and followed Miya up into the tavern. It was empty and shut up, stools resting on tables and tankards all stacked behind the bar. No sunlight was to be seen creeping its way through the buildings cracking facade. The frozen night still gripped tightly to the world outside. Miya stood by the door, coat in hand. She was just waiting with a calm patience. “What have you done girl?” Bankamp boomed, storming across the creaking woodwork towards her, yanking his clothing from her grasp.

“I’m escaping.” She responded flatly. Her eyes were still empty. Her cold, calculating mind almost visible behind her vacant stare. “You’ve no choice but to run, and you’ll take me with you.” “I’ll take you with me?” Bankamp fumed. “You’ve ruined me, you’ve made me a murderer! I can’t return home.” “You have no home. No family to return to. And you won’t leave me here.” “And why not?” Bankamp bore down on the girl, his fearsome tone and fiery eyes failed to even gain the slightest of reactions from the girl.

Page 10:

“Because you’re haunted,” Miya said, leaning into his glare. “And I’ll haunt you worse than anyone if you leave me here. Dinap sold me, but he also protected me from the worst of them… but there is nobody to help me now. You don’t know if I’ll live to see tomorrow morning.” “You don’t know if you’ll live to see tomorrow morning with me either,” Bankamp growled, but once again, she’d got him. Ripping open the door, he slung his coat around them both and powered through the snowfall, searching the darkness for the light hanging from the porch of the inn. He prayed the wax was still burning. His jacket didn’t quite cover them both, and an icy chill swelled beneath the furs, biting at his body like a thousand frozen blades. The pain was tough for even Bankamp.

For Miya, a small girl in a thin dress, it must have been nearly unbearable, but still she forged on without a hint of weakness. Bankamp pulled her closer as they searched in the darkness. At last, the candlelight, splintered through the cracked lantern glass, flickered in the distance. He took with him all he had, which was little. A small rucksack of clothes, a saddle bag of food and supplies for the road, and the valuable ore and smelt samples Bankamp had been tasked to bring back for his Lord. Miya stood silently, hands clasped to the window ledge of the small bedroom the old soldier now wished he had remained within on his travels, waiting for the sun to rise. The moment its bright glimmer stretched its way over the ice-bound horizon, revealing dark silhouettes of far-away mountains, they were gone. By the time the sun was visible over the ranges, he and Miya were far from the reaches of the tavern.

Miya’s stoic silence was broken as she collapsed into a heap mane of the galloping steed, weeping uncontrollably. Emotion, whether it was sadness, fear or joy, overcame her. Bankamp said nothing and did nothing. He just left her to cry, wrapped in the spare furs he’d bought for nights on the road. He didn’t know where they were going. He knew he couldn’t go back to his Lord. Word would spread from the traders. He wasn’t just a troublemaker, he was a murderer, too.

His Lord wouldn’t need much more to have his head, and then what would become of the girl? Orphans didn’t fare well wherever they were. Despite his anger. Despite his anguish, he couldn’t help but respect Miya. She’d used him, and used him brilliantly. Every word he’d said, every weakness he’d revealed, she’d used without mercy. She had done what he was too much of a coward to do; what he’d wished he had done. She’d freed a helpless child from a world so brutal and vile it made his stomach churn.