Liza O'Blighe and The Emerald Tree

The streets of Lindhberg twisted like a forgotten maze, each alley a mix of crumbling walls and folks barely scraping by. Tonight, the shadows felt alive, like they had a hunger of their own, sneaking up on you like wolves on the prowl under a full moon.

I’m Liza. Elizabeth O’Blighe when Ma and Pa felt fancy. But no one ever called me Elizabeth ’cept them, and those memories ain’t exactly sweet. They weren’t the kind who brought me into this world outta love, nah, their hearts were empty as their pockets, chasing that Etheria powder dream. Cursed stuff turned ’em into ghosts in our tiny flat, chasing riches while forgetting the daughter they traded for a shot at luck.

I remember them nights when Etheria’s stink mixed with Lindhberg’s factory smoke, choking the air like a blanket of doom. Ma’d slur about trading me for a changeling, one of them Fae’s tricky replacements worth a mint on the sly. Pa’d nod, lost in dreams of wealth that never came. Their schemes and squabbles echoed through our wrecked home, filling my ears with lies they couldn’t keep and leaving my heart as empty as the streets outside.

But tonight was different. The slavers hunted me, their presence thick as storm clouds. Men with eyes colder than winter winds and hearts harder than their cuffs chased me through alleys stinking of piss and rot. I sprinted, fear making my feet fly, my heart hammering loud in my chest like a drum of dread. I turned a corner too tight, crashing into a trash can with a clang that echoed like gunfire in the narrow street. It rang in my ears, a chilling echo of the violence that had shattered my world before.

Memories slammed into me like a runaway train, unstoppable and brutal. Gunshots ripped through our cramped apartment, shattering the silence like thunder. Ma and Pa lay sprawled on our raggedy rug, eyes staring blankly at the cracked ceiling. Blood soaked into the worn floorboards, turning them a dark, ominous shade. Etheria’s sharp smell hung thick in the air, mixing with the stench of death. It tainted everything, not just their bodies but their souls too.

Time froze for a moment, the chaos around me blending with the horror of that scene. I stood there, frozen, breath caught in my throat, heart pounding louder than the slavers’ approaching footsteps. Ma and Pa, so lifeless and still, sent a chill through me deeper than any cold Lindhberg night.

Their faces, marked with lines of despair and the grip of addiction, haunted me as I struggled to keep moving forward. The memories threatened to drag me back into that black night. Their failures weighed on me like a lead blanket, heavy and suffocating. But I couldn’t get stuck in the past, not now. I tore my eyes away from their empty stares with a painful effort, pushing myself onward, driven by the urgent need to escape the slavers closing in behind me.

I tripped, knees slamming hard into the cracked pavement, sending shockwaves of pain through me. Stones tore at my skin, leaving stinging scrapes that brought tears to my eyes, blurring the chaotic scene around me into a watery blur. The pain was brutal, but I couldn’t stay down. The slavers were closing in like vultures smelling blood, and I had to keep moving.

As I pulled myself upright, the memories hit me hard, vivid and overwhelming. The burn pits filled my mind, a bleak wasteland of mud and ash where hope was scarcer than a decent meal. I could almost feel the dirt under my nails, smell the bitter smoke choking my throat as I scavenged for anything edible. Hunger gnawed at my gut, a relentless ache that seemed to consume me whole.

In Lindhberg’s refuse, I learned fast how to survive. Every bite was a win, every bit of food a lifeline in a world where hunger lurked around every bend. The burn pits were a stark reminder of how low I’d sunk, a testament to the grit I’d scraped up just to make it through. Now, running from the slavers, those memories stoked a fire in me, driving me to keep moving, to keep fighting against the odds that threatened to pull me back down.

The chain-link fence stood tall and mean, its barbed wire gleaming under the weak streetlights like a warning. I approached it, a mix of desperation and grit tightening my grip on the cold metal links. My hands shook from cold and fear as I started to climb, each move a battle against exhaustion and the slavers hot on my heels.

Halfway up, agony shot through me as the barbs snagged my jeans and sank into my flesh. I clenched my jaw against the pain, refusing to let it slow me down. The sting of the wire cutting into me brought back memories I wished I could bury—memories of pain that left scars deeper than any cut. I could almost feel the weight of a knife against my skin, its icy promise tempting me with an escape from this never-ending fight for survival. But I wasn’t giving up, not now, not like this.

With a desperate surge of strength, I tore myself free from the barbed wire’s grasp, feeling warm blood trickle down my arm and stain the concrete below. The metallic tang mixed with the damp, earthy smell of post-rain Lindhberg, a far cry from the clinical stench of Etheria still etched in my mind. I pushed aside the pain, focusing on the burning ache in my limbs, every second ticking by in urgency. The slavers’ shouts faded as I burst into the open expanse of the docks.

My heart hammered in my chest like a war drum as I raced forward with all I had left. Behind me, the slavers’ footsteps echoed like a haunting rhythm in the quiet night. Crates and machinery loomed large, casting eerie shadows under dim lights. The air smelled of oil and saltwater, a familiar scent in Lindhberg’s gritty industrial district. Above, airships stood like giants against the dark sky, their frames creaking in the gusty wind that swept through the docks.

Relief flooded through me briefly as I tasted the open space, thinking I’d slipped past the slavers’ grasp. But that hope shattered fast when a low, menacing growl ripped through the air. It froze me solid, heart pounding in my throat as I turned slow to face the noise. There, right in front of me, a shaggy black mutt glared with eyes like fiery coals in the dark. It snarled, teeth gleaming sharp as the slavers’ greed.

Fear gripped me tight, stuck in a silent stare-down with this wild beast. Every part of me screamed to run, escape this new threat, but my legs were heavy, glued in place by weariness and dread. The dog’s eyes locked onto mine, its body coiled, ready to pounce any second. In that heavy silence, the whole world seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see how fate would swing the scales.

Before I could blink, it sprang. The impact knocked me sideways, sending me spinning through the air. The dock’s edge rushed up to greet me, and I plummeted, wind whipping through my hair and clothes as I hurtled toward the clouds.

In those endless seconds of freefall, a strange calm washed over me. Fear and pain faded away, replaced by a twisted sense of relief. Maybe this was it. Maybe the suffering was finally over.

And just for that moment, I almost felt... free.