TROYANDA

I

The closed gate was the only sign that something was off within the thriving dwarven kingdom. Tiny in comparison, the elven girl knocked on it timidly but firmly. Two dwarven guards looked down at her from the battlements.

"I am here because I have no other place to go,” she explained to one of them. He gave her a look of disbelief which only made her feel even worse about herself. "I'm sorry," said the girl. "I don't mean for my appearance to frighten you or anything like that, it's just..."

She trailed off and looked down at her hands. Her clothes seemed tattered, dirty and torn. Her long hair hung limp around her shoulders and her face was covered by a hooded cloak. It wasn't until then did she notice how pale her skin was compared to what she remembered it being when she last saw it.

“No one’s allowed to enter!” the guard objected, untouched. “King’s orders.”

The elven girl closed her eyes and shook her head in dismay. She could not turn back. She had nowhere left to return. Her hands lingered on the wooden surface of the gate.

“My family is dead,” she croaked, struggling to hold back her tears. “Everyone I knew is dead, my whole village gone. The grass has turned black everywhere I used to call home. Please… let me in.”

“We can’t.”

Her clawed palms hid her reddening face as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She’d rather die here at the entrance than leave. This must’ve been the last safe place in the whole world and she was being rejected from it, too.

“What’s all this ruckus?” a new voice boomed.

Both dwarven guards immediately parted, straightening up, their gauntlets on their sides.

“Me lord,” one of them spoke up and then another dwarf peered down at the unusual visitor.

“What are ye?” he asked gruffly, his bushy beard twitching with each syllable.

The question took the elven girl aback. She had only read about the dwarves and never saw them in person. The dwarves, as much as she was aware, did not care about the surface at all. They were content in their tight community underground. She always envied that, especially after the darkness took over.

The girl took another deep breath and tried to regain her composure. What was she now? She did not know anymore.

"My name is Troyanda and this is all that remains of me." Once again she found herself looking down at her hands, this time noticing that her nails had grown unusually long and sharp. They almost looked like claws.

“From th’ surface,” the newcomer concluded roughly. Both guards nodded at once, compelled by some shared knowledge Troya lacked. “Th’ King ordered us to keep any surface folk away until further notice.”

They can’t do this to me, the girl thought in pain. She grimaced, feeling a new wave of tears coming in, and turned away to avoid giving them the satisfaction of seeing her break. Her head was pounding, hammer against anvil, impervious just as these creatures’ stubbornness. But so was her determination. Her eyes were burning from all the excessive crying. She sat on the ground with her back to the wooden gate – so close yet out of her reach, like the sun beyond the clouds.

“I’m not leaving,” she stated.

“Ye will,” the superior dwarf shrugged. His footsteps echoed as he walked away.

At this point, the shivering Troyanda did not mind the cold nor the sharp rocks digging into her back. She had seen the worst of this world – nothing could compare to the flashing images of the carnage that she could not exorcise from her head. The night here was brighter than up there, under the dimmed skies. The guards did not seem to mind her improvised siege anyway. Darkness would not win tonight – it was too far behind to ward off the weariness she let take over her as she fell asleep, wrapping her ragged cloak around her thin frame curled against the great stone walls of an impregnable fortress.